The prompt: Please create your own personal security question in case you forget your password.

Question: My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they’re like what’s your favorite color?

Answer: Shark Week.

Yesterday morning I revisited the crazy that is signing up for a race on an early Sunday morning, with friends as (awesome! and) crazy as you are, and then freaking out for 48 hours before said race because you are extremely adept at concocting ridiculous scenarios in your head that will never actually happen. (I do this for job interviews, too. It’s the neurosis that keeps on giving!)

“But what if I can’t run like I want to; what if I have to walk the entire race? Or what if I break my leg or something, or I’m too nervous to even start the race, OR the officials think I’m not running fast enough and tell me I should have just signed up for the Shamrock Stride, and what am I doing thinking I can run 3.1 miles anyway? What if they kick me out because I’m not wearing any green? OMG, what if I’m the very last runner across the finish line?”

Yesterday morning Kali and I galloped our way from the start to the finish of the Shamrock Run, and while it quickly became very apparent I need to be fitted for running shoes that don’t make my feet ache and throb and oh hey, fall completely ASLEEP while running, I felt better than I ever have at that distance, and I knew I could finish, and finish strong. I was bummed we couldn’t find Rhi before the start (it was madness down at the waterfront), but it was hard not to grin at the sheer energy bouncing around like the runners who were gearing up to put their feet to pavement on a crisp but clear spring Sunday morning.

It seems a little nuts on paper: paying money to get up way too early on a weekend morning to join throngs of strangers to run a distance you could run without worrying about packet pick-ups, nerves, crowds, parking. But the second I was standing in Waterfront Park, freezing and bouncing and stretching, I remembered why races are exciting, why they sell out year after year. It’s the energy, electric and contagious, bouncing off every single person who made the commitment to show up and participate, radiating to the friends and family members (and complete strangers) who line the route and clap and cheer as people pass by, pushing themselves to reach a finish line that is as much mental as it is physical.

Kali was an amazing running partner, and we laughed at the ridiculously chipper race announcer and his affinity for calling everyone “Leprechauns,” and watched people running in bright green tu-tus and huge hats and even saw a guy jogging while playing a banjo.

I was nervous about the distance and about doing it sans iPod, and about the incline up Broadway around mile two that was admittedly pretty brutal, but once we rounded that corner and started the last leg of the race heading downhill, I had to fight the urge to start laughing, because I was DOING THIS and feeling awesome (despite not really being able to feel my right foot, whoops), and I had forgotten how hard you can push your body and see it respond favorably. I had forgotten how far you can go even when you think you’re not ready.

I know to anyone who runs distance regularly 3.1 miles is a walk in the park.

To this girl it was one of the best things I’ve done with my body for years. And I’m admittedly excited to do it again. You know, when my legs stop screaming obscenities at me.

We’ve all heard about the five (or seven) stages of grief, the designated personal places you must traipse within and for yourself to be able to stand tall on the other side of whatever loss you are suffering. Stages you need to fight your way through surviving, and really processing, to be able to find yourself again.

In my head I liken the five stages of divorce to a wily maze, thick with brambles of emotional underbrush you can attempt to evade, but ultimately, eventually, you are forced to cut straight through them to get to the heart of the matter, the heart of your own healing. The ultimate goal of course being to get yourself out of the ten-foot-tall winding hedge comprised of both fear and ambition, of self-doubt and progress, reeking of history, like a living tribute to the best and worst of yourself.

It’s been amazing to be able to identify most of these stages within myself, and even before Jen wrote the afore-linked post, to know I was wandering (sometimes aimlessly; sometimes deliberately) through personal stages of grief and healing before I could properly recognize and categorize them.

Most recently I was in Crazy Pendulum Stage, swinging so close to Healing I could smell it on a daily basis. (Healing smells like Neosporin® and hope mixed with chocolate chip cookies, if you were wondering.) On my best days, I could really feel it. Feel me, rising from the ashes somewhere deep below the flannel of hurt I had been wearing like second skin.

Like the day I wanted to tell all of you that I came home after a long and taxing day of work and pushed myself through a cardio workout, and then made unassisted salmon for the first time and it was sort of amazing. (I did call my mom to tell her, because moms are required to care about things as mundane as their daughters being able to properly cook a piece of fish. My mom being the fantastic cheerleader that she is “Ooohed” and “Aaahed” at all the right moments, and even asked me questions about my cooking procedures.) It was a milestone of sorts, and not just because Chris and I used to make salmon all the time and it was the first time I’d ever done it by myself, for myself.

