My Best Friend's Wedding

One of my best friends got married on Saturday. It's so weird that so many of my friends are doing that lately, but I was glad to be a part of Jenny's big day.

Jenny and I grew up together, and we have a lot of great memories. There was the time I tried catching bees in her backyard because she was afraid of them. After I got stung, we got her dad's thick gardening gloves, then we just started trying to catch the bees in old hermit crab cages. Then there was the time in sixth grade when we helped our friend Sara drag around a stuffed pig, Hamptonian III, on a leash. Yes, middle school is awkward. We once put on a performance for her parents where Jenny hid under a blanket I had wrapped around me and sang a "My Fair Lady" song while I pretended to be singing. She had the better voice.

We also had this special tradition that we called "Duel Time." We would be swimming in her pool, and one of us would declare it "Duel Time," at which point we would beat each other senseless. The first person who called it quits obviously lost. I will also never forget the New Year's Eve when Jenny started counting down from 12 minutes when I was trying to sleep. Needless to say, I wanted to call for "Duel Time" right then, but that was strictly reserved for swim time, so I put up with it for some odd reason.

There are so many other memories that come to mind, and I will always cherish every single one of them. I also look forward to the many other crazy adventures I'm sure we will have in the future. Jenny has always been there for me, and I know she always will be.

Now she is married to Michael, an amazing guy whom she has been dating since our sophomore year in high school. They truly are a perfect match for each other, and it was such a privilege to be involved in their wedding. I am 100 percent sure that their marriage is one that will last forever. They just show so much love for each other, and there has never been a question in my mind as to if they would last or not. Just spend one moment with them, and you'll know for sure that it was meant to be from the beginning.

I usually don't like having to go to weddings much, but the truth is that weddings are beautiful things, and this one was no exception. In fact, it was by far the most beautiful wedding I have ever attended. Plus, it was such a blast! The Emerald City Band played all night, and that dance floor was hoppin'!

I wish that everyone could find love like Jenny and Michael and be able to share such a wonderful experience. I think one of my favorite parts of the night was when I was running to the bathroom, and Jenny stopped me to say, "Natalie, we have to go dance to this song! It's the last song from Get Over It!" And she was right; we couldn't miss that! So, I spun around really fast to head in the other direction and ran right into some stairs, cutting and bruising my forearm in the process. Sure, it hurt, but it was just another memory about which Jenny and I got to laugh and add to our memory bank.

And Runnin', Runnin'

I love to run. I can't quite explain it, but for as long as I can remember, I have loved running.

I grew up playing soccer, so running was something I did quite often. And when everyone complained about having to run, I actually enjoyed it. However, I'm pretty sure I complained, anyway, because that's what you do when you are growing up: you gripe about the things grown-ups make you do.

When I was in middle school, I joined the cross country team just for fun and continued to run in high school. A lot of the time, I put way too much pressure on myself to do well, and I would be angry with myself when I didn't get my fastest time in each race. That's one way you know you're a runner: your mood revolves around whether or not you got a PR (personal record, for those who don't know).

I only ran for one semester in college, and the thing that made me hesitant to do it in the first place became true: running became too much of a job rather than something I enjoyed. But I continued to run on my own—I LOVE road races—and ran the Dallas White Rock Marathon in 2005. That was one of the most fun things I ever did. Seriously. And I cherished every Saturday morning when I went to White Rock Lake to get my big chunk of mileage in for the week during my training.

Running, for me, is so freeing. It's a time when I can't be bothered by anything or anyone in this world. It's a time when I have some of my best conversations with God, and I even come up with some of my most profound epiphanies (yes, it's true).

And running never hurts. I could run for hours and hours and hours...you get the picture. If only there were enough time for that! It's also as if the weather elements vanish when I run. For instance, I get cold very easily, but I always run in shorts. Always. Granted, I might be wearing ski gloves and two or three layers up top, but the shorts remain. And when it's hot, I love it. I barely even notice the blistering Texas heat beating down on me. But if I do, I just pretend I am in a Gatorade commercial, and the world is made right.

It's important to have passions in life. One of mine, obviously, is running. People need to be able to find time to enjoy the things that make them happy and is actually beneficial, such as running. I think too often people get so consumed with work and the daily stresses that add up with no end in sight that they often lose focus on things that help make them at ease and at rest. As odd as it sounds, running is rest for me.

So run with passion, friends (or whatever it is you do).

Tabster

I guess I never realized how hard it is to lose a pet. I mean, we've had pets in our family die in the past, but I didn’t really have that much interaction with them, so it didn’t affect me much. I’m also not an extremely emotional person, so I wasn't as sad as the other members of my family when they were gone.

But Tabster was my cat. I got her when I was in third grade, and I considered her the best cat that ever existed. A lot of people don’t like cats as much as dogs, but she was different. She was a special cat.

