"So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
For self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions"
this is one of my favorite songs ever written. in a few days time, i will undoubtedly use a familiar lyric to represent my moment on facebook just before the clock strikes midnight. because... because it's a nasty habit. but this song always makes me reflective on my life, and i feel like it sums up an all too familiar feeling. whenever i hear it, i'm instantly moved to think about the changes in my life i want to make.
i think of the dawning of a new year to be melodramatic, why do we use a fabricated calendar to dictate when we're supposed to make changes.
that's not how i work. i believe when a person is inspired to change, and change in a fundamental way, it won't be because a certain day of the year will create said change.
if you want to change something, why wait until a new year begins? grab the moment, do it now.
one of my role models is my former boss, Deborah Adams. she instilled by example this thought process of what do you want? now how do you make it happen? then do it, take the steps.
i like to think of life as that easy. that black and white. if you want something, make a plan. discipline yourself. don't settle. take control of yourself. if you do these things, you'll have control over your life.
the changes i want to make for my future have nothing to do with a calendar. they have to do with the moment i make a decision to take control of whatever it is and taking the necessary steps to make it happen.
the changes i want to make are too complicated to be posted here. but the steps i take in order to make them happen are simple. a slow growth, a deliberate growth, that is simple.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
number 30: christmas
it's official, christmas is over. presents opened, fridge stocked full of leftovers, most relatives have fled.
i can already tell this post is going to be a trite, cliche bit of rambles. i have no idea where i'm going with it.
growing up, the holidays meant something. everyone would meet up at my dad's parent's house and we'd hang out all day. playing card games, eating (please note no one drank... how i came from this gene pool is sort of beyond me), opening gifts, and napping whenever the baggy brown velvet couch became available. typical middle class subdued happiness.
as i've gotten older, that's stopped. my grandparents spend their winters in the desert, and no one bothers to come together. except my uncle, who has become my favorite part of the holidays. i interviewed him a while ago for a paper on Vietnam (he's a Vet), and he just fascinates me. he's also impossible to shop for since he only purchases goods made in the US. you're probably thinking he's a toby keith fan who wears denim cut offs and owns a shotgun. he's not. he's just a man with principles, and men like that are rare and inspire me to stand for something.
but back to my point. the holidays aren't the same big, happy time they used to be. i no longer follow my grandpa around while he holds his video camera (which was the size of a large mailbox) trying to get him to record me for the 34th time singing Reba McEntire.
yeah, i used to want to be a country singer. as if any of you reading needed any more ammunition to make fun of me with.
while they're not what they used to be, i appreciate them for what they are and what i know they someday will be.
at the moment, they're an excuse to veg-the-eff-out. i'm not one of those people who gets dressed up for christmas or christmas eve. leggings, my red SU shirt, an ugly oversized sweatshirt, greasy hair, and no make up. there are photos from the past three years of me in that exact uniform while opening gifts. i like the idea of being low key for christmas, considering that basically every other holiday i celebrate involves a lot of effort(read: a lot of make up and booze). christmas, it's back to basics. naps are encouraged. and i have a thing for naps.
i also like to think about how i want christmas to look like in years to come. i really have no idea where i'll be a year from now. i could still be single or i could have a man. i've spent one holiday with a serious boyfriend, and he gave me luggage. yes, not only did he give me emotional baggage but literal as well. i've learned from single and attached holidays which i prefer. baggage aside, i like sharing the holidays with someone i'm in over my head in love with. so i hope, as much as i HATE to admit this, that next christmas i start to make new holiday traditions with a male companion. but i hope this hypothetical manfriend will be okay with my christmas uniform, that part of today's christmas is as mandatory as not getting me luggage for a holiday ever again.
i can already tell this post is going to be a trite, cliche bit of rambles. i have no idea where i'm going with it.
growing up, the holidays meant something. everyone would meet up at my dad's parent's house and we'd hang out all day. playing card games, eating (please note no one drank... how i came from this gene pool is sort of beyond me), opening gifts, and napping whenever the baggy brown velvet couch became available. typical middle class subdued happiness.