Without even realizing the moment it happened, sometime within the last two months I stepped out of the bittersweet Healing Phase, grass and small burrs still lodged in my hair, and started striding confidently into my very own Superhero(ine) Phase.

And now I’m going to pause for a moment to say something I’ve wanted to say since the end of June. Preface: I don’t know if I’m about to sound like The Biggest Sap On The Planet (TBSOTP), but I have a feeling this sentiment will make a bit of sense to anyone who has lost someone (whether to death or to life).

I can feel your love. In a very tangible way I have from the beginning and still can feel your support, your prayers, your good thoughts being sent my way, and every time someone unexpectedly emails or texts or calls to tell me they’re thinking of me I want to say “I know. I can feel it; I can feel the love.”

(I don’t typically say that because I fear everyone will think I’ve turned into a full-blown hippie and am now frolicking on someone’s large front lawn with daisies and braids in my unwashed hair while I ponder creating a time machine so I can move to San Francisco circa 1965.)

What I typically do is cry (see again: sap), and attempt to explain how thankful I am. How ridiculously lucky I count myself to have each and every one of you. Your support has been amazing, and I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s literally been carrying me through the must tumultuous time in my life. I don’t believe I could have done this without you. And I have no intention of forgetting that, ever.

Now, without further sappy adieu, on to the list! (What list?) (This! list.)*

Things I Want To Try While Wearing My Superhero(ine) Pants**:

Bungee jumping — Technically I’ve already done something (a little) similar, at Six Flags outside of L.A. It was ridiculously terrifying. And awesome. And I’m pretty sure I drooled on myself while I was falling. It was one of those adrenaline-heavy, freestanding rides located inside the park. It was called The Superman, which loosely translated means, “Here, we’re going to hoist you up way too high over some gravel and then you are going to pull this lever to RELEASE YOURSELF (Theresa assigned me this task), at which time you will free fall for a few seconds that will feel like a lifetime and then you’ll start to pendulum swing, WEEE!”

This jump is going to be really symbolic for me. A letting go and embracing the fall into a new saga of my life sort of jump. I’m admittedly as excited about the symbolism as I am about how I’m no doubt going to to be pants-crappingly scared to throw myself off a bridge with a cable attached to my body, and how I’m going to do it anyway.

Unearthing Fit Kerri — I wasn’t happy for a long time, and while a lot of my unhappiness has come to light since the separation and everything that came after, the ultimate handicap for me is that during my time with Chris I let myself become someone I didn’t even recognize by the end. I think that’s the danger of relationships we aren’t supposed to be in: we don’t get better; we get worse. We become the worst versions of ourselves, and then to combat the feelings of being unhappy, we do things we would never do if we were happy. For me, I buried myself in food and inactivity and watched the weight on my shoulders grow heavier every week while the weight on my frame did, too.

I am an athlete. I have been since I was a kid. All of my life, until about three years ago, I have been healthy and fit, hopping from one sports season to the next, keeping myself active both outdoors and indoors, loving the way my body responded to rigorous doses of activity, loving my own physical strength and my ability to move freely. I want that Kerri back. And I intend to take her back, one step at at time. The first of many important steps I’m taking toward this goal were trekked in China and South Korea, and the thirteen! pounds I lost while I was there was just the motivation I needed to get my literal backside in gear when I got home. The next steps toward this goal are going to be trod this weekend during the Shamrock 5k I’m running/walking/probably dying while finishing with Rhi and Kali. Quitting just isn’t an option. And so I won’t.

Writing every day — Writing so closely mirrors putting on my Brave Pants because it’s what I know I should be doing (with my life, as an actual career) and yet too often I falter, over-think, tell myself I’ll have more time at some later date to transfer the stories dancing in my head onto the page, and you know what? That’s total b.s. All of it. I make too many excuses and I’m tired of them. There is no such thing as “more time later.” And even if there were, there’s no guarantee that time is going to be granted to you. Or to me, as it were.

For the past week I’ve written something (non-blog-related) every day, and the act of sitting down in front of a blank page (or screen) and filling it with my words has sprinkled hefty doses of joy into my life, just like it always has, ever since elementary school when I fell in love with reading and writing in Mrs. Vance’s second-grade classroom. Just like it does whenever I make writing a priority. The moral of this story: our passions and our gifts are faithful if we are willing to give them our time.

