First job

My first job out of college was at a Harris newspaper.

It started to die three years after I was born: The long, slow death of Harris Enterprises

I'm a sad panda today.

Good journalism

When people ask me what Reddit is, I have a perfect response: It's my favorite way to waste time.

Last night, I was laying in bed tossing and turning. I opened Reddit on my phone, and read news about a certain celebrity golfer who was arrested.

That thread led me to reading this wonderful story: The secret history of Tiger Woods

I could try to tell you what this story is about. I could pull out some of my favorite quotes from it. I could go on and on about why I admire this particular piece of journalism.

Instead of reading my words, just click on that link above and go read somebody else's words.

I promise you won't regret it.

In 11,000 words, which is unheard of in journalism, this story explains how someone at the top of their game and life can come unraveled.

Do me a favor and read it. Please. It's almost life changing.

Part 12: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Remember when I said earlier on thishereblog that beauty and art are subjective?

Let's continue with that theme.

Because I planned this trip at the last minute on a holiday weekend, I was unable to find a hotel room that met our needs for all three nights.

That means that we were nomads during the day, and switched hotels each night.

The second hotel we stayed in was downtown. I had high hopes for it. It had good reviews online, and I was excited about staying downtown.

It turns out, that hotel sucked.

It wanted to be a cool place for hipsters, but it just failed on so many different levels. (It missed the mark like a 23-year-old journalist fresh out of school used to miss the mark on stories all of the time.)

I had a lot of fun with the door knob that went into the our bathroom at this hotel. Um, where am I supposed to grab it? I felt kind of dirty every time I touched it.

Across the street from the hotel, my Mom took a photo of another "art" sculpture.

Oh, Saint Louis. I loved you. I want to go back to you.

Part 11: Art

Much like the last post, I think I'll just the photos I took speak for themselves.

Saint Louis is a beautiful city. We felt like we were going to die a few times, but we didn't and the beauty makes up for that.

Part 10: BAD WORDS.

I had a really weird phone conversation the other day.

Me: Do you care if I blog about your boyfriend?

Mom: Which one?

Me: All of them.

That conversation does not happen every day. I don't usually get permission from people to write about them, but I felt like this topic needed her okay first.

Please note: The last time I checked, my parents are happily married and have been for 35 years. Or 36, or 82, or something like that.

Also, please note that it's really gross when you're with your parents in public and they get hit on.

Ew.

Get this: This concert and this trip were my idea. I bought the concert tickets. And yet, despite me being the instigator, my Mom is the one who constantly got hit on everywhere we went.

It's not fair.

At the concert, there was a guy sitting beside her. He was with a group of four women, and if one of those was his girlfriend, you could not tell. Not a single one of those girls paid any attention to him (of course, who would pay attention to a guy when you're in the same building as Eric Church?).

The guy was clearly a third wheel among his people.

And the thing is, he was cute. He was around my age. Did I mention he was cute?

But I never got the chance to meet him or talk to him, because he was talking to my Mom DURING THE WHOLE CONCERT.

At one point during the concert, my Mom nudged me.

"My friend just asked me if I'm going out tonight after the show."

BAD WORDS, MOM. BAD WORDS.

I told her she could put a sock on the hotel room door if she wanted to. (Gross.) She laughed.

If I had sat in that seat, I could have had a husband in a year or two. I could have lived in a penthouse palace in downtown Saint Louis (he actually lived in Jefferson City, but whatever). But no, that won't happen now, because my mom stole him from me.

I'm just joking...kind of.

When we went to the Cardinals game, she made a boyfriend there too, but he was an older guy and not as cute as the Concert Boyfriend.

Meanwhile, I did not get hit on once.

Thanks, Mom.

Part 9: I'll let the photos speak for themselves.

I think it's possible that I left a piece of my heart at City Museum in Saint Louis.

The place is weird and unconventional. The place is very much like me.

I'm not even sure what to say about City Museum. At first, I was not impressed. I wanted to leave, and I wanted to get out of that weird, stupid place.

But after I ate and I wasn't hangry anymore, we started to explore the place.

How cool!

I wish we would have gone back there.

Back when I committed to this trip and bought the concert tickets, I joined/stalked the Saint Louis subreddit in Reddit. I made a list on my phone of places and restaurants that locals kept mentioning.