as i've gotten older, that's stopped. my grandparents spend their winters in the desert, and no one bothers to come together. except my uncle, who has become my favorite part of the holidays. i interviewed him a while ago for a paper on Vietnam (he's a Vet), and he just fascinates me. he's also impossible to shop for since he only purchases goods made in the US. you're probably thinking he's a toby keith fan who wears denim cut offs and owns a shotgun. he's not. he's just a man with principles, and men like that are rare and inspire me to stand for something.
but back to my point. the holidays aren't the same big, happy time they used to be. i no longer follow my grandpa around while he holds his video camera (which was the size of a large mailbox) trying to get him to record me for the 34th time singing Reba McEntire.
yeah, i used to want to be a country singer. as if any of you reading needed any more ammunition to make fun of me with.
while they're not what they used to be, i appreciate them for what they are and what i know they someday will be.
at the moment, they're an excuse to veg-the-eff-out. i'm not one of those people who gets dressed up for christmas or christmas eve. leggings, my red SU shirt, an ugly oversized sweatshirt, greasy hair, and no make up. there are photos from the past three years of me in that exact uniform while opening gifts. i like the idea of being low key for christmas, considering that basically every other holiday i celebrate involves a lot of effort(read: a lot of make up and booze). christmas, it's back to basics. naps are encouraged. and i have a thing for naps.
i also like to think about how i want christmas to look like in years to come. i really have no idea where i'll be a year from now. i could still be single or i could have a man. i've spent one holiday with a serious boyfriend, and he gave me luggage. yes, not only did he give me emotional baggage but literal as well. i've learned from single and attached holidays which i prefer. baggage aside, i like sharing the holidays with someone i'm in over my head in love with. so i hope, as much as i HATE to admit this, that next christmas i start to make new holiday traditions with a male companion. but i hope this hypothetical manfriend will be okay with my christmas uniform, that part of today's christmas is as mandatory as not getting me luggage for a holiday ever again.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
number twenty nine: camel blues
There’s something comforting about the smell of cigarette smoke on flannel.
Usually, the smell of my habit on my clothes disgusts me. It makes me feel dirty and grungy, but not in the hip Seattle way. I’m self-conscious of the way my hair and hands smell and mouth tastes after even a single drag. I can’t get to my bathroom fast enough to wash my hands and convince myself that a spritz of perfume covers the lingering scent. I know it’s not enough, and I know that while living at home my cover-up was less than successful with my parents.
They knew I’d picked up the habit, sneaking drags while they were asleep, hiding the butts in a hallowed out bit of tree in the front yard. They hate my habit, as do most of my other friends. Some have embraced it and have stopped nagging me, some have even picked up the nasty habit the same way I did. I hate myself for that, because there’s a chance they won’t ever be able to quit. I know I’ll quit. I tell people all the time I’m trying to. At first they believed me, encouraged me, were disappointed when they caught me outside fumbling with a lighter. These days, there’s none of that. They know that I’m not ready to give up my longest and arguably healthiest relationship.
I’ve quit once, for a man I pegged with forever. When forever ended, my camels were there to dry my tears.
months back, I gave my lungs a break. I ended up pressed against a doorway with a man, and his leather jacket smelled like my habit. And it was intoxicating, so much more appealing than the bottle of Light Blue I bought forever for Christmas. With his cigarette still lit in one hand and his other tangled in my herbal-essences-drenched hair, the smell of stale smoke was perfect. the kiss lasted a moment, as did my habit's pause.
The faint reminisces of last night’s pack is lingering on the flannel I’m draped in. and there’s something comforting there. It smells like home: Familiar, constant. A home that I know I will happily someday leave.
Usually, the smell of my habit on my clothes disgusts me. It makes me feel dirty and grungy, but not in the hip Seattle way. I’m self-conscious of the way my hair and hands smell and mouth tastes after even a single drag. I can’t get to my bathroom fast enough to wash my hands and convince myself that a spritz of perfume covers the lingering scent. I know it’s not enough, and I know that while living at home my cover-up was less than successful with my parents.
