In a jar.

I think when most people look back on their childhood, they think of what went wrong. Their parents' divorce, being the unpopular kid at school, not getting enough hugs, whatever.

The sadness isn't there for me though. We played kickball in the front yard until the street lights came on, caught fireflies in our hands at night, ran around barefoot, made homemade ice cream on the back porch, raced our bikes to the bottom of our cul-de-sac (or "the court," as we called it) everyday.

I don't know why I forget all the bad - the divorce, the absent father, being one of the only white kids in an all-black elementary and middle school. I guess my family made up for it.

My Papa, who we spent most of our time with in the afternoon when my grandmother and mom were at work (he owned a construction business, so he took off when we needed him), made life magical. He - along with my mom and grandma - gave us so much love we couldn't help but be happy. I'm sure all the after school Happy Meals from Mickey D's helped too.

We didn't have everything we wanted. And we didn't do all the things we wanted. But damn if we weren't thankful for what we were able to do.

That new video - Fireflies by Owl City - makes me think about that time. When everything moved at a slower pace. When I spent my time daydreaming about how my toys would play with each other when i was away at school. When we'd race home to watch "Saved by the Bell," then all meet outside for a game of kickball.

I'm so thankful for the way my life has unfolded. And for all the fireflies that hugged me along the way.

A Room Full of People.

I've been watching Intervention for a couple of years now.

I've seen meth addicts run butt naked down the street, alcoholics sneak away from work to refuel at the liquor store, fathers passed out on the couch after a three-day coke binge while their babies play nearby. Even one girl who couldn't stop huffing Duster long enough to eat a meal with her mother.

I've seen it all - well most of it. All from the confines of my living room.

It's devastating. Sometimes funny, but largely devastating.

Families are literally destroyed by drugs everyday. People die. They go to jail. They sit in a room full of sisters and best friends and mothers and fathers that love them, and they laugh in their face. "I'm not going."

Usually, they do. Usually, they at least try. A lot of the times, they relapse and fail. They go back to drugs or alcohol, and they fail. But, you know, at least they try. And if they tried once, they'll probably try again.

But what about all those other people? The ones not in front of the camera. And the ones that just say no? What about the anorexic that cannot and will not admit she has a problem? What about the heroin addict that looks millions of people on the other end of the camera right in the eyes and says, "I'd rather be dead." What about them? What about their room full of people? What do they do?

I've lost people - some living and some dead - to drugs. Some who won't even admit they have a problem. Some who don't even know that I've given up on them.

It's devastating. Heartbreaking. Something I will never, ever get over.

There's a part of me that's still mad at Brooke for getting behind the wheel. A part of me that still can't forgive Zack for not asking for help. And there's a part of me that cannot and will not ever forgive ... him. Or her. I can't say it, but I know I mean it.

I will never forgive them, but I would sit in their room full of people any day of the week. And I will still love them like crazy even though they'll do the same things over again. That's the painful thing about the drugs, and the unforgettable thing about family.

Everyone does stupid shit at one point or another. It's whether you grow from it that counts. Whether you have that day where you wake up and say, "Enough." That's what really matters. That and how much love you give your room full of people back.

Up Your Dot Com.

Irony does not translate well on paper, a wise man once said.

I’m not quite sure who that wise man was, but I read that quote back when I was a journalism student. It resonated even then, even before I joined Myspace and Facebook. And even before I LinkedIn to the unforgiving cyber community.

You know, back before “paper” turned into walls and photo comments and status updates.

I don’t know if I’ve just been in a bitchy mood lately, or if I’ve just fallen victim to one too many Internet arguments. But irony has not been translating well for me. … Hell, it hasn’t been translating at all.

I swear, if one more person tries to tell me one of my photos is inappropriate or that I shouldn’t post so many of me in a bar, I’m going ape shit. I mean, seriously. I’ve literally left lunch with a person, only to return to my desk and find an e-mail in my inbox criticizing something I said or something I did. Something they didn’t have the courage to say when I was sitting right in front of them.

Grow some balls, asshole.

If I wanted to be philosophical, I’d probably ask what has made us as a society feel more comfortable clicking “Send” than picking up a phone. What has given us the courage to call someone out on their politically charged status updates (et al) but when confronted, just nod, smile and say, “Hmm-mmm, you’re right.”

That’s if I wanted to be philosophical. Right now though, I just want to bitch and maybe kick some ass.

I’ve just about had it with Facebook, Myspace, LinkedIn, Twitter, your blog, your mom and your face.

You can all take your Dot Coms, blogs, profiles, lists, bookmarks, private photo albums, status updates and videos and shove it up your asses for all I care. I don’t want you in my life.

That being said, if it’s all right with you, I’ll probably keep you on my Friends list. I’m a big fan of stalking.