Dallas does...tank top weather

Introducing...an amazing song written by the beautiful Haylie Schroeder based on a concept we discussed! I'm freaking out! It's soooo good.

Mmm, summer, come.

The warm air pushes through the trees
Oh, how they rustle, like my hand in the pocket of my jeans
I can't stand still knowing how you look at me
Knowing just the way you've got me feeling sixteen

But years have passed, and I like to think
Oh, I'm not this naive, won't let myself get caught up in these childish dreams
But sometimes growing old ain't quite the same as growing up
And at twenty-one, I'm just beginning to learn when to stay and when to run

So maybe I'm young and a little bit over my head over heels
But the sun is getting closer, and we're getting older
And the heat of the moment has tangled me up
But I mean it this time; enough is enough
I'd wear my heart on my sleeve
But darling, it's tank top weather

I've walked this path a thousand times
Oh, watching love grow out of control, causing helpless hearts to die
Weeds overtake the gardens, while the willows weep at lovers parting
I'm guilty of the charges, showing off my heart, unguarded

So, maybe I'm young and a little bit over my head over heels
But the sun is getting closer, and we're getting older
And the heat of the moment has tangled me up
But I mean it this time; enough is enough
I'd wear my heart on my sleeve
But darling, it's tank top weather

Summer come, and help me to fight, help me to hide
Summer come, and keep me alive, keep me alive
Summer, remind me to show my heart to no one
Summer, come. Summer, come

So, maybe I'm young and a little bit over my head over heels
But the sun is getting closer, and we're getting older
And the heat of the moment has tangled me up
But I mean it this time; enough is enough
I'd wear my heart on my sleeve

O, but darling, I'm young, and a little bit over my head over heels
But the sun is getting closer, and we're getting older
And the heat of the moment has tangled me up
But I mean it this time; enough is enough
I'd wear my heart on my sleeve
But darling, it's tank top weather

Dallas does...moronism.

A very famous television doctor once said, "Pick me. Choose me. Love me," as she stared pleadingly into the eyes of her gorgeous, but taken, Dr. McDreamy.
In just six words (granted, they formed 3 sentences) Meredith Grey was able to say exactly what we're all thinking the minute we realize we like someone enough for them to hurt us: Please don't break my heart.
If we're all looking for love, then why does one person always end up doing the pleading?
Moms across the world would say that it's because we all mature at different rates. The person you're meant to end up with is the person who will finally be on the same page as you.
Many of the world's women would scowl and proclaim that hearts get broken because of the proclivity of douchebaggery in the men of planet Earth.
And insulted men could counter with an idea I've heard more times than I wish to count: Women are just plain crazy.
So what's the answer? How does love become so one-sided?
Well my friends, I'll tell you my own best guess at the answer: It's because love makes us morons.
Morons who stop being able to rationalize in the realm of reality because we've caught the 6 o'clock train to LoveLand (pun intended). Morons who can't hear the same advice they've given to friends dozens of times because their ears are clogged with cotton candy and rainbows and those absurdly cartoonish cupids shooting heart arrows.
And as my favorite author J.D. Salinger says, "All morons hate it when you call them a moron."
We let ourselves be morons because we've already used the plot of every romantic comedy we've ever seen to plot a course where this runaway train of a relationship is going to get back on course in time for the happy ending.
And I my friends, am one hopeless case of moronism.
My guy friend likes to call my heart the "best and worst" part of who I am.
It's the best because I'll love you forever with a fervor usually lost with baby teeth.
And the worst because I'll love you forever with a fervor usually lost with baby teeth...even when anyone in their right mind would have given up hope.
Hope that you'll be wooed into being the version of you that my imagination has dreamed up.
I trick myself into the loving the version of people I know they could be if I just waited a little longer, wiped away a few more tears, crafted a few more perfect phrases.
And so I drive myself crazy with the wait, positive that this time, I'm actually going to be right.
Now, I have been right sometimes. Enough times to prove that maybe my own special kind of heart disease isn't so bad.
But I still wish that, for once, I could watch that episode of Grey's Anatomy and see myself in Derek Shepherd's shoes. See myself as the one making the decision, instead of the one doing the pleading.
Lucky for me, when God gave me my extra special enlarged heart, he also threw in a heaping spoonful of optimism.
You see, I don't picture myself successfully overcoming my moronic ways anytime soon, but I do believe that there comes a time when all of us will find a person that will match us side for side.
And it's that belief that helps me smile when I read the phrase, "Hearts are made to be broken."
Because, in the end, I have enough heart to go around. And enough optimism to put together the pieces when it does get broken.
And so my gentle readers, tonight I wish for you a life filled with the perfect moronism that leads to a whoppingly huge broken heart. And the faith that you'll need to pull yourself together to try again.