I have little scars on my hand from Tabster from when I first got her. We played this little game that usually ended in her attacking my hand. We had a special understanding, but she really liked using her claws.

Every morning, Tabster would wait outside my bedroom door so that I would feed her when I got up. She followed me everywhere until she got her food, and then she rubbed against my leg right before she ate as a way of thanking me, I suppose.

She also did this weird thing where she attacked my head. I would be sitting on our comfy chair in the den, and she would jump up on top of it behind me. Then, she would start smelling my hair before suddenly completely encircling the top of my head. It always made my mom and me laugh, probably because it was so darn strange.

I remember growing up when we would have friends spend the night, and we created this neat, fort-like bungalow bed out of the couch in the den. Usually in the middle of the night, I would awaken to the sound of Tabster acting crazy. She got hyper late at night and would randomly sprint through the house and climb on walls.

She also had a special spot in our house right by the glass door to the backyard where she would "sunbathe," as my mom would call it. One knew not to bother her too much when she was in that spot. I believe that’s how I got at least one scar on my hand.

I knew Tabster was getting up there in age, but she still had such livelihood in her—until the past week, that is. It just suddenly happened that one day she wasn't her normal self. She was weak. She stopped eating. She wouldn’t even drink water. Or, I think it was more that she couldn't drink it. She couldn't even purr anymore. You could tell she was trying, but it just would not happen. And she was no longer outside my door waiting to be fed each morning.

Last night when I got home from an event at my church, I tried making her drink some water. She was so frail and listless, so I tried putting water on her mouth so she could just lick it. But, no matter how hard she tried, she could not even manage to get her tongue out of her mouth. I had a strong feeling that those would be my last moments with my cat. And they were.

I woke up this morning to find Tabster completely gone. It was a heart-wrenching sight for which I was not prepared, and it is unfortunately something I will never forget. But I am glad she is no longer in any pain.

Tabster will never be outside my door in the mornings again, and I won't have my head oddly mauled, but I will always remember what a great addition she was to this family. And I'm glad now that she left some little scars on my hand; at least that way she leaves her mark in my life.

Ribbitophobia

If there is one important thing to know about me, it's that I hate frogs. And I'm not sure the word hate is even sufficient. It might be more fitting to use loathe entirely.

In fact, frogs are pretty much the only reason I would complain about summer. As soon as the warm weather is back, so are the ugly little demons. They love the humid weather, and, unfortunately, we get that a lot here. So, every year, I have mentally have to prepare myself for the possibility of having an encounter with a hopping catastrophe.

It's still spring, and it's already happened. The other night, I was walking to my car, and there was a frog perched up next to the side of a building. I had to walk on the sidewalk right by it, and I suddenly froze. What was I supposed to do?! I quickly started seeking what my options were and measuring what move to make next. I could go around the other side of the building. Wait, the other side was grass only, no sidewalk, where I would surely find more frogs waiting for me. This little curse on humanity was trying to set me up! OK, I could veer my path as far as possible on the sidewalk and maybe get by him with no disasters. I took this option and sprinted to my car as soon as I hit the pavement of the parking lot. Whew, I was still alive!

You might be wondering why I have a fear of something that tries to appear so innocent. I'm not sure I can explain it with simple logic. It goes far back to when I was a small child. I can't pinpoint the exact moment I had my first frightening run in with a frog, but I know I avoided them at all costs. Then came the nightmare.

I was playing in my street with the neighborhood kids when there was suddenly a gigantic frog in the alley across the way. Everyone abandoned me, and the Humungous Hopper swallowed me whole. I was living inside a giant frog! Then I woke up. Ever since, it's been one of those recurring nightmares that you can't cure, and you never know when it's going to invade your slumber.

And frogs are the only thing I can't tolerate or from which I will run as if my life depended on escaping from a scene in less than four seconds. Snakes? No problem. Bugs? Don't mind them at all? Vicious dogs? Who cares? It's only frogs (and I guess toads...but am I concerned enough to try to distinguish between the two? Definitely not.) that cause me such horror.

The worst time I ever had a frog attack me was when I worked the opening shift of a recreation center. I had always been paranoid of frogs near the door when I walked up to it, but you can't even begin to imagine how quickly my heart stopped when I walked in to find myself staring death in the face—there was a frog in the building! It was 4:30 in the morning, and I was all by myself. I thought about calling my parents, but decided not to wake them up. Besides, it probably would have ended me before they could get there. I even considered turning around and just not working that day, but I knew that I had a responsibility to this job, and I wasn't going to let myself be weak enough to give into my fear that much. I left it in the lobby until one of the lifeguards, Lifeguard Steve (who obviously became my hero that day), got it out of the building completely.

I've had a few encounters with frogs in my lifetime, but I generally find ways to evade them at all costs. I guess everyone has his or her own weird thing, and this is simply one of mine. So, if you're ever near me when a frog is on the prowl, please be aware that you might have to save me in that moment.

