I have the most exciting news of my writing career! One of my short stories will be published by the Magnolia Review! More to come about the story as well as a link to the publication.
     A million thank you's to my friend and family readers--Pam, my mom, John, Anna, Johnny, Darby, Avery, Lori, and Gayle--and everyone else between Norfolk Senior High and Miss Henre, UNO and Lisa Sandlin, and Antioch University and Gayle, Kerry, and Francesca. So much love to all of my peeps.

     This is totally a first world problem, but I've been struggling with my feelings about Miley Cyrus for over a year now. When she was Hannah Montana, I paid her no attention. Since she has left Disney, she's been taking me up and down on quite a roller coaster of love and dislike. I think she can really, really sing. I've seen her live, and she did a Bob Dylan cover that gave me goosebumps. However, she was also touching herself and riding on a giant hot dog. She's been very open about her support of free love, but then she is naked in her music videos at an age that is barely legal. I admire her free spirit, but hate that she makes a statement by saying the F word every other word and using her body to make her voice heard.
     Miley is in the news this week for posing naked for Paper Magazine. The article has nothing to do with the pictures. The article is about Miley's charity for homeless teens, Homeless Hippies. In the piece she talks about how it hit her while she was driving in her Porsche: how could she have so much and others so little? She's right. Her reasoning is enlightened and humble. I'm excited to see someone with influence actively speaking out and doing something to create change.
     Miley also talks about her fluid gender and how she doesn't identify with one sex nor is she attracted to only one sex. She says, she's down with any adult who is down to love her and as long as you aren't hurting anyone, your choices are your choice. Her last statement about choices--how many times have I said that myself? I whole heartedly support Miley in her quest to create love about love rather than gender or sexual orientation. I'm down with that.
     However, why all the naked pictures? Miley has a great body. I support her showing it off, but let's be honest, she's using her body to sell the article, to sell the product--both herself and the charity. Does she think no one would read about her if she didn't sensationalize everything? Will there ever be a day where a woman can be smart and talented and speak out about her causes and people will listen because she is smart and talented rather than because her boobs are showing? I realize that Miley doesn't identify with one gender, but this is a hard loss for feminism.

      In the wild and exciting life of Yadi the Dog, he ran his first half marathon a couple of weekends ago. It was muddy. Our shoes and paws sank into the ground passed the ankle. We trudged through.
      The first four miles were rough on Yadidog. He's never had diarreah on a run before, so of course, race day was the day it decided to come. The poo may have been brought on by nerves from running his first race, but other than that, he showed no fear, no mercy.
       Yadi would pull passed the dog ahead of him, touch noses with it and pass the dog like, see ya sucka! He'd then set his sights on the next dog competing with him for first place.
       This would have been a fine way to run the race if not for the diarrhea. We'd sprint to get in front of all the other dogs, then have to stop for poo, while pooing all the other dogs would pass us, then we had to repeat the process. It was exhausting.
       Finally, after about mile four, Yadi had rid his body of nerves and his bowels of substance, and we were able to romp around Chalco Hills like normal runners.

          When I was young, I used to worry all the time that as my cousins and I grew up and got old and started to have our own families that my extended family would drift apart. My whole life, when speaking of my family, I'm not talking about my brother and parents. I'm talking about me and the two dozen other people that make up my life. My cousins were my first, and still are, best friends. If ever my mom can't make a race or an event, I know one of my aunts will stand in. Used to build up a lot of fear that I would lose them as we slowly start to change our lives.
          I've had the same anxiety about change and drifting away from the people I love the most in every big stage of my life--I was afraid of losing my best neighborhood friends when we went to Middle School, of losing my new Middle School friends when I went to High School, of losing High School friends when going to college, of losing college friends after graduation.
          These last couple of years since I've graduated from college have seen so many changes in my families and friend circles--new babies, engagements, new jobs, people moving, sickness, breakups. And nothing has fallen apart. Two weeks ago, I got to go out to dinner with one of my best friends I've known since High School, went on a party bus for my cousin with half of my cousins, boyfriend and soon-to-be cousin in law, went out for breakfast with my best friend from college who lives 7 hours away, then played a soccer game with family I've known since birth, a friend I've had since grade school, and all kinds of new people I've just met. That week kind of made me realize that maybe I should quit worrying so much about losing what I have and start enjoying what I have every moment. To quit looking at change as a threat of friends leaving and look at it as an opportunity for friends added. Cheers to all the wonderful changes life can bring to you and everyone you love. I hope you gain many friends and lose few.
         