Love, Kels

Dallas does...catch me if you can.

The thing about birthdays is...they mark the perfect time to think about life. Where it's taken you and where you're headed.

Yes, even on this 21st birthday, with many more (liquid) things on my mind than life goals, I found myself returning again and again to the idea that over two decades of my life have already flown by, and I'm really just getting started.

My friends like to tease me about my need to overthink everything, saying that it's ridiculous to worry because, "In the end, you're Kelsey Dallas, and everything will be okay."

Everything will be okay.

This mantra's gotten quite the workout this year, guiding me through the deaths of two grandparents, tough situations amongst family and friends and continuous fears about what my rapidly approaching "adult life" has in store for me.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm finally starting to be convinced of its truth.

When I was 17 years old, I began the difficult task of choosing a college. Luckily for me, the University of Iowa plopped itself in my lap with a hefty scholarship offer, and the answer was too obvious to ignore.

And even that decision came with some heart-wrenching side effects, as I spent several of those 3-hour drives from Lincoln to Iowa City my freshman year drowning in homesickness.

But never once did I stop believing that I had done the right thing for me. Because somewhere in the mess that I like to call a "lovable personality," lies what I consider my strongest asset: vision.

I see myself doing something, becoming someone, succeeding somewhere, and I make it happen. I may sob with fear the night before I start each new adventure, but I never let myself think that I've done something wrong by choosing to take on a challenge.

That was true during the horrifying moment that my parents left me by the curb at my freshman dorm and still true as I lie here with tears in my eyes preparing to leave for my wild summer job.

Voicing how panicked I am about my upcoming summer, several people have reached out to me to let me know how positive they are that this job is right for me. That there's something amazing in the potential this summer holds to change my life.

And I have to agree with them. Staring down all of my fears, I am confident that there's many beautiful things on the horizon, no matter how uncertain it all seems right now.

Uncertainty: the evil twin sister of my beloved vision.

I make myself sick thinking of all that can go wrong between Point A and Point B.

But somehow, on this third day of my 21st year of life, I've discovered a little voice in my heart that's telling me that everything really is going to be okay.

...Though I'm not sure how I can trust the voice that's probably also responsible for my ridiculous (and unrelenting) belief in true romance.

Nevertheless, today I'm making a commitment to keep following that vision.

We can call it my birthday present to myself. In what will become the most pivotal year of my young life, I promise to keep being that person who doesn't settle for what's safe, and chases after the dreams that keep me awake at night.

Like everyone, all I really want is to be happy. And I think I've finally realized that what makes me happy is never holding still while all the best parts of life come to find me. I want to throw myself at them screaming "Pick me!"

And so hear I sit. Still teary-eyed and (thankfully) still at the very beginning of my 21st year.

I've already written so much about who I want to become this next year. Someone who has fun without having a list of consequences cycling threw her mind, someone who can fall in love with reckless abandon just because it feels so much better than trying to control every little detail.

But I guess all I really want to be is true to myself. True to the Kelsey who has gotten me this far. True to that little voice that's tugging me away from my comfort zone into lands unknown.

I don't want to...and I can't...let myself stand still.

Peace, love and growing pains,

Kels.

"And I'm not the girl that I intend to be. But I dare you darlin' just you wait and see. But this time not for you, but just for me."

Dallas does...the camp counselor crush.

"Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test and don't ask why.
It's not a question but a lesson learned in time."