———

As difficult as moving on has been for me, and as hard as it will be for you if you ever find yourself facing a similar situation (or perhaps as you find yourself facing a similar situation right this moment), I can tell you with 100% confidence that the hope you will feel when faced with a fresh start and a blank slate, the inner strength you will realize you have been given, and the way your friends will come from everywhere and nowhere to support you? It will take your breath away. And you will be OK. And very soon after that you will be even better than OK, and you’ll start laughing, hearty laughs bellowing from so deep inside you won’t be able to stop once you start, and then maybe you’ll even spend two weeks in Asia having the time of your life, and you will be thankful for every single moment.

*This being a more specific extension of my 2010 list of goals a.k.a. A Year Complete. I’ve been recording my progress on that list as the weeks fly by, and it lives as its own page in the top nav. of my site. Or you can just click here.

**NO CAPES!

You could even wish her a happy! birthday. You know, if you aren’t a birthday curmudgeon want to. No pressure.

Happy! birthday, Theresa. Love love love you.

You see, I’ve been a lover of the ocean, and of all things aquatic and nautical-inspired, ever since I can remember.

My love for sea-faring-everything might very well have been fostered during the myriad spring breaks spent exploring quaint coastal communities in and around Port Ludlow, Washington. Some of my fondest childhood memories spring forth from days spent poking my curious face into every trinket shop in downtown Poulsbo and downtown Bremerton, carefully selecting bracelets laden with sparkling gems found in nearby sand, wondering about the sharks who gave up their teeth for necklaces while peering at tiny sailing ships in tiny bottles  and cheerfully collecting polished shells to keep in my pockets.

I still vividly remember late afternoons spent beach-combing for mollusks and buried treasure on Bainbridge and Whidbey Islands; a morning studying tides with my aunt Joy until she happily selected the perfect window for clamming in Port Angeles; the way saltwater smelled on my skin hours later, still stuck between my toes.

Until I reached my second year of college and realized a simultaneous double major in Biology and English Literature was going to be next to impossible without first learning how to clone myself, I very much wanted to be a Marine Biologist. As such, I had spent many a day-dream envisioning a life led on the ocean floor: mining murky water for mystic and illicit meaning; diving for clues to uncloak the mysteries of marine mammals; marveling daily at the miraculous design of oceanic ecosystems.

Though I know it to be much more than a fairytale career, I still find the possibilities, and the idea of a seascape workplace, endlessly fascinating, crashing waves to me as tempting as a siren song.

It’s little surprise then, that when I was properly introduced in college to one Mr. Herman Melville–author and sailor and self-taught know-it-all concerning all things leviathan and nautical–I fell into deep literary smit. I was fortunate enough to study under a bona fide Melvillean scholar at my university, and was able to take an entire course focusing solely on Melville and his collected works. Soon after, I read Moby-Dick multiple times, followed by every piece of his writing I could get my hands on, including his short stories (which are some of my favorites), and his collected poems.

I was surprised and thrilled to receive an email from a fellow Melville fan while I was in Korea (Hi! Scott), with references to Moby-Dick related awesomeness, my very favorite of which was a project entitled One Drawing for Every Page of Moby-Dick, and the fact that the artist (is super creative and talented, yes! and) knew to hyphenate the title, Moby-Dick (though you never hyphenate the whale, Moby Dick) made me want to give him a literary fist bump. Is there such a thing as a literary fist bump? There should be.

I’m verily smitten with the entire project (which is at this point, still ongoing), especially page 153.  For those of you lazy selective link clickers, this! is page 153 (image © Matt Kish):

The line from the text he took for this page’s inspiration, which also doubles as the piece’s title: “Did you fixedly gaze, too, upon that ribbed and dented brow; there also, you would see still stranger foot-prints — the foot-prints of his one unsleeping, ever-pacing thought.”

—————

In other quasi-nautical news, last Thursday I attended a (n uber-talented) friend’s art opening, her photography part of a three-point collaboration with two local Portland artists (Hey Jolby!) to ultimately create fifty works of original art, all sea-faring and pirate-esque in nature.