There are a lot of big things happening in American news this week that deal with equality. My Facebook feed is blowing up with people posting on different sides of issues in Baltimore and with the Supreme Court about to make a decision about marriage equality, but I’m happy that people are using their voices.

Someone that I really care about and admire let me down this week when he didn’t use his voice. He’s been talking often about marriage equality and his support of it. However, when someone who is against marriage equality spoke with him about the issue, he didn’t say anything. He remained silent and let the other person go on without challenge. My friend then came to me to complain about it. When I asked why he didn’t voice his opinion, he said it wasn’t his battle. Him saying this broke my heart.

My friend is a white, heterosexual, Christian male. He is the majority and the historical lead of this country. But he’s a human being just like every other person on this earth. How is it that he came to be born into this status of power? Luck. Why is he entitled to marry whom he loves? Chance—of his genes matching up and our society being in favor of his sexual orientation.

So I asked him, what if the shoe were on the other foot? What if heterosexuality wasn’t the norm and your gay friend told you, Oh, I totally think you should be able to marry who you want, but I won’t tell anyone I think that. What if it were white men being beaten and shot by officers of the law? Would you let others call all of them gang members and assume they deserved it? What if you had moved here for a better life and yet people treated you like a second class citizen or assumed you invaded the country illegally? (Up for debate on this one, I know, as we white people did invade without laws). What if you were making 30% less than women doing the same work as you? What if Christians were not the majority and extremists created violence in the name of your god? (I know this has already happened in Christianity’s history, but again bear with me). Would you let yourself be called a terrorist?

The fight for equality is not one person or one “group’s” fight. It’s for all of us. The definition of humanity is all of humankind as well as the act of being humane, kind, and benevolent. Humanity is not heterosexual, white, Christian men. It is all of us, here together. Being humane is showing kindness and compassion to all.

Being brave is hard. But think of how good and victorious you feel when you stand up for what is right. Humanity, the act of being benevolent, of being part of the human race means being in this life for all of humanity. Let your voice be heard. Be human. Be here for other humans. Be brave. Don’t be silent.

Here's a blip from the novel I'm editing. I just added the scene that starts chapter 10 last night while I was revising so I thought I'd share.            

            “So have you decided if you’re going to homecoming or not?” Cooper asks on Monday in Physics while we wind the rubber band on our slingshot.

            “Why’s everyone so worried about homecoming?” I ask as the rubber band snaps off the handle and back at my face.

            “Whoa, careful now.” Cooper grabs my hand that is holding the slingshot, and slides his other arm through and between both of my hands so that he can reach the other side and strap the rubber band back on. He’s standing so close. The whole room feels like the outside right before a thunderstorm. He smells like that dark quiet sky. I can feel the pressure of the heavy clouds ready to burst with rain. “There,” he says, securing the band. He takes his hands away from mine, but he doesn’t back away.  “I’m sorry. You’re still off the homecoming topic. That’s cool. What are you doing this weekend.”

            It’s Monday. I barely know how to get through today let alone make it to the weekend. “I don’t know. We have that meet on Friday. Watch the Husker game Saturday.”

            “Oh, sweet! Football’s a big deal here, huh?”

            I set the slingshot down on our worktable and turn to face him rather than stand by his side. “A big deal? This is Nebraska. Husker football is the only deal. We have no pro sports, we have a legacy of a football program, and nothing else but cornfields and cows. The population in Memorial Stadium on game day is equivalent to what would be the third largest city in Nebraska. We’ve sold out every game since 1962. People live and die by Nebraska football.” My hands are on my hips, and I realize I sound like a typical Nebraska person trying to defend the thing we’re most proud of in our state. Most people just think we ride cows to school or something, which is not true either.

            “I didn’t mean to ask it as a question,” he says, laughing at me. He leans a little bit closer to me so that I really have to look into his clear blue eyes. “I happen to love football and have no emotional attachment to a college team. You could say I’m in the market to become a fan.”

He’s so close to me. Why is he so close to me? Just when I think my head is going to explode he steps away. “So do you have plans to watch the game with anyone?” he asks slowly, picking up the slingshot and twirling it in his hands and not looking at me.