Before you go assuming that I've employed this epic Green Day song as a lead-in to the inevitable birthday blog that will come this week, let me assure you that I'm using it to convey a very different sort of message.
You see, this Green Day song, besides being an amazing throwback to the days of music before the Ke$has and Gagas, holds a very, very special place in my heart due to a certain camp counselor named Sean.
Sean was the resident dreamboat during one of my weeks as an East Bay camper almost a decade ago and remains in my mind a perfect specimen of a crush that every young girl must have: the summer camp crush. He sat center stage on talent show night and belted this song, creating an image that remains burned in my brain to this day.
Blonde, tanned and tone, Sean was exactly the man my 12-year-old self wanted to spend the rest of her life with, but, alas, these things never do seem to work out, do they? Pesky counselor-camper regulations...just kidding. ;)
What makes me laugh every time I hear this song is that never once did my young self question the fact that with Sean I would find absolute happiness. It seemed so clear. He had a guitar, a great voice, and I would be the envy of every other girl in the cabin. What more was there to ask for?
Well, quite a bit, actually, but that younger version of myself couldn't concern herself with the little details. For her, it was enough to see his big blue eyes glance toward the general vicinity of my fifth row bench seat.
The 12-year-old me had little business deciding anything more than what I would wear each day (and even that's debatable). But decide she did and these choices stick with me even to this day, as evidenced by the slight blush that reddens my cheeks whenever this tune comes on a radio station.
So the real question is, do these decisions really become "lessons learned in time"? Will I ever stop asking myself "Why, oh why, did you do that?"
The answer to this great debate remains impossibly negative, as I continue to be someone who shrugs off the same advice she happily doles out to others.
If life lessons were graded on a 4.0-scale, my gpa would be woefully lower than the one next to my name on my University of Iowa report card.
I talk a big game in these blog posts, but the fact is, I've never really left behind that little girl on a wooden bench who believed that just thinking about something makes it true.
A friend told me this week that I treat love like a monkey treats a Rubik's cube- examining it from every angle, determined to understand it.
Aside from the slight disturbance that comes from any simile linking me and an ape, I winced at the idea that just like anyone simply holding a Rubik's cube is missing the point of spinning the different pieces, I'm missing the entire point of love by just sitting on a couch discussing it.
I'm perfectly happy counseling friends through their romantic dramas (and for some, it should be a paying gig) but when it comes to me, I'm painfully afraid of making the leap from initial thoughts of "Oh, gee, Sean sure is cute" to "Hey Sean, wanna share my bug spray at the lake this afternoon?"
If I'm spending all this time crafting the perfect answers, why do I never force myself to take the tests?
So for my class of one, my assignment this summer is to stop staying in with my books and movies, and get out for some field experience.
Because I think we're all getting a little sick of my rom-com references.
Maybe Green Day was really on to something when they said,
"It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right.
I hope you had the time of your life."
Love isn't something you chart on graph paper, it's something you live and learn from.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to unpredictability.
It's time I had the time of my life.

Peace, love and pocket watches,
Kels.

"It's a risk to love. What if it doesn't work out. Ah, but what if it does?"

Dallas does...all we ever wanted was everything.