If faced with choosing one official favorite or walking the plank, I think I would have to go with “Treasure of Calypso”:

I was also quite taken with “The Death Coast”:

And “The End”:

(All images © Ashely Forrette & Jolby)

The exhibit is called Sea Legs (and is showing at the Together Gallery until March 20th), and I loved the show enough to seriously plot how I could somehow move into the exhibit space, so I didn’t have to walk out of it without every single piece tucked underneath my arm.

——————

Thus, we come to the end of this, our maritime digression of sorts.

Happy! March, ye land lubbers.

Post title is referencing a lyric (”I’m on a boat and/It’s going fast and/I’ve got a nautical-themed pashmina afghan”) from The Lonely Island’s “I’m On A Boat,” which, yes, I’ve probably watched six-hundred times, and yes, still makes me laugh, every time.

Oh! And I have a post up at Work It Mom! today, talking about how to deal with difficult bosses and colleagues, and my Print Of The Week is up on Style Lush, too!

1: Raw Ginseng root eaten after being offered by a kindly man with wrinkles showcasing his eyes at the Yangyang market. Also the number of photos I was asked to be in with total strangers (at the Forbidden City in Beijing).

6: Times I was asked to take pictures for total strangers.

2: Cups of mineral water I drank directly from a spring in the ground (in Osaek).

3: Flights (out of 5) wherein I had two (or more!) seats to myself. (Comfortable air travel is happy air travel.)

5: Times (out of 5) I sat by the window on the aforementioned flights. Also the number of Buddhist temples I visited.

11: Pictures I attempted to self-take with little compositional success, that I still very much love.

4: The most unlucky number in South Korea, and thus the one missing from all numbering and building planning. The floors in Will and T’s apartment building (and all other apartment buildings) were numbered 1, 2, 3…5, 6, 7 and on and on, with no fourth floors ever to be found.

4 & 9: The days most Korean cities host local markets; that is, any day boasting either a 4 or 9 in the date. Apparently the number 4 isn’t so unlucky when it comes to shopping.

20+: Times I put something in my mouth for the first time ever, something I probably had no idea even existed a few minutes prior to eating it.

5(pm) 2.5.10: The moment I realized I was eating squid as it was meant to be prepared. (Fresh from salt water, grilled and stuffed with rice and veggies and other mouth-watering goodness.)

13: Pounds I lost while in Asia. Also the number of days I awoke to bright sunshine and clear (albeit meat-locker-cold) days in both Beijing and South Korea.

5: Days Snowmageddon decided to visit South Korea. (The last five days, as it were.)

50 lbs: Worth of journals/notebooks/day planners I ogled, coveted, laughed at and nearly bought while in South Korea.

14: Paper somethings with which I actually absconded. (Lest you think I’ve successfully plunged off The Paper Deep End (It exists; I checked), a large percentage of that 14 were purchased as gifts, and you can’t prove otherwise.)

10: Postcards I intended to mail while abroad, which will actually be mailed from a more exiting, exotic location that looks remarkably like my apartment.

20: Minutes a day spent laughing while trying to understand Korean television programming with Will and T.

3.21: Kilometers I hiked up The Great Wall.

120: Seconds it took to be whisked down off The Great Wall via gondolas located at one of the original lookout stations.

30: Minutes spent riding around the hutongs in Beijing on a rickshaw.

18: Days I journaled while abroad (See also: every day).

32: Degrees outside when Theresa and I decided to take a snowy, nighttime bike ride to Rolly Espresso and back. (Despite The Freezing, it’s one of my favorite memories from the trip. Especially because I know we looked Crazy walking in for a cup of espresso with our pants and hats, hands and red noses dripping wet.)

1 Million: A rough estimate of how many times I thought to myself, “I am so thrilled to be here.”

843: The number of pictures I took while on the trip.

Speaking of (ridiculous amounts of) pictures, I uploaded some more; the entire set from the trip is here.

Here are some of my notes I made about said incredible trip, scrawled messily during the eleven-hour flight home from Japan to PDX yesterday/today/I have no idea when. There are also pictures. Because I think I took five million. The Flickr set from China and Korea is here, and will no doubt be growing exponentially in upcoming days/weeks.

——————————–

I read both books I brought on the trip with me (Treasure Island & How We Are Hungry), and another book I had no idea even existed until this weekend (Bryson’s Notes From A Small Island). This was a first for me, as I typically pack enough books to start my own book mobile in whatever city I’m visiting, and typically never crack the spine of any of them. All three books were first-time reads for me, and I really enjoyed the old-fashioned and yet playful sea-faring feel of Treasure Island, and the punch-you-in-the-face with honesty and melancholy set of short stories courtesy of Eggers. Bryson’s book (my first ever full read of one of his) has only added endless fuel to the already raging fire that is my desire to visit England. He’s hilarious and witty and I’m now resolved to actually read A Walk in the Woods, A Short History of Nearly Everything and Made In America, all of which I currently own.