They knew I’d picked up the habit, sneaking drags while they were asleep, hiding the butts in a hallowed out bit of tree in the front yard. They hate my habit, as do most of my other friends. Some have embraced it and have stopped nagging me, some have even picked up the nasty habit the same way I did. I hate myself for that, because there’s a chance they won’t ever be able to quit. I know I’ll quit. I tell people all the time I’m trying to. At first they believed me, encouraged me, were disappointed when they caught me outside fumbling with a lighter. These days, there’s none of that. They know that I’m not ready to give up my longest and arguably healthiest relationship.
I’ve quit once, for a man I pegged with forever. When forever ended, my camels were there to dry my tears.
months back, I gave my lungs a break. I ended up pressed against a doorway with a man, and his leather jacket smelled like my habit. And it was intoxicating, so much more appealing than the bottle of Light Blue I bought forever for Christmas. With his cigarette still lit in one hand and his other tangled in my herbal-essences-drenched hair, the smell of stale smoke was perfect. the kiss lasted a moment, as did my habit's pause.
The faint reminisces of last night’s pack is lingering on the flannel I’m draped in. and there’s something comforting there. It smells like home: Familiar, constant. A home that I know I will happily someday leave.
Friday, December 9, 2011
number twenty eight: editors
this whole writing thing is complicated. i love it. i live for the moments where thoughts burst from my fingertips and onto my computer screen.
i should take a moment to note that i type too hard. it's like i'm in an abusive relationship with my keyboard. i spend my days punishing vowels and consonants.
i write for three sources right now. culturemob allows me access to press passes and journalism. my blogs (yes, plural) are free form ramblings. and last week i was asked to write short stories for another site.
i'm having a hard time with the last one. short stories... plot lines complicate my thoughts. but i made my first venture, and spent my thursday evening wrapped up in my thoughts and what i'm posting below is what came of it.
"I’m nothing more than a goodtime girl. Take me to the carnival. Take me to the ocean. Let me breathe with the sky. Let me drink until I can’t stand. Smoke until I can’t speak. Laugh until tears fill my colorless eyes.
But whatever you do, don’t let me love you.
Because I won’t ever love you.
Not like I loved him.
It’s not fair to use the past tense. It’s also not accurate to use the present. Is there a tense to use for something that’s all encompassing – something to explain a feeling that had no start and no real end, but is just always present? Like an incurable disease. You are psoriasis. You come and go, in and out of my thoughts. Unyielding. Except a disease is something undesired, and this feeling, left to linger over the years, is something I can’t label in the negative.
There’s nothing negative about loving someone the way I do you. Regardless of how long it’s been since we last mumbled hellos and goodbyes. Or how many men have attempted to replace you in my squeaky bed. Or how many pills have done their best to dislodge you from my memory. Thinking of you, I think of running through a field of corn. The stalks whip and tear at me, trying to stop me. They cut me the way thoughts of you, blindsiding me on a Tuesday afternoon, cut me. Leave my eyes bleeding tears of emptiness. All the cuts don’t matter. Stopping isn’t an option. Neither is not loving you.
I wish it were. I’m glad it’s not. Knowing I can feel something other than the desire to have a good time is the only thing that lets me know I have ever been anything but my present state: A goodtime girl.
I once had a love. Someone who excited me like the Ferris wheel. And felt like the waves wrapped around me. Who made the clouds dance. And was like whiskey to my thoughts. Without you to fill my lungs, and without you to put the grey-blue-green beneath my lashes, a goodtime girl remains."
that's my first venture for the new site. and i'm thankful for the people i have in my life who are available to give me insight. the version you see above is a few drafts deep. and those who read this, i ask you to submit your opinions. your corrections.
i like to pretend i have a clue as to what i'm doing here. but i don't. and that's why after writing for my multiple sources, i've come to adore my editors. official and unofficial.
narrow-mindedness is not a trait i want to posses, especially in my prose.
i should take a moment to note that i type too hard. it's like i'm in an abusive relationship with my keyboard. i spend my days punishing vowels and consonants.
i write for three sources right now. culturemob allows me access to press passes and journalism. my blogs (yes, plural) are free form ramblings. and last week i was asked to write short stories for another site.
i'm having a hard time with the last one. short stories... plot lines complicate my thoughts. but i made my first venture, and spent my thursday evening wrapped up in my thoughts and what i'm posting below is what came of it.