Everyone told out-of-towners to check out City Museum.

It was the place that I was most excited about visiting (other than our hot date with Mr. Church, of course).

I'll let the photos speak for themselves.

A someone on Facebook said: City Museum, I could not love you more.

Starting over

For those of you who know me somewhat well, you probably know that I have not had a record year this past year.

All I've done is fight with doctors, their offices, insurance companies, drug companies and pharmacists.

(The thing is, I'm not going to babysit you. If you want to ignore me, that's fine. I'll find someone else who wants my money and my defective colon.)

I fired a lot of people. No one was really spared from my firing spree over the past year, and many of those severed relationships died ugly, loud and unglorified deaths. My claws and fangs came out a few times when I felt like it was necessary to unleash those.

Saying that I have not had a record year is an understatement.

I could go into more details, but I promise you, you do not want to know what doctor's appointments, specialists appointments and appointments with surgeons are like when your colon is being a butt.

It is not fun. I'm thankful that it is not life threatening, I'M SO THANKFUL FOR THAT, but I'm also irritated because this problem is irritating.

Anyway, part of not having a record year involves finding something to smile about. You guys, life is not always pretty. In fact, a lot of the time, it just sucks.

Since I found out what my health problems are a couple of months ago, I've been trying to take some time out of each day to find happiness.

One of the things that I've found a lot of happiness in is make up.

It started out a few months ago. On Reddit, I found some subreddits that talk about make up organization and how to apply it.

I started reading about the brands that people are trying, and making mental notes of what brands I want to try.

So far, I love Laura Geller for foundation and blush. I found some cool Mally eye make up that's way too glitzy for me, but I still wear it and feel like a rockstar while doing so.

-----

I was on the floor with the twins last week. My glasses were off. Little curly-haired girl laid down beside me, right in my face.

We have this ritual. We go nose to nose, and I ask her how close we are.

On a scale of one to 10, little curly-haired girl, how close would you say we are? Like a nine? A 10? We're pretty close, right?

She always giggles and says: "I don't know Monica. I don't know."

Anyway, little K told me to close my eyes last week, so I did.

"Monica, you got pretty eyes."

I turned into a giant pile of goo and my heart melted all over the floor. 

I was wearing the glitzy Mally eye make up. 

-----

When I got back from Saint Louie, I kneeled and the twins came and hugged me. 

It was a curly-haired girl, red-haired girl, baby and Monica sandwich.

I asked little curly-haired girl for a kiss. She said no. She stuck her face out towards mine.

"Nosie."

(Nosey? Nosie? Nose-y? Whatever.)

-----

I recently found Lipstick Queen's Hello Sailor and Frog Prince lipsticks.

Oh my God. Hello Sailor will change your life.

I also bought IT Cosmetics highlighter. I don't totally understand why people use it or what it does to your face, but I apply it like people on Reddit say to.

So far, I like playing with make up. I don't always get it right, and I will never look good in blues or purples. 

(Speaking of those colors, I'm trying to control the impulse to buy that beautiful Tarte eyeshadow, just because it's in such a beautiful case.)

I was never really brave enough or confident enough to experiment with make up in my 20s.

There's a huge change in your attitude when you hit 30. I have a lot of confidence now that I never did before. I know how to stand up for myself, and I'm not afraid to do it if I have to.

My claws and fangs are on standby.

I've also learned in my 30s that no one else in the world is going to stick up for me (except maybe Mom).

It's my job to stick up for me.

I'm getting really good at that job.

Picture this

Socially awkward Monica is in an elevator with an attractive man.

Attractive man is around my age, maybe a little bit older, and he's wearing a bright pink shirt and a pretty amazing pair of cowboy boots.

Me: "I like your pink shirt and boots."

Seriously attractive man: "Thanks. If you're not man enough to wear pink, you shouldn't wear anything at all."

Socially awkward Monica: "I agree."

Wait...what was I supposed to say? What was the right response to that?

Did I just tell him that he shouldn't be wearing anything at all?

I turned bright red. Apple red. Monica is embarrassed to be alive right now red.

He laughed at me, and I sprinted off of the elevator to sweet, sweet introvert solitude.