(The view from Mt. Seorak, South Korea.)

Fruit leather makes a great addition to your carry-on, especially when you feel peckish when faced with a ballooning breakfast buffet at 7am and so only eat three pieces of pineapple and two pieces of watermelon (and a glass of orange juice), before embarking on twenty-four hours of straight travel.

People will create the most creative, contorted ways to sleep aboard airplanes, buses and in airport terminals. It’s fascinating to me.

I found my favorite notebook/miscellaneous (lovely!) ephemera shop in the Insadong District in Seoul. It’s called I Think So.

(Will & T on a bus with ocean views.)

People who have the option of reclining in a seat near an open window and directly in front of your selected window seat, but instead choose to recline in the aisle seat not directly in front of your selected window seat make me want to hug them.

Hiking The (Ridiculously Steep, Ridiculously Beautiful) Great Wall reminded me that no matter how tired I am, and how much my legs are screaming at me to stop, I can always keep going farther, and most likely (and especially where The Great Wall of China is concerned)? It will be worth it.

Will (my brother-in-law) has an uncanny ability to lift people’s spirits by just being present and being himself. During one particularly cold and windy (I have never felt real wind until visiting Yangyang, South Korea) walk home, he tirelessly and cheerfully kept me talking, to distract both my sister and I from the fact that we were both freezing and annoyed and quite possibly about to scream unmentionable things at an element that is probably more than a tad indifferent to how freezing and annoying it is.

(Friends, coworkers, tour guides.)

Watching the sun set from 37,000 feet in the air, the way it turns the west-most clouds hues of faint pinks, oranges and purples, is undeniably beautiful. It also made me wish the Care Bears were real, so I could borrow one of their cloud cars to get a front-row view.

Realizing that the “foreign” section of a bookstore is the only place you’re going to find books in South Korea you can read is both startling and amusing.

(Will at Mt. Seorak.)

Spending nearly a full two weeks without seeing another Caucasian person beyond my sister or my own face in the mirror is also both startling (for the first few days, after which time you quickly become accustomed to being the subject of much staring) and amusing. I resolved to smile at every Chinese or Korean person I noticed staring at me while I was abroad, and in turn was the recipient of more smiles than ever before, and admittedly some puzzled, not-so-friendly looks as well.

(Twilight at Daepoe Harbor, South Korea.)

I’m pretty sure eating the amount and quality (think: amazing) of Asian food I did in Asia has ruined me for ever being able to eat (non-home-cooked) Asian food in the U.S. ever again. I was literally blown away by the style and taste of the food I ate while I was in both China and South Korea. There was very little I didn’t like, and very little that wasn’t fresh and/or cooked right in front of me.

Every flight needs at least one little kid enthusiastically peering over the back of his seat like a fearless explorer.

(Will & T at the Sokcho Lighthouse.)

The sister relationship is one as complex and dynamic as it is incredible. I’m so thankful that Theresa is my sister, and my friend. I’m thankful too for openness and grace and forgiveness, and the ability to laugh and cry and talk for hours about everything and nothing.

This trip was beyond blessed, and I felt so provided for and looked after, and it was delightful! (And, yes, I totally just used “delightful” in a sentence non-ironically) to get to spend so much quality time with people I love so much. It was also fun to share the trip with you guys as I went along, and to get hosed in Scrabble from another continent.

(Theresa, winter sunbathing.)

I loved Beijing. From the huge buildings to my generous and hilarious coworkers, to the way the city seems to dance with an electric energy at night, to The Great Wall and the endless walking, and the way taxi drivers can bob and weave in and out of traffic the way I’ve only seen in (Russia, and) action movies starring Nicolas Cage. I was smitten 100% of the time I was there, and while I had no idea where we were going half of the time, or what we might do next, I’m pretty sure I never stopped smiling for less than a few minutes at a time. My Chinese co-worker (and tireless guide) looked at me at one point, she herself smiling and said, “You smile a lot. You are very happy?”

Yes. I really am.