Take note of this post's title for a moment.
Soak in the melodrama.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Now what does it call to mind?
For me, it's the title of a novel. A novel I didn't even read, but a novel whose title struck me so deeply that I repeat it as often as possible.
All we ever wanted was everything.
All I ever want is everything.
It means a lot to me. It describes that sensation that has overwhelmed me this entire second semester of my Junior year. A feeling that perfectly describes the way I see my future: It's a blank slate but I'm going crazy trying to fill it up with the perfect plans. I can be an astronaut, the president and, oh yes, a princess, too.
But right now what's echoing in my head as I read it is that unquenchable urge for a relationship that I've spoken about so many times before.
I've approached it from so many angles. The you're-your-own-soulmate angle. The right-guy-is-on-his-way perspective. I've played the devil's advocate who just calls for casual desire-chasing.
But all that I'm left with is the oppressive idea that I don't want anymore angles. I just want the right guy to show up!
And, if events of this past semester have anything to say about it, the right guy is still miles away, but I'm certainly not alone in my hunt.
I've been fielding late night phone calls, debating on the intrinsic merits of Ryan Gosling's character in Blue Valentine, and commiserating with best friends over the pain of loving a guy who will never love you back- all conversations that point to one thing and one thing only: even at this young age, we're all hunting for love.
But love doesn't want to be caught.
We pretend to find it in the wrong people, staying with them long after they've lost the ability to make us happy.
We drive ourselves crazy trying to be attractive, silly, flirty, sassy- ANYTHING to catch the attention of the room.
Even when it's in our grasps we do ridiculous things that chase it away. We become suspicious of it and go crazy with paranoia. We cry ourselves to sleep over lost chances and lost hope.
We resign ourselves to relationships that feel good...enough. Partners who are nice...enough. Who make us happy...enough.
And it all just makes me so sad.
Last weekend I was joking with one of my guy friends about how we could get married if we were both still single at a certain age. Instantly, he responded, "Don't be ridiculous. You'll be in love with someone great long before then." And it felt so easy to believe.
It still feels so easy to believe.
Somehow it has to be true that everybody who cares about love, wants it bad enough to wait for it, will find that right person.
There may be some bumps and stumbles and downright shoves along the way, but maybe if we all stop driving ourselves crazy with the waiting, we'd find out that there's joy in independence too...at this age, at least.
So my advice for today is to stop obsessing. To stop pretending like you have it all figured out and just let life take you by surprise sometimes.
To let stories unfold instead of drafting them in your mind ahead of time.
To know who to trust and who to share yourself with.
To believe in love always. And to believe that somewhere down the line your life's path will meet up with that one person that makes the wait worthwhile.

Thought:
"And I will love you forever, but forever's so far away."

Peace, love and sappy sappy sap,
Kels.

Dallas does...a grandma goodbye.

In what was to become one of my most memorable monologues to God, I prayed, begged and pleaded with the man upstairs to guarantee that my Grandma Jenkins would be at my wedding some day. And, maybe, if I promised to be a good little girl, he would even allow her to live to see her great-grandchildren.

It's funny that my smaller self sitting curled-up on the same living room floor that I write this post from was concerned about many of the same ideas that my blog posts are filled with: family, love and marriage. Three elements that are all tied-up with the painfully beautiful process of growing up.

Grandma died early this morning. And needless to say I have neither married nor had children. So the question becomes, am I mad at God? Mad that he didn't understand that at 20 I still pray for the same things I asked for that day so many years ago?

And the answer is, of course, no. If God answered all my prayers, I'd be the wife of the fourth-grade dreamboat, Nick, right about now instead of a successful college student with an exciting and rewarding life.

It's easy for me to understand that death is a natural process. Even easier to be at peace with the idea that Grandma can now rest instead of continuing to live with the debilitating symptoms of a powerful stroke.

But it's so hard for me to keep from placing the anger that's still there squarely on my own shoulders.

Obviously selflessness is never the top characteristic of a college student, but I am still sick thinking about how much more I could have done for my Grandma over these last few years.

Now, a lot of people reading this have never met Mrs. Evelyn Jenkins. Except, you might know more about her than you think.

She was like a classic mash-up of all the most gramtastic qualities that exist in the world.

She made the best chocolate chip cookies (in TWO varieties), read my favorite stories over and over again when I went to her house after school and couldn't end a conversation without saying "I love you" at least three times.

She also shook her head in dismay when my hair fell in my face, warned me more than once about the arthritis I would be sure to contract if I kept texting with such voracity and forwarded on more crazy emails that I'd care to count.

Once, a stool I left out as the steps to my imagined princess fortress on the couch caused her to trip and even as blood ran down from her face she was smiling and telling me that everything will be okay.

It's the fate of the world's grandmas: to always take care, and to never be taken care of enough.

And as I've sobbed to my mom, I wish I had a few more days to be a better granddaughter.

It seems that the people who love us best are the easiest to not love enough in return.

When you can do no wrong in their eyes, it's easy to not do enough right.