"I’m nothing more than a goodtime girl. Take me to the carnival. Take me to the ocean. Let me breathe with the sky. Let me drink until I can’t stand. Smoke until I can’t speak. Laugh until tears fill my colorless eyes.
But whatever you do, don’t let me love you.
Because I won’t ever love you.
Not like I loved him.
It’s not fair to use the past tense. It’s also not accurate to use the present. Is there a tense to use for something that’s all encompassing – something to explain a feeling that had no start and no real end, but is just always present? Like an incurable disease. You are psoriasis. You come and go, in and out of my thoughts. Unyielding. Except a disease is something undesired, and this feeling, left to linger over the years, is something I can’t label in the negative.
There’s nothing negative about loving someone the way I do you. Regardless of how long it’s been since we last mumbled hellos and goodbyes. Or how many men have attempted to replace you in my squeaky bed. Or how many pills have done their best to dislodge you from my memory. Thinking of you, I think of running through a field of corn. The stalks whip and tear at me, trying to stop me. They cut me the way thoughts of you, blindsiding me on a Tuesday afternoon, cut me. Leave my eyes bleeding tears of emptiness. All the cuts don’t matter. Stopping isn’t an option. Neither is not loving you.
I wish it were. I’m glad it’s not. Knowing I can feel something other than the desire to have a good time is the only thing that lets me know I have ever been anything but my present state: A goodtime girl.
I once had a love. Someone who excited me like the Ferris wheel. And felt like the waves wrapped around me. Who made the clouds dance. And was like whiskey to my thoughts. Without you to fill my lungs, and without you to put the grey-blue-green beneath my lashes, a goodtime girl remains."
that's my first venture for the new site. and i'm thankful for the people i have in my life who are available to give me insight. the version you see above is a few drafts deep. and those who read this, i ask you to submit your opinions. your corrections.
i like to pretend i have a clue as to what i'm doing here. but i don't. and that's why after writing for my multiple sources, i've come to adore my editors. official and unofficial.
narrow-mindedness is not a trait i want to posses, especially in my prose.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
number twenty seven: missing someone
Missing someone
I know, I know. It doesn’t seem positive. And maybe it’s not. But maybe it’s the surest way to measure, intangibly of course, someone’s effect on your life.
Today as always I was perusing facebook. I have several addictions, FB is a definite one, and one they sure as hell don’t make a patch for. So I was on there, and on my feed popped up a post from a friend from another life. A Mt Adams life.
If you’re reading this and don’t know what Mt Adams is, we probably aren’t friends in real life. Considering that place, that program, those people, are the most important and fundamental aspects of my life. I’ll without doubt over the course of my life write something on here about that place, but that time is not now.
Dylan’s name caught my eye. He’s not someone that the Facebook gods place in my news feed often. This is the first time I’ve seen his name in months. And I started to ache. All over my entire body. But mostly in my limbs. A side effect no doubt from lack of Mt Adams and it’s people being within reach.
It’s funny how feelings like that come out of simply seeing a name. In this case, seeing Dylan’s made me miss the sound of his voice and listening, really listening, to whatever subtle genius was in his message. It made my regret losing touch with so many people over the years, while realizing that it’s seemingly inevitable. However, if anyone has any pointers for battling this, please tell me how.
Missing someone, I think, gives an indication of how much a person meant or means to your life. I’m better at missing people in retrospect, once they’re out of my life by force, lack of proximity, or a combination of the two. Relationships and bonds, even the really important ones, manage to constantly slip between the cracks of my life. And while that aspect is anything but utterly wonderful, the feeling of missing someone is a nice reminder that I’m not an island. That I do need to cultivate the important relationships, major or insignificant, with a wild fervor.
Thanksgiving is in two days, and today I’m thankful for facebook and the reminder it yields us of people we should be very thankful for.