To recap: I’m here visiting Theresa (a.k.a. “babycarrot sister”) and Will until February 13th, after spending 4 days in Beijing, China visiting work offices and coworkers there, and generally just being a Super Ecstatic Tourist (SET).

I’ve been posting updates on Twitter and Facebook, and uploading pictures I’ve taken with my iPhone to Flickr, but I thought it might be nice for me to update here as well (to say hello! and) for posterity’s sake. I have 1,001 pictures and stories from China to show you, and I’m super excited to do that, but for now I thought I’d share some of my favorite shots from South Korea I’ve taken thus far.

Will & T’s super awesome (super Korean) apartment:

Panda Head! (I saw kids and adults alike wearing these all over Beijing and so I bought one for Theres while I was there. Apparently they have them everywhere in South Korea, too.)

On Tuesday we walked to the Naksan Temple and wandered around for an hour or so. It was the first time any of us had been there, Will and T having saved the trip themselves until I was here. It was so bright and beautiful. This is (Theresa! and) the view before actually entering the temple grounds:

Will & T, being awesome. This is one of my all-time favorite pictures of them, ever:

Love these trees:

Seesters! (At the top of the Naksan Temple.)

Temple Guardian. He takes his job very seriously:

Naksan Beach:

Visiting the famous Rolly Espresso in Naksan:

On Wednesday we took a bus to Sokcho, a nearby coastal town, and wandered around their local marketplace:

Tag!

The food here is amazing. The company isn’t too shabby either:

From a trip to the Yangyang Market today (Thursday, the 4th):

Korean treats! (Koreans don’t like their sweets very sweet at all. I’ve found my people.)

You see these masks everywhere (in both Beijing and South Korea), and while they serve to keep germs at bay in crowded, enclosed spaces, they also serve to keep your face warm while you’re outside wandering around in Pretty Frigid Temperatures. Also: we are Ninjas.

If you’re thinking I’m ridiculously excited (you’re right! and), add a dollop of sheer GLEE (I get to see my SISTER, and WILL, and HUG them both), and a dash of apprehension (because hi, I have no idea what to expect, or how I’m going to read anything, and one of my co-workers recently told me to bring anti-poo pills with me, and did I ever anticipate I would be talking to said co-worker about bowel movements while traveling abroad? No, no I did not) to the emotional mix, and you will have my emotional state in a nutshell. Or in a mixing bowl, as it were.

No doubt I’m going to have endless pictures to share from upcoming weeks to be spent in China and South Korea (and I’m beyond excited to take those pictures, and to share them), but for now, here’s how this past week looked in pictures:

Exhibit A: An empty fortune cookie on Monday, which, while causing me a brief existential crisis, also made me realize that yeah, I really do make my own luck. Take that, Cheap Chinese Restaurant Who Shall Not Be Named (cough…August Moon…cough).

Exhibit B: We like to rain it, rain it.

Exhibit C: A new necklace, which I’m (amusing myself by) calling The Precious. The Precious is so precious, in fact, that it can’t bother to be photographed in focus.

Exhibit D: A lovely gift from Sizz! Inside the adorable box was an even more adorable pair of turquoise earrings.

Exhibit E: Or, what happens when you try to take a picture of a beautifully colored sky while you’re walking out to your car after work. I actually love the way this shot turned out, even if it is all epileptic-looking.

Exhibit F: This is what me choosing books to be stowed in my one and only carry-on looks like. The stack below represents the main contenders, which I am now evaluating based on 1) weight; 2) general interest in the story/stories; 3) probability of the book encouraging strangers to strike up conversations with me while I’m attempting to read on the plane. Antisocial air travelers, UNITE.

Exhibit G: I (basically) finished packing a full week before I’m scheduled to fly. That’s a personal record in anal-retentive travel for me.

Exhibit H: Running office-related errands and thinking these window decals walked right out of Where The Wild Things Are.

Exhibit I: Work-related fun in our Creepy Storage Unit. (That’s Erin! at the window.)

Exhibit J: I spent the bulk of Saturday shopping, lunching and movie-watching with Kali! at Bridgeport Village. It was my second visit to the shopping oasis and my first ever trip to Anthropologie. I managed to finish the majority of my pre-travel errands while enjoying terrific company. It was, in a word: awesome. Also awesome: Kali’s adorable flower hair clip.