Was he flirting? I have no idea. I don't have the greatest track record with successful relationships. I have no idea what's going on unless someone spells it out for me.

But I do have a malfunctioning colon and I'm still shrinking, so who knows.

Gah.

Part 8: How ‘bout you?

We were in the hotel before the concert, hanging out. We were tired, so it was nice to take a break and lay down.

The TV was not on. I was laying in bed with my face buried in the pillow.

Sweet, sweet heaven.

Out of nowhere, my Mom starts laughing. I know that laugh, because I heard that laugh at my doctor’s appointment the day earlier.

There was nothing funny happening. I wondered what in the world she thought was so funny.

She barely got it out: “Monica, I think I’m ready to go to the concert. How ‘bout you?”

For those of you who don’t follow Church, there’s a song called How ‘Bout You. 

That moment was as perfect as my doctor’s appointment.

I laughed, too, and I told her that next time, don’t laugh before you tell me the joke. You kinda beat yourself to the punch line there.

The rest of the night was filled with that joke.

Mom, I want something to eat. How ‘bout you?

I think I’m going to buy that t-shirt. How ‘bout you?

I like this song. How ‘bout you?

Life is weird.

I would consider myself an excellent driver.

But like all people, I have my down falls. I'm about as good as parking as I am driving in construction zones.

On my way south on Thursday, I got stopped in the middle of nowhere by a construction zone.

I was the first car to stop and wait for the pilot car. When the lady with the "stop" sign flagged me to drive closer to her, I thought I did something wrong.

I thought I was going to get yelled at for something.

Instead, I rolled down my window. For 10 or 15 minutes, we had a great conversation. She wasn't from around there, so I told her to drive to the sprawling metropolis of my hometown and eat at an Italian place downtown.

It turns out that she really liked my suggestion. She lived in Italy for 15 years and she goes back every other year to visit her kids.

I asked her to say something to me in Italian.

She told me hi, asked me what my name was, how old I was and where I worked, all in Italian.

In the middle of nowhere in western Kansas, on a road so small there isn't even a shoulder, with wheat fields as far as the eye could see, a woman was speaking Italian to me.

Life is weird.

Part 7: She was a butt.

I got snubbed out of a department store in Saint Louis on Saturday afternoon.

Oh, buddy. That lady did not like me being in there. I guess you need to be extra special to buy a lipstick that costs a whopping $20?

I kept my mouth shut, and we walked to the next department store to shop.

As I was leaving that store, I got to thinking.

I was dressed cute, and my hair was cute. I was wearing a cute outfit and cute jewelry.

If that lady didn't like the way that I looked at that moment, I thought about telling her about how I looked at my doctor's appointment the day before.

Just imagine what that entails.

That lady was a butt.

I love lamp.

I completed a Pinterest project last night.

I couldn't decide what lyrics to pick. I was stuck between Record Year or Hallelujah. Hallelujah would have been a little more classy, but Record Year was so amazing live in Saint Louis, I had to go with that song.

So here's my Record Year lamp. I wish I had cute handwriting, but I don't.

It doesn't matter though. I like it.

Not about you.

I went to my doctor's office to pay my bill today. As I was standing there, I read a sign above the receptionist's computer: "It is not about you. It is about the patients."

Werd.

Part 6: How can you get better than perfect?

I want to write this all down, because I want to remember this moment.

I want to remember this for a really long time.

In Wichita, the song Record Year was perfect. I think I wrote that every single note and every single word was perfect in a previous blog post.

Perfect! I mean, how can you get better than perfect?

It turns out that perfection is subjective, and there’s a lot of room open for interpretation.

I retract my previous blog post, and I’m going to issue a correction here. Record Year in Wichita was excellent.

Record Year in Saint Louis? It was probably the best moment of my life.

During the song, WHICH I LOVE, people in the pit area handed him a pile of records. Eric Church took the time to look at each record, and autograph it.

HE AUTOGRAPHED RECORDS DURING THE SONG RECORD YEAR. 

When he was signing them, he flipped over to the next record in the pile in his hands, and the camera zoomed in on it. It was Caught in the Act, which was recorded at Red Rocks.

The smirk on his face was priceless. That smirk. That smirk! I’m not sure which I like more, that smirk or that howl that he does.

