“I’m just being dramatic. It’s what I do.” -Lorelai Gilmore

Caroline:

Disclaimer: If you are here reading today, 1. Thank you 2. We promise our posts won’t always be novel- length ones such as this.

We have been tossing around the idea of a blog for a few years now. There was much encouragement from the masses to get this going and by “masses”, I mean our mother. So, here we are. The first thing we needed was a name for our blog, and we pride ourselves on our creativity, so that should have been a piece of cake. It was not. Finally, I suggested we ask some friends to describe us in one word, and I thought that might help spur on some ideas. You’re basically playing roulette when you ask someone to describe you in one word. Funny, creative, witty, charismatic were a few we received. Then a dear friend of mine (shoutout to Christina Wren) texted back and said, “You’re dramatic.” Then two seconds later she texted, “but in the best way.” BAM! Our blog title was born, and it was a beautiful birth. “But I midwifed it, and I midwifed the crap out of it.”-Schmidt (and also Kat)

I didn’t want our first post to be us telling about ourselves because there’s a strong chance anyone reading this first post already knows all they need to know about us. However, a fun story sharing how we are dramatic seemed right. Here it goes.

Mark and I got married in March of 2015. We moved to Little Rock, and I planned that I would teach for a year or two and then maybe we would have a baby. Well, February of 2016 told me my plans were going in a different direction. I remember it well. It was a Friday, and we had just had Valentine’s Day parties at school. I went home. We ordered pizza and were more than likely going to spend our night watching 20/20 and figuring out who murdered who because that’s how we roll. Instead, I found out I was pregnant, and the moment I saw “pregnant” pop up on the test, I immediately fell to the floor and cried for a solid hour. You might be thinking that was so sweet of me to be so happy about this beautiful gift God had given me. Wrong. I cried for an hour because I was so upset and was so scared to have this baby exit me. Also at this time, I had never been to the doctor too much and was scared to death to have to go so frequently. I didn’t like having my blood pressure taken, so I knew this would be zero fun. After my crying fit that made my husband question why he married me, I decided to forego the pizza loaded with chemicals and ate a pear instead. Then hopped online to buy an absurd amount of products free of toxic chemicals. Not dramatic at all.

One would think I should be more nervous about raising and caring for this new life that was about to enter my home. I was more afraid for how it was going to vacate my premises. I really didn’t want it to happen. I was hoping by the time this baby was ready that doctors would figure out a new way to get them out.

Once my body decided it could swell no more, it was time. It was a Monday in September. I started feeling funny that morning and then by lunchtime, I knew there was no turning back. After lunch, I continued to teach but made notes on my lesson plan book to time out contractions.

I was acting very much like Pam on the episode of The Office when she is in labor with CeCe. I was more than determined that this wasn’t going to happen though and could just ignore it. I was going to finish that lesson on abstract nouns-dang it! Finally, after the contractions just wouldn’t stop and after much encouragement from another teacher in my class and several teachers who popped their heads in, they made me leave. I remember leaving my classroom crying, of course. Then I remember the tears just kept on coming as I walked by the office, and the sweet ladies in there came out to cheer me on, and I just kept on crying like the emotional person I am. We all know how this ends. I lived to tell this tale, and I gave birth to a little girl who could very well be more dramatic than me.

Kat:

There are two things you should to know about me.

1. I hate endings.
I love starting a project, but I truly struggle seeing it through to the end. I blame it on boredom, but in reality, it is likely due to the fact that I don’t want the experience to end. December 31st is my dark day. 99% of the population views it as a new beginning. I only see it as an end. I’m a starter. Not a closer.

2. I am hopelessly devoted to Gilmore Girls.
When I was in high school, I was told that I slightly resembled Rory from the show, so I asked for the DVDs for my birthday and received the subsequent season every birthday and Christmas until I had them all. I watch an episode every single night as I fall asleep. If you describe an episode to me, I can tell you the season and the official episode title. I submit to you the following evidence to support my claim of a Stars Hollow addiction.

My brother in law made me a replica of the Luke’s Diner mug holder for my apartment.

I helped throw my niece, Claire (the one who couldn’t listen to her mother teach about abstract nouns a moment longer), a Gilmore Girls themed birthday party.

I have sat beneath Rory’s “study tree” on the Warner Brothers Lot.

I even left work early one day to meet Luke Danes (Scott Patterson).

Why am I telling you these things? Well, when Caroline suggested that we provide a “dramatic in the best way” story to shed some light on our decision for the blog title, I had the perfect example that intersected both of those facts about me.

In 2016, Netflix had a revival of Gilmore Girls called “A Year in the Life” which was a four episode series written by the show’s creator, Amy Sherman Palladino. Due to a conflict of interests, Amy did not write the last season, and it left devotees, such as myself, less than satisfied with the show’s conclusion. This was our redemption. Buckle up on Patti, friends.

So in basic white girl fashion, I got together with some of my closest friends the day after the revival was released and watched the first episode. We laughed. We cried. We ate Pop Tarts. We were reunited with our people. #TeamLogan

A few days later, I watched the next episode. Weeks later, I watched the third, feeling less and less like we were getting the conclusion that we all needed/wanted.

I let the last episode sit in my queue for MONTHS. As long as it was sitting there, the series wasn’t over. I still had hope. I could still imagine the ending I wanted. I couldn’t let it go. After friends berated me to watch it threatening to tell me the ending, I finally hunkered down in my apartment to watch. Am I dramatic yet?

I rarely sit on my bed unless I am going to sleep, but I knew this was a bed sitting moment. I put on sweatpants and a hoodie, and I started the episode. Almost immediately, I started crying. I cried the entire hour and forty-one minutes.

After that emotional purge, my soul needed comfort food. I went to Willy’s for a burrito because chips and salsa solve a lot of problems. I didn’t bother changing. I didn’t bother fixing my makeup. I didn’t bother fixing my hair. I walked into Willy’s in all my Gilmore mourning glory. The sweet boy who was making my burrito asked if I was okay. I responded, “I’m fine. I just had to say goodbye to some friends.” A true and valid statement in my heart of hearts. He, in turn, said, “Aw man. That’s tough. Why don’t you get a drink and a cookie on me?”

Is it dramatic to cry hysterically over fictional characters? Yes. Did it get me free dessert? Yes. So is it dramatic in the best way? Also, yes.

Read along every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a post of some sort.
A little bit funny. Rarely inspirational. Always dramatic.