Holy shit. Is he asking to watch the football game with me? Like does he want me to ask him to watch it with me? Or does he think I have a ton of friends to watch it with? I was going to watch with Dad and Bryce. Oh, God. He can’t watch it with just my dad, brother and me. What would he think? That I am a total loser. He probably already thinks that. I’m overreacting. He doesn’t want to watch it with me. “I, well, no. Well, yeah, my dad and Bryce, I mean. I guess.”

“Oh, family time. Cool.” He nods, still looking down at the slingshot, his bangs flopping into his face so I can’t see his expression.

What does that mean?

“Guess I’ll have to get you to teach me the ways of the ‘Skers another time.” He looks up, a huge grin on his face, and makes like he’s going to snap my nose with the slingshot. “Time to test this baby out.”

The rest of class is spent testing our slingshots. Class the rest of the week is spent in lecture. In practice we run and there is no mention of the game. Or homecoming.

Until Friday. We have an away meet after school. On the bus ride home, Cooper plops down in the seat next to me before Lydia can. He has his phone out and a book entitled History of Tradition: Nebraska Cornhusker Football and another called Football for Dummies.

“OK,” Cooper says. “Since you won’t watch the game with me, I thought we could go over a few things so that I’m ready when you do watch a game with me.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “First of all, Football for Dummies? Aren’t you from Washington? You’re, like, American, how can you not know football. Your home state is right next to Oregon.” I frown. “And you said you loved football! You just told me that!”

“I do love football. The idea of it, at least. I love the idea of it here. Here it’s something that unites the whole state. Something everyone cares about and talks about, and I want to be part of that. But I don’t know the rules. That’s where you and these come in.” He waves the books and his phone in my face.

I nod. “OK, well, you’re going to get the history of what it means from that book.” I point to the Nebraska one. “The rest of the stuff? Grab a notebook. We’ll start there.”

I draw out a simple offensive scheme with eleven Xs to represent eleven players. I point to the Center. “This is the Center. Usually a stockier guy so the Quarterback can see over him. He starts every play with the snap of the ball. Next to him are your Offensive Guards. Big dudes. Next to them are the Offensive Tackles. More big guys, but they’re the most athletic players on the O Line because they protect the QB’s ‘blind side.’ So, all these guys make up the Offensive Line and are in charge of protecting the Quarterback from the Defensive Line.” We go on like this for every position on both sides of the ball. Cooper nods. He doesn’t ask questions. I feel like this is super elementary, but you have to know the actors to know how they influence the story, right?

When we get to the rules, I’m not a good teacher.

“So this guy just shifts a little and he gets a false start?”

“Yes.”

“But why? Like he could itch his nose and get called. But the defensive player could hop over the line and hop back and not get called if the play hasn’t started yet. But the defensive player would get call for off-sides, not false start, even though they seem like the same thing?”

“Yes,” I say slowly, frowning. “I don’t know why. I’m sorry, I didn’t make the rules. I think to get the rules we have to watch a game.”

“Alright then.” Cooper sets the books aside. “I thought you’d never ask. When works for you?”

And, thus, tomorrow, Cooper is meeting Dad, Bryce, and me at Bailey’s to watch the Husker game. God help me.

Chapter 10: In Which I Try on Far too Many Frilly Dresses But Talk Football Like a Dude

            Like I said before, football is The Only Thing going on in Nebraska, especially in a small town like Landview. I guess I understand why Cooper wants to care about it. This is our third game of the season. He’s probably gotten the memo that if he wants to be able to participate in conversation on Fridays before the Saturdays games and on Mondays after the games, he got to watch.

            The first couple of games of the season should be kind of boring game-wise. The hype of the start of football season is still there, but the University pays smaller schools ungodly amounts of money to have the team come here and get pummeled by Nebraska. It’s supposed to be more like practice games before Conference play starts. However, our quarterback throws a ball like a kindergartener (I say this because even I could throw a perfect spiral when I by the time I was in fifth grade—every Nebraska kid has a football unite every year in PE. I’m pretty dang positive all of them do, at least) and our coach is a hot head. So, it’s kind of a crap-shoot what this year will bring. We have the money and the history to recruit big time, but, and I don’t blame anyone for feeling this way, who wants to go to Nebraska when you could go somewhere warmer to play an outdoor sport? We won the first two games of the season with only a few cringe-worthy moments.

