Category Archives: A Few of My Favorite Things

Random things I come across, usually found while procrastinating studying, that I can’t resist sharing with the world. Think of these as fragments of me compiled from other people.

Love is for Sharing

I’m pumped. My lovely sister is employing her very artistic self to draw a masterpiece for my bedroom. I wish I knew who the original artist was for the picture, however, she just might remember if I had asked. Yesterday when I went over to visit, she was working on it a little. Not because I’m pressuring her or anything. She must really love me.

Now is the time I am going to sneak in a little pitch for her. She very recently started a blog, (enjoy her pictures but don’t mind her grammar) and I’m pretty envious of her blog name: campfirekissedcheeksandstargazedeyes. It fits her so perfectly. I wish I would have taken even just a bit of time to come up with something less generic. For those of you who are newer subscribers,  I grabbed my site name from Kurt Vonnegut‘s quote, “Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.” I love Kurt Vonnegut. Well, that may be a lie, but I do love his books.

As a final thought for today, I realized I have over 100 followers. Whoa, I didn’t ever see that coming. And I guess I just wanted to send out some love to all of you, because, you know, love is for sharing.

In retrospect, that was very gushy emotional. Deal with it.


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Wear Your Heart, Boy


I haven’t shared my love for other people in a while, but when I came across this, I just couldn’t help myself. Enjoy.
The Boy with His Heart on His Sleeve and the Girl Who Never Tried to Fix Him
by Max Andrew Dubinsky

I was born with my heart on my sleeve. When the doctor handed me over to my mother he told her to be careful. “He’s fragile,” he said.

Mom cried when she held me, overjoyed at the prospect of raising a son who would be so in touch with his emotions.

My father sat in the corner, shaking his head, already disappointed in me like I had any say in the matter, like I wanted to be born this way.

“It’s not all that uncommon of an affliction,” the doctor tried to reassure him. “Lot’s of men carry their hearts on their sleeves.”

“I think he’s beautiful,” mom said, tears still in her eyes.

When dad had his buddies over from work for the big game the following Sunday, they stood around my crib, shaking their heads and consoling my father with pats on the back, clinking beer bottles together.

One friend informs the men, “My wife says society deems it’s okay for men to be this way, says the world would be a better place if more men were born like your boy here.”

The men only stared.

“My wife,” he shrugged, “she reads a lot. Is always getting these crazy ideas. But still…”

“The doctor,” my dad told them, “said this isn’t that uncommon of an affliction.”

Mom hates when people use that word. Affliction.

I asked her how we should describe my condition then.

“You’re just more vulnerable than most,” she said with a smile one morning cooking eggs and cinnamon toast.

Just once I’d like to not cry when the sun sets.

I was taken advantage of in school. The kids knew I was different when I’d still show up to class in turtle neck sweaters at the end of May.

I cried every morning I got on the bus, leaving mom behind in the driveway like it was the last time I was ever going to see her.

In high school I had no problem dating, but none of the girls took my marriage proposals for serious affairs.

“What about college?” they’d ask.

“We’ve never even been to Europe,” they’d say.

Forget Europe. I’m going to college wherever you’re going.

My condition isn’t for the meek or the weak of stomach. I’ve loved and lost and lost again, more times than any one man should. It’s hard to find someone when you can’t keep your cards close to your chest. What’s the point of keeping anything close to your chest when the very thing you’re trying to conceal is exposed and dirty and bruised for all to see? There’s never been any element of surprise in any of my relationships. I meet someone, and she knows immediately how I feel.

But you, you were different. There was something so understanding about you in the beginning. The day we met you had your hair pulled back and wore that awful orange jacket you picked up at the Goodwill, and I was wearing a sweater that day. So you didn’t know until it got too hot in that coffee shop and I pushed my sleeves up. And when you saw who I really was you said you were glad I wasn’t like the rest, and I asked what you meant and you smiled and said normal is so boring.

But you were a machine, and I was a boy with his heart on his sleeve.

I was relentless and you were unresponsive.

“This has tragedy written all over it,” I used to say to you again and again.

And you would tell me to stop over-analyzing everything. “Just enjoy the moment.”

After you left, I decided to try and see if I could live without it.

Without my heart on my sleeve.

So I cut it off.

And I put in a box.

A safe place.

And I hid the box.

Where no one could ever get to it.

No one but me.

Eventually, I forgot where I put the box.

Eventually, I stopped thinking about the box, or even wondering what life was like living with a heart.

Things were so much easier.

Then I saw you at the bar with his arm around your waist and your hands in his pockets and his lips on your ear, and I felt nothing but the place where my heart used to be.

I felt it tingle. I felt it crawl. Then I felt nothing at all.

And that felt nice.

Then she came along.

There was something about her. I couldn’t quite figure it out. Until she pushed her sleeves up and I saw the scars. The same scars I now have.

I asked her where she put it. Where did she put her heart? Did she throw it away or give it as a gift at Christmas?

“I put it in a safe place,” she told me. “Where no one could ever get to it.”

No one but her.

I wanted to tell her things I wouldn’t normally say. I wanted to do things I’d never be caught dead doing.