Oh my God.

Anyway, he lingered on that record for a while.

The crowd went nuts.

While he was singing the records, the band kept time by playing a little melody. I can’t say what it was, but as I pointed out to my Mom, they probably didn’t know what they were playing, either.

The band was making it up as they went, until he finished signing autographs.

He paused at the front of the stage and looked around. The band stopped playing. All you could hear was the sound of 20,000 people going crazy.

Crazy, as in, oh my God, we can't believe we're actually witnessing this greatness in person.

And then he started singing. The band wasn't playing. He just belted out the words to Record Year.

Quarter notes and Hank's half time
Are poundin' on this heart of mine
Song to song, I pass my time
With these speakers on ten
Your good and gone keeps me up all night
Along with Songs In The Key Of Life
I'm either gonna get over you
Or I'm gonna blow out my ears
Yeah, you're out there now
Doin' God knows how, and I'm stuck here
Havin' a record year

I'm havin' a record year

A record year

He gave the audience exactly what we wanted. We wanted more Record Year, so he repeated the chorus for us.

You guys, that song was over. The fact that he kept singing it to us was a personal gift he gave to each fan in that building, all wrapped up in shiny cute gift wrap with a big, fat bow on top.

Signed: ERIC *&^$#&* CHURCH

The crowd was singing to him. Look at his face!

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY DOG. (I accidentally typed ‘dog’ instead of ‘dog’ but it’s funny, so I’m going to keep it).

The crowd was into Record Year. Actually, the crowd was into every single song that he sang.

It was something that I can honestly say I’ve never seen before.

After Record Year, the band stopped and EC stood on stage with a microphone in his hand. He said something like, “Saint Louis, I knew you had it in you.”

From that moment on, it was on. The concert changed after that. It was rowdy, it was loud. He gave the crowd energy, which gave us energy, and he fed off of that. He ate it up like it was Jack D in his Coke.

When the house lights came on, I made it a point to look around at the audience. 

There was an old guy, maybe in his 60s, sitting to the bottom and left of me. I've never seen a man his age dance like that. His lips moved and said every word to every song. 

There was a family with a boy below me and to the right of me. They were signing and dancing, too.

Everywhere I looked for every song, everyone was dancing, from the people with nosebleed seats to the people right in front of the stage. 

This is the difference between singers and performers.

Oh my God, EC. You are excellent at your job. You found your calling in life.

  

I’ve never seen a moment that amazing at a concert.

Oh my God, EC. You just upgraded that song from perfect to angelic. 

HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?

Bad ass.

Part 5: Well, that’s fine, but the Cardinals are to you what Eric Church is to me.

I don’t even know where to start. So, let’s start from the beginning. We got to the arena a couple of hours early. The Cardinals were playing the Cubs, and that stadium almost 50,000* people. Graduations were going on downtown, and the Scottrade Center holds almost 20,000 people.

Like I told my Mom, there are 70,000 people within a mile or two of each other.

We wanted to go early to get a parking spot.

We parked easily, then went and stood in line for a while. The guy beside us, decked out with a wicked sunburn alongside his daughter, told us that the Cards won that afternoon. (Cubs had won the night before.)

He gave us a breakdown: The Cubs are usually better. It’s nice to get a win when we can, he said.

His daughter said it wasn’t pretty, but that it was a good game.

There’s one thing you need to know about Saint Louis: They really, really like baseball. They're really serious about it, too. And if you inadvertently cut in line when you're buying tickets to the game, you will get your backside handed to you for that mistake.

As you absolutely should. (Don't ask me how I know that.)

The game started at 3 p.m., and we were standing in line for EC around 6 or 6:30 p.m.

I asked the guy and his daughter what would have happened if the game ran late. What if it lasted 18 innings? Which would they pick, Eric Church or the Cards?

His daughter, a college student, looked at me like I was the stupidest person on Planet Earth. 

Which would she pick? Her exact quote: “THE CARDINALS.”

Well, that’s fine, but the Cardinals are to you what Eric Church is to me. I did not say that to her. She had a badass tattoo on her leg, and she probably would have beat me up or something.

*Game attendance was 47,925 people. 

Beauty.