            Nebraska football games are of the few things that I can count on my dad and Bryce not to be late for. We get to Bailey’s at 10:30 in the morning to pick a prime watching spot before the game starts at 11:00. I keep an eye on the door, watching for Cooper.

            “So this guy who’s coming to meet us. Is he a friend or more than a friend?” Bryce asks. Bryce. Not my dad, my little brother tries to get the scoop on Cooper.

            “A friend. He’s on the cross country team. He’s new here. You texted him that one time.” I adjust the sleeve of my favorite Herbie Husker t-shirt. It’s our old mascot, the old Herbie with blonde hair and a beer belly, not the new dark haired and slim Herbie. Even though old Herbie might play into a stigma about fat farmers, that I don’t like at all, I like him better than the new Herbie. I don’t know why. I also hate Lil’ Red. He totally creeps me out.

            “Just a friend, huh? Why are you chewing your nails then?” Bryce continues.

            Ugh. I take my hand away from my mouth. “He’s a friend. Trust me.”

            “Your knees are a little bouncy for someone not nervous about meeting a friend,” says Dad, getting in on the let’s-get-a-rise-out-of-Jaisa action.

            “I’m anxious for the game,” I say.

            The waitress comes and saves me, asking what we’d like to drink. Water with lemon around the table.

            Cooper arrives at 10:55. Early, but not an obsessed person like us. He’s wearing a charcoal grey Nebraska t-shirt with red lettering and dark jeans. My dad and Bryce both stand to introduce themselves to Cooper and shake his hand. Cooper sits between me and Bryce across the table from my dad. I lay out the drawings I’d made on the bus last night. Our waters have been delivered to the table. Go time.

            Nebraska wins the coin toss and we elect to kick. The kick is high and long, from the looks of the flags around Memorial Stadium, there’s no wind in Lincoln. A perfect day for football.

My dad tells Cooper about what Lincoln is like on game day as the TV station pans out of the stadium to people’s tailgates. “There’s just a sea of red. As far as you can see. People are grilling at eight in the morning. People set up yard games and some even have caterers and bands at their tailgate spots.”

“No way?”

“Yes,” I say. “And you can just be walking down the street and random people will yell at you to come to their tailgate.”

“Or you can just sneak cookies off of people’s tables as you walk by,” Bryce adds.

The Nebraska defense goes three and out forcing the other team to kick. “Nice defense by the Blackshirts, right?” Cooper asks.

“Well, yes.” I nod. “Kind of. Did you read about the Blackshirts in the history book?”

“Yeah, if Nebraska defensive players play well, they get a black shirt,” Cooper says.

My dad rubs his beard and doesn’t take his eyes from the screen as he says, “We’re hoping the coach waits until the kids have actually earned them this year. Last year, breaking tradition, he gave them out after summer camp. We were new to the conference; and in one of our first games, we let a team score 63 points on us. 63 points. That’s like a basketball score.”

“It was not a good day at the Jamison household,” I muttered, remembering how Dad left Bryce and Mikah at the bar to finish watching the game by themselves in an attempt to bring new mojo to the team. And probably, also because he couldn’t stand to watch any longer.

The Husker quarterback throws an interception after marching the team steadily down field and getting into field goal range. The entire bar moans.

My dad tells Cooper about Nebraska’s (and his) glory days, about winning the National Championship in 1994, 95, and 97. My dad had been a senior in college at Lincoln in 1994. He uses his hands while he describes the plays to Cooper. When he tells Cooper the story of Brooke Barringer taking over the starting quarterback position after Tommy Frazier’s injury, there might be tears in his eyes. Cooper nods politely. He probably read about this in his Husker History book already.

We finally score a touchdown and the crowd on the screen releases thousands of red balloons into the sky as is the tradition for the first NU points scored.

Bryce and I break down plays and penalties for Cooper. My dad paces and I eat too many nachos when we throw another interception.

“Really? Come on. It’s not that bad,” Cooper says. “We’re up 14-0.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s that bad. We’re playing a nobody team. We should be killing them,” I say, while loading another cheesy, sour creamy nacho.

“She’s right,” Bryce says. “Killing them. No contest. It should be like you running against me.”