And when she asked why I acted so strangely sometimes, I informed her that I couldn’t remember where I put my heart. And for the first time in my life I finally found a use for it.

She smiled and offered me hers.

I shook my head and I pleaded with her to take it back.

“I can’t accept that.”

“I won’t know what to do with it.”

“It’ll only end up bruised, hurt, and worse off then before you left it under my care.”

She said she was willing to take the risk.

I tore through my closets, my car, my pockets, but still, I could not remember my safe place. I had to give her something in return, but nothing other than my own heart seemed good enough.

Finally, one night when we were alone in her apartment, she told me it was okay.

“Your heart,” she said, “you gave it to me. I have it, and it is safe.”

I asked her how this was possible.

She looked at me like she couldn’t believe I’d even ask such a thing. A look that wanted my trust. She put her hand on my arm, where my heart used to be. She touched my chest where I now kept hers, and cared for it as though it were my own. “You still cry every time we watch the sun set.”


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Beauty is in the “I”

I happened to run across an astounding little project today here in the WordPress world and thought I would share it with everyone. It is called “Beauty is in the I.” They/He/She are/is asking for submissions for photographs of yourself (gulp!) displaying a portion of your body that you feel is beautiful, and why exactly it is that you feel that way. Hopefully the word will spread a little, and therefore increase the number of participants. I would love to see more submissions! So to all of you beautiful people out there, flaunt yourself, please! (I suggest doing so appropriately. Just saying.)


Posted by on January 30, 2012 in A Few of My Favorite Things


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My Thoughts On [insert here]

I have had a writer’s block lately. Let me expand on this: this little writers block is more like four stairs. I am standing at the bottom of these four stairs looking at them as though they are Mount Everest or at least Pikes Peak or something. And I am far from being in shape.

As a side note, I did make a New Year’s Resolution to make myself get in better shape. I, Kristin, am going to run 300 whole miles this year. But I happen to be two miles behind schedule right now and am dreading the run this afternoon…

My solution for this writer’s block? Write down my thoughts on certain (interesting) topics for the day. Gosh, I sure am a problem solver. Cheers to day one.

You want to know my thoughts on this idea? No? Oh. Well, pull up your big girl panties, wipe your tears and do what I say, “Read on.” You remember from my New Year post? Hitler, I am. Speaking of which!

Hilarious until you realize that Hitler spoke German. “Gas die Juden” sounds nothing like “glas saft.” I suppose it could, though, if you were deaf, and in that case, everything would sound just about the same.

My thoughts are that you will enjoy these posts. I also expect that I will be less than prompt at getting these brilliant thoughts up on time. I also expect that they will be far less brilliant than I what I think they are. Be sure to boo me off the stage if that is the case. I can take a hint! Most of the time, anyways.

On the plus side, I am in the process of having a better blog page designed. I’d lie and say I’m cool enough for hiring out to upgrade my blog, but in all reality, I’m lucky my sister went into graphic design. I think I’m going to walk away and leave this as the cliffhanger it is.

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Posted by on January 11, 2012 in A Few of My Favorite Things


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My Heroes Have Always Killed Cowboys

My mind has just been blown. Well not really, but exponentially expanded. I am a product of a farming family in a predominately (98%) white community, I am about as rural American as they get. Or so I thought. Several schools, especially the one I currently attend, are focused on graduating rural and Native American populations.

Today in class, we were directed toward a website of a talented photographer, Aaron Huey, focusing on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. Sadly, I was only able to find two photos that I could post on here. Bummer! The one that struck me most was the one of graffiti stating, “my heroes have always killed cowboys,” which you can find on his website. I had always idolized John Wayne, and played cowboys and indians in the same context as cops and robbers. It had never been mentioned that there are heroes on the opposite team.

Whether or not you are interested in the individual, community, and social issues that undermine this population, you can surely fall in love with the photographs Mr. Huey captured there.

P.S. I double dog dare you to look into all the issues that the Pine Ridge Reservation. Plus I, Kristin, will personally mail you a gold star if you become active in your community to promote some changes for similar issues! No lies, you will get that gold star delivered to you by your lovely mailman/woman, from me.


Posted by on January 10, 2012 in A Few of My Favorite Things


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I decided, since I was procrastinating and all, to allow you to have the same opportunity. (Everyone knows the best form of distraction comes from another person…) My recommendation is to watch in multiple, short-lived breaks, but I suppose a marathon would be just as sufficient. Since I haven’t told you yet what to expect, yell “SURPRISE” as you click on the link. Of course it doesn’t matter where you are at the time of the said clicking. Just do it. I double dog dare you. It makes life exciting and spontaneous. Just what you were wanting for this fine Saturday.


Didja yell surprise?


Posted by on December 10, 2011 in A Few of My Favorite Things


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Home Sweet Home

I decided it was time for another wonderful Flickr find, and I spotted just the guy to show off. His work makes me all nostalgic and reminds me of home. It also kind of makes me feel guilty that I didn’t make it home for Thanksgiving. C’est la vie.

Anyways, enjoy!

(Sorry the images aren’t more view-able, but he super secures them with magic and minotaurs and shiz. Check out his page though. I double dog dare you.)

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Posted by on November 30, 2011 in A Few of My Favorite Things


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