Exhibit K: Want to donate to Haiti relief efforts and get an awesome t-shirt at the same time? Threadless is offering a new shirt with 100% of proceeds going to the American Red Cross. The mustached rabbits want you to donate. Listen to the mustached rabbits.

*Post title is from a super random episode of Everybody Loves Raymond.

We’ve all heard of The List, right? (Right!)

For those new to the game, The List is mostly comprised of celebrities and other famous faces you are allowed to covet outside of your Committed Relationship because (it’s all in good fun, and anyway) these people are the cheese to your macaroni, the peanut-butter to your jelly, or at least they might be, according to the plethora of information you’ve been able glean about them from this month’s People Magazine. Mostly though, you just think they’re crazy/sexy/cool.*

What I like even better than The List is what happens when you add the word “fictional” to it, the game thus now requesting you choose your top 5 (or 15) characters from various shows and movies that are the proverbial peas to your carrots.

Here’s my version of such list. And of course it’s longer than 5. I never was very good at following internet rules.

The list is in some semblance of an order, or maybe more of a scale of sorts, wherein Peter Petrelli (played by Milo Ventimiglia) = I would marry him (fictionally, or in real life), even if I didn’t know him well enough to know (anything about him, like maybe) how to pronounce his last name, or that he puts cilantro on everything and thinks Zima is the king of beers.**

Peter Petrelli (Heroes)

I honestly don’t even know where to start with Peter Petrelli without sounding like a mildly obsessed fictional stalker. (Which, do you see this post I’m writing right now?)

If you haven’t seen Heroes*** my allegiance to Peter Petrelli might be 100% lost on you, but if you’ve seen even a single episode with Peter in it then I have to imagine you knew what I was talking about before I even started this sentence.

Beyond being the single most attractive human being on the planet (to me, anyway), Peter is the epitome of a selfless hero. Perpetually battling his own inner darkness, he’s brooding and moody without being insufferable, and works as a paramedic in New York City to help people using his super-powers. He also has a voice I love to listen to and a charming lop-sided smile. (Mildly obsessed fictional stalker territory? Duly noted.)

Just one more picture then, before we move along:

Ren McCormack (Footloose)

Anyone who knows me (and my love of Kevin Bacon) probably saw Ren coming from a mile away. He snags the number two spot on my list for being a part of one of the best scenes in cinematic history, amen. He’s also the only man I’ve ever seen look even remotely cool while repeatedly rocking a pair of Mom Jeans.

Fox Mulder (The X-Files)

Special Agent Fox Mulder was the reason I gave myself myriad nightmares in junior high and high school after watching the The X-Files every Friday night at 9pm with my dad. Mulder’s obsession with the truth (it’s out there) and his ability to smile with his eyes (Tyra would be so proud) while rocking a monochrome suit made me instantly smitten, even if some of the episodes still HAUNT ME TO THIS DAY.

Rick O’Connell (The Mummy & The Mummy Returns)

OK, now no judging allowed in this case if you haven’t seen one of both of these movies. Both The Mummy & The Mummy Returns rest in my top tier of cinematic favorites, because not only are they supremely entertaining, with a nearly perfect action/magic/romance/comedy ratio, they are also pretty superbly well-written and well-acted.

Rick O’Connell is someone who can rock twin gun holsters and save the world from centuries-old mummies (multiple times) while telling jokes that make me laugh. Man of my dreams? Pretty much.

Kale Brecht (Disturbia)

Did I tell you about the time I fell a little bit in love with a suspense/horror movie based solely on this character? It’s becoming mightily apparent that I’m a sucker for dark hair, great comedic timing, and intense eyebrow furrowing.

Will Shuester (Glee!)

Enter your favorite Music/Spanish teacher with a heart of gold. Glee is amazing for a lot of reasons (honestly, if you aren’t watching it, you’re missing out), but Mr. Shue is totally my favorite, and seeing him singing “Bust a Move” while dancing around the rehearsal room? One of my favorite t.v. moments EVER, which was then totally upstaged in the finale with an even better! scene, which I won’t ruin for those of you who haven’t seen all of the episodes yet.

Jacob Black (Twilight)

COUGAR ALERT! Jacob is a quasi last-minute addition to the list, though if I’m being honest I have been a fan of his ever since I read the books, and I think Taylor Lautner was perfectly cast as Jacob for the movies. I, along with Amanda and my favorite name twin (and two teenage girls in the bathroom at the movie theater), am also 100% Team Jacob after watching New Moon. You Team Edwarders can suck it. (Totally kidding. Also: GET IT?)

