hold me now - don't bother if every minute it makes me weaker.

Okay, so I suppose an actual update is in order, right? But so much has happened! Like, I turned 21, finally, and had a birthday that was not even a little bit bad! I mean, how could it have been, when I spent my last hour as a twenty-year old drinking a bottle of Biltmore champagne with my girl, my favorite professor, and said professor's too-sweet-for-words girlfriend? There was dark chocolate and and exchange of stories about how we met/got together, and of course, there was lots of fawning over Belly and Boudreaux, who remain the greatest dogs ever.

And after that, there was dancing and perfectly-legal drinking at Scandals, where I got in free. Marshall bought me Vodka Collinses - my favorite drink, even though I'm not sure that I've got the plural form right Erin and Joe met up with us, which was fantastic, as they are entirely too much fun to go out with. We even picked up some guy who gave our drunk asses a ride home; he was unexpectedly nice, although Joe continually forgot his name. (I'm sad to admit that I, too, have now forgotten his name, but not his company!) I managed to drag myself out of bed in time for morning humanities class, because I wanted to kick my year off right; after that, Marshall and I drove Cambridge and visited the Girl Scouts store. Sadly, they were not selling cookies - but they did have a toy giraffe. Which is weird, because just the day before my birthday, I'd said to Marshall, apropos of nothing, "You know, I wish I had a stuffed giraffe. If I did, I'd name him Blankets." So when I saw this little guy in the store, I snatched him right up.

I know: I really don't need another stuffed animal. (When I got back to Erie, my mother presented me with two more stuffed dinosaurs, whom I've named Basil and Lord Henry. So now I really have more stuffed animals than I need.) But you know what? It's turned into a bit of a security blanket for me, in the past few weeks. I'm still having the nightmares, so I put off sleep until I can't fight it off, and I wake up feeling drained and angry, right? But now, before bed, I work out what I'm most afraid of, what I feel most in need of, and that determines which animal I hold onto on any given night. Which sounds sort of crazy, I realize, but it's good for me to work out what's worrying me, and to have a solution on hand, however improbable. Blue, my one-eared dog with a teardrop stitched below his eye, keeps my sadness from getting overwhelming on the nights I cry myself to sleep. Beau Brummell, my trusty orange triceratops, stands guard when I get panicky and afraid; Blankets, my new giraffe with the mussed-up mane, is my therapist stand-in, reminding me that I'm whole and sane and capable of manifesting what I need, however implausible. So far, Basil and Lord Henry just sit there and look cute. It's a silly system, but I feel a bit safer at night with this routine. I'll feel safer still when I'm back in Asheville, with a sweet girl to hold onto at night, but when I'm stuck sleeping alone, I'll stick with this.

Our dorm room seemed small and sad after living in Lori's house, but I channeled some domestic goddess and tried to make it as cozy as possible.

Oh! And on my birthday, we went to the WaHo, because it's tradition to celebrate there.
Too fucking cute. Getting her to give me that look is one of my favorite pasttimes.

That night, we met up with Jana and Emily for dinner at Chili's, where we sipped yummy margaritas and hid from some soccer coach's wife? Yeah.



And then we moved the party to Jana's house, where there was a lack of Scruffy but an abundance of multi-talented cats who paint and dance. Jana's got some really exciting books, ladies and gents. Here's Bootsie, one of the fabulous painting cats we learned about that night.

So, now I am back in Erie, which would normally be sad news. Except that it's been really, really good for me - safe and quiet and wonderfully uncomplicated. I've got my whole family onto Weeds, and we've been watching three episodes each night. It's a little awkward at times, like when the totally hot, lesbionic Yael dons a strap-on and pushes Andy onto the bed, a scene which inspired drastically different reactions from me and my parents. But it's been a great bonding experience. My mom even made some joke today about growing marijuana, which I was not at all ready for. My family's a whole lot cooler than I give them credit for. And they comfort me when I am having ridiculous freak-outs over grad school, too!

Plus, I am back with my precious Sal Paradise, who has grown up quite a bit but remains completely incorrigible and adorable. The other night, I took him to see a real live alligator at Asbury Woods. Now, I ask you, how many cats can say they've met an alligator? But Sal's totally done it.

Here's one thing I do not miss from Asheville: this fucking creepy sign that I have to drive past all the time.

Last night, I totally meant to tuck in early, but then my brother was all, "No, Jenny; there's Jose Cuervo in the cabinet and we've gotta do shots!" And even though I am not a tequila person, my brother can talk me into just about anything, so I broke out some tacky souvenir shot glasses and Greg agreed to show everyone how it's done. Note the obtrusive saltshaker in step three.

Said my brother, "No kidding, Jenny: when it's all over, the lime is your best friend." But then, my brother is always saying really cute things. Like today, when my mother gave him shit about avoiding dentists, Greg said, "You can whine all you want, Mom, but if you continue, know that I will put you in a crappy nursing home." Which could have been less-cute, I suppose, if my mother hadn't laughed so much. Did I mention I love my family?

Did I overdo it? Perhaps. And then I wrote a ridiculous e-mail to Jana as evidence. But no regrets, friends! Soon, I'll be leaving, and then Greg will be off to school, and I won't see him again 'til Thanksgiving. And just when we get closer than ever, too. Que lastima!

In between marathon family bonding sessions, I've managed to catch up with my Poetics work (except for the last, longest paper - oops!) and read some really, really good books, like Miranda July's No One Belongs Here More Than You, which half-broke my heart, and Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policemen's Union, which managed to finish the job. Have I been reading for comps? Hell, no. Have I been listening to more Backstreet Boys than is necessary? Well, yes. And I've been listening to too many NPR podcasts, and eating too many sunflower seeds, and thinking about Chicago, and catching up with Camille for the first time in ages. And you know what? It's been perfect, or nearly. Just what I need before rushing into what will undoubtedly be the most stressful semester ever. I really, really need to be more like Xena, stat. That is all.