Halftime comes and goes and the Huskers come out with a statement running the kick off all the way back for a touchdown. Bryce and I jump up and down. We high five all the people at all the tables around us.

My dad comes back and sits down. “I thought we were going to have to make you leave,” he says to Cooper. “You might not be bad luck, though.” He takes a drink of his water while Cooper looks at me for an explanation.

“For real though. If we’d lost this game, we would’ve said you gave us bad mojo,” I tell Cooper, shrugging. He looks between me and my dad like we are both crazy, then I giggle.

“Huh, well, I see how welcoming you guys are.” He looks away from me to the TV like he’s too cool to talk to me. Then he yells, “Wooo! Pick six! Interception!” He stands and high fives all the tables around us. Cooper and Bryce chest bump.

I jump up too. “You know the rules!”

“I know the rules! And I care that we scored!” Cooper throws his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to close to him as we jump in celebration.

Nebraska ends up winning 42-0. We’re 3-0. Decent start to the season. Cooper shakes my dad and Bryce’s hands after walking out of the restaurant with us.

“Thanks for letting me hang on family day. Thanks for not treating me like a noob,” he tells them.

“Hey, man. Thanks for not being bad luck,” Bryce says. “You can probably come next time too.” When he says that, Bryce winks at me, huge, completely obvious to Cooper. Great. Now Cooper probably thinks I want him to come all the time. Do I want him to come hang out every weekend?

Cooper turns to me and his sparkly, dumb, smiley, rainbows, and butterfly eyes twinkle at me and give me goosebumps. I smile at him and forget to be annoyed with Bryce. “Think you’ve got it down?” I ask.

“Thanks to my good teacher,” Cooper says, taking a step closer to me.

“Are you a Husker fan?” I ask.

“I’m a fan of anything that makes you smile and yell and jump up and down like that. I like a little fire in my Succubus.” He laughs and nudges me with his elbow.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to that. I think it was a joke. But he may have been flirting with me? I shrug and say, “Well, good. I guess. I couldn’t be partners with anyone who wasn’t a football fan anyway.”

“Oh, Miss Jamison. So cool.” He stops laughing, but still smiles when he thanks me for inviting him. He hugs me goodbye while Dad and Bryce pretend to not be waiting for me in the car. “I’ll see you on Monday,” Cooper says as he walks away.

When I get in the car Dad and Bryce sound like a couple of monkeys wooo-ing and ow-ow-ing and making kissing noises.

“I didn’t kiss him,” I mumble. Not that I ever want to kiss anyone in front of my dad, but I think, maybe, I kind of wish Cooper had kissed me.

     You know the funniest thing about friends? Sometimes they start out being the biggest losewad, sack of crap you’ve ever met before you realize you’re destined to be buddies. The case to prove my point? There’s a loud, smelly man who brings his dog, who humps everything, to the dog park on Wednesdays when Yadi and I go. This man and I are not best friends, although, he did give me a piece of cinnamon old people candy today. I ate it. No shame.

     No, not human friendship, this is another story about dogs. Dexter, the man’s dog, plays rough. I already said he’s a humper. He’s also a barker, a biter, a body slammer, and he peed on my backpack once. Then Yadi tried to pee on it too to reclaim it as ours. Chivalric, but not what I wanted.

     Any way so Dexter has been a project for LSM (Loud Smelly Man). LSM has scolded and brought water bottles to spray humping Dexter. Dexter is fairly respectable now. The first day we came, though, Dexter humped Yadi. Yadi just sat there and looked at me for help. LSM roared at Dexter and got him off. The second time we went, Dexter humped Yadi again, but I yelled to Yadi to run away and he did. The third time, Yadi got in Dexter’s face, I assume yelling, “No humping me!” Now they roughhouse and play all day. Dexter is Yadi’s best dog park friend.

     This foes to friends things happens to humans too, I know, minus the humping, I would think. My point, I guess, is don’t judge a person by first meeting. Give a girl three tries before deciding she is a bitch. Maybe her grandma died that week, and she’s not her normal self. Give a dude three chances before deciding he’s bad at his job and smells like cheese. Maybe the first time you meet him is his first day at work and his mom made him cheesy hash browns for breakfast. We all have days where we are not at our best (or 6 months-12 months if you are a rescue dog). It’s better to remind yourself of this when meeting someone new than lose out on a potential friend because you were too quick to judge, right?