A Good Read For Sure

If you haven't read My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult, I highly recommend you do so. And you might not want to read the rest of what I have to say, because it might spoil the whole thing for you.

The book focuses on a family in Rhode Island trying to keep its oldest daughter, who has acute promyelocytic leukemia. In fact, the parents went so far as to practically design their youngest child, Anna, to be a perfect genetic match so that she could donate blood, bone marrow or even a kidney to her older sister. She never had the choice - that is, until she turned 13 years old.

Anna spends most of the book trying to become medically emancipated from her parents so that she can make her own decisions in regards to donating to Kate. The only problem is that it seems as if Anna doesn't quite know what she wants at all. But she takes her parents to court, nonetheless.

At first, it is so easy not to like Sara, the girls' mother. It is as if she only cares for one thing in the entire world: Kate. Sure, she has two other children, but sometimes she doesn't even appear to acknowledge them. Well, unless she needs something Anna can give through tubes or surgery. Sara fights so hard to hold on to Kate, but the whole time she is losing Anna and Jesse (the brother and oldest sibling) and drifting from her husband, as well.

It is really hard to choose sides throughout the whole story. On one hand, I wanted Anna to be able to make her own decisions, especially because she is almost treated as if she is invisible at times. But at the exact same time, you want Kate to get the kidney donation so that she can live. And you want Anna to be the one to make the choice to give it to her. It's clear during the whole novel that Anna loves her sister, but it's also quite apparent that she wants to be free of her in a way, as well.

At the end of the book, you learn it was Kate who pressured Anna not to give her a kidney. Kate was in so much pain and felt guilty for being a burden to everyone else around her that she just wants to give up the fight. Anna doesn't want her sister to die, but she knows that if she follows through with Kate's wish, she will have a lot more freedom.

Anna ends up winning her lawsuit against her parents after all truths are revealed in the courtroom. If you wonder what Anna's choice was, you will have to keep pondering that one. The reader never actually finds out. It's pretty clear that she wants to make the donation, anyway, but she doesn't get the chance to do so voluntarily.

Anna dies after a car crash on the way to the hospital. Her lawyer makes the call to give her organ to her older sister, and Kate goes on to live longer than anyone ever expected. Anna ended up saving her sister after all, but she didn't get to be there to see it.

It is such a sad story, but it is definitely a great read. I love the way Picoult wrote it. Every chapter is told from a different character's perspective, so it really gives you a feel for how and why each person is dealing with the situation at hand. You don't read anything from Kate's point of view until the very end, but it's the most poignant. If you cry easily, I would suggest you get a box of Kleenex before you read that entry. I don't cry much, and I didn't at this point, but I would have if my tear ducts worked.

Picoult took an issue that could be a hot topic for debate and turned it into a story that digs straight to your heart and really gets you involved in all of the characters' worlds, which ultimately crash into one world of chaos and hope.

The Stars of the City

The Dallas Stars are our last hope.

All season long, I believed in the Cowboys. They just looked so darn good out there. Tony Romo was the man; T.O. behaved; there was no grumpy Big Tuna causing a ruckus. How did that end up working out for us? Ah, yes, a loss to the Giants, who went on to win the Super Bowl.

Then there are the Mavs. Sure, they didn’t have the best regular season, but I still had hope. After all, we had the best regular season last year but then lost in the first round of the playoffs in an embarrassment to the Warriors. So, I figured that maybe this time we could have a mediocre regular season and then come back with a vengeance to take the playoffs by storm. Then there was the stupid Kidd trade. Along came an appearance of apathy and idiotic comments by Josh Howard. Now we find ourselves with no Little General to lead us all the way.

The Texas Rangers…I believe I have already said too much.

Which brings us to the Stars. Who would have thought that a hockey team would be our final hope for a championship? I mean, most of the time people in this area don’t care much for hockey. This is more of a football area, and we have become more passionate for the NBA as the years have progressed. But hockey? We are proud of our Stanley Cup Championship from 1999, but I would say our first bragging rights would reference a few Super Bowl titles won in the same decade. After all, this is Cowboys Nation.

But the Stars are reeling in more fans as they prove to be the only professional team in the Metroplex that can handle playoff pressures. Can they continue this trend tonight in Game 6 against the San Jose Sharks? Let’s hope so. What will all the bandwagon fans do if they also show signs of choking when it matters most?

I am not going to lie: I didn’t follow the Stars this season as much as I did the Cowboys and Mavs, but I sure hope they get a win, even if simply for the sake of Dallas. The city needs a winner. Besides, what will sports fans watch if the Stars’ season doesn’t continue to the next round? I suppose it will become time to put on our Rangers hats and head to the ballpark in hopes of a World Series.

On a more serious note, it will be time to follow Cowboys mini-camps and pre-season training camp in no time.