Po. Bev. The place of all places.

I read a story at Po. Bev. this past Saturday.

What is Po. Bev you ask? Let me explain to you! It's short for Poetry and a Beverage. You go and there is a giant gathering of people like you, unlike you, afraid of you, and more welcoming then words can even say. You all wait in line, get a free mug (mine was yellow) and fill it with hot chocolate,  then you listen to people bare their soul. Or sing a song. Or just do anything really.

It is a fantastic place to be.

It's like an open-mic slash talent show thingy. Anyways. I really wanted to read a story I wrote at the last one they had. It was back in November at some point. BUT. My story was far too long, and I was upset.

I vowed from that day on that I would get up and actually read at the next one.
So I did just that.
And I have amazing friends that came and supported me and I'd be nowhere in my life without these people.

I wrote back on my friend Hannah's blog, way back in August, so I just took that story, edited it, and preformed it in front of a live-studio-audience. A laugh track and all! (but not really, 'cept I think people still laughed, and they weren't even forced to!)

So I will treat you all to the story I presented.
Also remember how I suck at posting? Ya I remember that too. So much for those new shoes eh? EH?

I talked to the same people for 11 straight years. That's over a decade. A decade of saying the same stories over and over again to the same people. Sometimes there were new people, but they were the weird kids. The kids that weren’t there when the rest of us were all growing up together. I started as young Waterford, then I grew into puberty Waterford and then finally I hit what-am-I-doing-with-my-life Waterford. But young Waterford was the best. My first friend there came about with a conversation like this:

"You dress like a boy? I do too!"

That was Sydney. We were best friends since day one. And we stayed best friends right up until the time that she stopped dressing like a boy and I didn’t. We didn't stop being BFF's because she stopped dressing like a boy, I promise that wasn't the reason. I think it dealt mainly with the fact that instead of talking about which dinosaur we were going to act like next, or instead of staying up past our bedtimes just to say “ya last night we stayed up till 11:30, we’re pretty rebellious”, the conversation shifted to something much more time consuming. Boys. God's gift to the world. Funny enough, we didn't acknowledge God's gift as God’s gift until we were about 12 years old. When the breasts came. Oh boobs. They changed the whole game.

But the point is mainly this: The same people have been with me through every step of my life thus far. Elliot was the first person I met at Waterford. And Elliot was the last person I hugged the day I left for college. He was there every day. But Elliot's not here anymore? That can't be right.

I was safe. I was so safe. And I always felt safe. Ya know, the type of safe you feel when you get into your bed after a long day. Ya. That. I had authority. I knew where I stood. I knew my friends. And I knew who I was....well I knew who high school Jeannie was.

But then BANG POW ZOOM! Out of no where time is gone and college is here and I'm sleeping in a bed that doesn't offer the same safety my last one offered and I can't go into my mama's room and talk to her and I can't howl at the moon with my dog anymore and I don't know anyone and then all the sudden I'm terrified that high school might be as good as it gets. 

So I felt sorry for myself when I first moved away. I was scared and I pitied myself for it. I put on a brave face, tried to make people laugh, and hid it well enough. I cried, sure, who doesn't when change happens. Not full out bawling with the snot trail and everything, but the subtle "oh no I just yawned" crying. 

But then I realized. What's the point? I'm growing up and that's okay. We can't know what's going to happen or where we're going and the hard-to-grasp knowledge is that it's okay! In fact. It's necessary. 

I'm figuring it out. Slowly, but I really think I am. I'm putting myself out there. I don’t wanna be safe anymore. I want to experience moments unlike any I’ve had in the past 11 years. I’m gonna be me. Who cares what people say, because I'm gonna be me. I'm college Jeannie. 

Besides. New people means I can start telling all my stories again, and it is about damn time.