But as I sit here knowing that her death offered her peace after weeks of suffering, I understand that it would be unfair to demand that she wait until I finally have my fill of grandma love before she goes on to heaven.

Because I wouldn't ever have my fill of grandma love.

When mom and I talked about what saying goodbye to grandma would mean, she tried to explain that I can't allow myself to drown in this guilt. That grandma was so incredibly proud of me that there was nothing else I could have done to make her happier.

And I have to accept that. Because if I don't, it will tear me apart.

And I think the fact that I was always strong enough not to fall apart was what grandma liked about me most.

It was her unconditional love that helped me become the bright, bubbly person I am today. A person who overflows with love because of the surplus I've always had in my family life.

So as impossible as it may seem right now, I know everything will be okay. And I think that even that little girl who desperately pleaded for her Grandma to always be around knew that Grandmas aren't things we can hold on to forever.

We eventually have to say goodbye and work hard to become that Kelsey that Grandma saw every time she looked at me.

A Kelsey who deserved every bit of Grandma love that she got.

And so this week I have to let my grandma go, and yet hold on to the way she loved me unstoppably. Loved me without pumping the brakes.

She won't be at my wedding. And she won't meet my kids. But she'll still be there in the way I love the people in my life, loving without accounting for what a person may deserve, and just loving them for being who they are. Loving them for who they are going to be.

I love you so much, grandma.

Kels.

Dallas does...Hotness or Notness

Fresh off a weekend spent with boys who couldn't pass a curly blonde without releasing a collective sigh of satisfaction, it's pretty easy to begin yet another lover's diatribe. Now, I love these guys, but, let's face it, this eyeballing approach to seduction isn't exactly the story being told in fairy tales.
Though I still can't fully believe it, I return again and again to the idea that being hot matters a lot.
And, as I've laughingly discussed with friends several times, the hotness portion of the attractiveness equation isn't exactly an equal opportunity area. It's genetics, don't you see.
Some of us will just always look better in braided pigtails than leather rockerchick pants.
I honestly believe that personality wins in the end, but those of us selected for the 'cute' portion of the population sometimes want to be at the receiving end of one of those "dayummm girl" looks. (And I for one am not afraid to admit that, no matter how weakly feminine it makes me)
So what is one to do? Surely the answer is not in buying all new sex goddess clothing or working out like a maniac to achieve a stunningly slender figure.
No, I think, the real answer is in taking a cue from those boys and their wide-eyed awe and seeing that there's no shame in desire.
Uh oh. The 'd' word. Not something that the nice girls are usually throwing around.
Quite the hot button topic in my Sexual Ethics, desires are something that everyone has and nobody wants to talk about. Sure, we throw it out there in our Good Girls Crave Bad Boys moments, but how often do members of the female population happily stare down a member of the opposite sex without feeling an ounce of guilt in that section of the brain that stores all the morals from Disney princess movies?
Well, at least in my case, not that often.
And so, with the hysterics of some of my favorite guys in mind, I'm issuing a call to action for myself: take a walk on the sexual side.
And LET ME BE VERY CLEAR- This is not a creepy public announcement of a newfound dedication to promiscuity.
It's just a class- and experience-induced decision to stop being so uptight about romance. And to stop believing there's a formula that each relationship will follow.
To leave the blushing behind to blow kisses at hot motorcyclists.
I can't magically become "hotter," but I can certainly work to stop comparing myself to every other girl in the room. I can own what I have to offer, and know that I deserve to go after what I want.
I'm not saying that I'll suddenly drop the moral code that I'm quite happy to live within, but I am desperately working to express a new understanding that there's sexiness in the ability to have fun with life and to own your own sexuality.
To be your own you and watch heads start turning.
To throw out a couple "dayummm boyeeee"s
And to not feel like you have to answer to any preconceived notions you have about how guys see you.
All that really matters is how you see yourself.

[and let me repeat for one last time: this wasn't meant to be horrifying (momma), it was meant to be a bit of a written walk on the wild side- Hope you enjoyed!]

Just a sexy side note:
"You feel like paradise, and I need a vacation tonight"

Peace, love and possible public embarrassment,
Kels.