What I love about Jacob Black is that (he’s buff, and) emotionally honest; he wears his heart on his sleeve (or lack thereof), all while also being funny and able wolf it up if the occasion calls for it, which, let’s face it, is pretty awesome. He can also jump through bedroom windows in a mostly single bound, doubles as a portable space-heater, and manages to look fantastic while standing in a torrential downpour.

Dr. Robert Chase (House)

Brilliant surgeon and diagnostician? Check. Australian accent? Check. Snazzy dresser? Check. Secret romantic? Checkmate. Also, the only (non-peroxide) blond to make this list.

Jake Fischer (The Guardian)

I have a thing for swimmers. Enter Fischer, who is a cocky collegiate swim star enlisting in an elite branch of the U.S. Coast Guard. Have any of you even seen this movie? I actually sort of loved it. Then again, any movie featuring rad athletic montages (these ones were all swimming-related), the ocean, and Kevin Costner pretty much wins in my book.

Spike (Buffy)

Enter peroxide blond!

Most of you probably already know why I would never stake Spike. If you don’t (here’s a post for you! and) I dare you to watch Buffy and not become a) instantly addicted, and/or b) instantly addicted to Spike. (Unless you’re Sarah, in which case: touché.) He’s the undead English rogue with endless brooding wit everyone loves to hate, and who makes the series infinitely more interesting.

Bob Lee Swaggar (Shooter)

How hilarious is that name? I mean, really, I can’t stop laughing right now. But before you start mocking my choice, Mr. Swaggar (haa!) is intelligent, and buff, and can treat multiple bullet wounds he just sustained with items purchased from a convenience store. Which I’m thinking would probably come in handy during any potential end-of-the-world-type scenarios. Also: he can shoot you in the face from three miles away. In a blizzard. So on top of everything, he’s like a built-in home defense system.

Stefan Salvatore (The Vampire Diaries)

This is me, publicly admitting I totally watch The Vampire Diaries, and you know what? I LIKE IT. Judge if you must.

Jeff Winger (Community)

I think this one is pretty self-explanatory, but if you haven’t seen an episode yet (DO IT), Winger is pretty much a single version of the actual Joel McHale, only this time instead of hosting a hilarious show on E, he’s a still-hilarious ex-lawyer enrolled in community college now struggling to pass Spanish. Oh, and his Spanish teacher, Señor Chang? That would be this guy.

Xander Harris (Buffy)

I was a Xander fan from the very beginning of Buffy. He’s the loyal boy-next-door with a heart of gold. He’s also punny.

Virgil Earp (Tombstone)

Oh, Virg. The first and only cowboy to steal my heart. If I told you my high esteem for Virgil has a lot to do with the ridiculously amazing mustache he sports throughout the entire movie, would you even be surprised?

Special Honorary Mention: Simon Templar (The Saint)
I’m not normally an “Oooh, Val Kilmer!” sort of gal, but Simon Templar was the very first spy I ever had a crush on. Templar is really something like eight different characters in this movie, and each one is great. Aside: I have seen The Saint so many times it might be a little ridiculous, and if you ever hear me say “Mother Russia” in a certain punctuated (and no doubt terrible) Russian accent, rest assured I’m quoting this movie, every time.

Honorable mentions (because hi, I had to end this post THIS CENTURY):
Jaime Bennett (Love, Actually); Nick Powell (The Invisible); Ando Mashahashi (Heroes); Memphis Raines (Gone in Sixty Seconds); Robin Hood (From, you know, Robin Hood); Dimitri (Anastasia); Riley Finn (Buffy); Oz (Buffy); Captain Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean); Ron Weasley (Harry Potter); Bill Harding (Twister); Eric Northman (from the Sookie Stackhouse novels, not the HBO True Blood series); Lt. John McClane (Pick a Die Hard, any Die Hard); Dr. Stanley Goodspeed (The Rock); Jack Bristow (Alias); Will Tippin (Alias); Noah Bennet (Heroes); The Men of Dollhouse (Topher Brink/Victor/Paul Ballard).

Feel like playing along? (Of course! you do) So tell me, who are your fictional favorites?

———————-
*Don’t go chasing waterfalls. (Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.)
**I promise I’m not judging you if you like Zima. Well maybe I am, just a little.
***My favorite show on television right now. Followed closely by Glee and Community.