I know, I know. It doesn’t seem positive. And maybe it’s not. But maybe it’s the surest way to measure, intangibly of course, someone’s effect on your life.
Today as always I was perusing facebook. I have several addictions, FB is a definite one, and one they sure as hell don’t make a patch for. So I was on there, and on my feed popped up a post from a friend from another life. A Mt Adams life.
If you’re reading this and don’t know what Mt Adams is, we probably aren’t friends in real life. Considering that place, that program, those people, are the most important and fundamental aspects of my life. I’ll without doubt over the course of my life write something on here about that place, but that time is not now.
Dylan’s name caught my eye. He’s not someone that the Facebook gods place in my news feed often. This is the first time I’ve seen his name in months. And I started to ache. All over my entire body. But mostly in my limbs. A side effect no doubt from lack of Mt Adams and it’s people being within reach.
It’s funny how feelings like that come out of simply seeing a name. In this case, seeing Dylan’s made me miss the sound of his voice and listening, really listening, to whatever subtle genius was in his message. It made my regret losing touch with so many people over the years, while realizing that it’s seemingly inevitable. However, if anyone has any pointers for battling this, please tell me how.
Missing someone, I think, gives an indication of how much a person meant or means to your life. I’m better at missing people in retrospect, once they’re out of my life by force, lack of proximity, or a combination of the two. Relationships and bonds, even the really important ones, manage to constantly slip between the cracks of my life. And while that aspect is anything but utterly wonderful, the feeling of missing someone is a nice reminder that I’m not an island. That I do need to cultivate the important relationships, major or insignificant, with a wild fervor.
Thanksgiving is in two days, and today I’m thankful for facebook and the reminder it yields us of people we should be very thankful for.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
number twenty six: a well timed quote
"We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It's easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven't even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else."
chuck klosterman, you speak to my very soul. or at least what's left of it...
i've always connected with words. i have a bit of a love affair with them at times... i get lost in how the letters tangle together to form such perfection. and sometimes, a mess of tangled letters combine to create a mesmerizing phrase that i get lost in for a moment.
who hasn't had this same experience? you're paging through a book and suddenly you get blindsided by three little lines. isn't that the way it is when you think you've fallen in love? you get blindsided by a portion of the person (sometimes overlooking the mediocrity of the rest of the person). the same can be said about connecting with a quote, we get entranced by a paragraph and forget the rest of the book leading to this point was a wash of bullshit.
well, i'm glad that i seem to fall in love with passages far more often than i do men.
the quote i posted above is one of my favorites. i've been thinking a lot about literature and men (two of my favorite vices). Klosterman is one of my favorite writers- i've gobbled up just about everything he's dished out (sans 'Eating The Dinosour' which i could NOT connect with). this quote to me sums up why i think quotes are so perfectly wonderful- if timed right they can make sense of your life in a way you hadn't been able to before. a few years back, i was in this black hole of a break up, unable to get a grasp on anything. reading this though, it cleared everything up and expressed everything i hadn't been able to find the words to.
isn't that the point about quotes- we identify with the ones that express our feelings/thoughts/ideas better than we can express them for ourselves.
i'm forever grateful for the little patch of words above... and i'm grateful to be writing about things that are 'utterly wonderful' again. please let me know if you all have any topics to suggest for me ;)
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
number twenty five: personal progress
i hope someday, when i'm writing my biography, i remember to look back and remember this moment as the moment i became a writer. officially.
you'd think it would have been maybe when i wrote my first blog entry. or when i got my first compliment on my writing style. or when i was accepted to be a seattle contributor for culturemob.com. which would therefore make me a published writer. or maybe i should have considered myself a writer when i got my first piece of very public critisism. but no, today i feel like a writer. today, i feel like maybe this could go somewhere.
no, not this blog in particular. i have what, eleven followers, all of which are my friends. and there are WAAAAAY too many blogs out there of an all too similar quality. no, i don't expect this blog to go anywhere.
what i'm talking about is that today i feel like i could turn this little hobby of writing into something. maybe even a career. maybe you're wondering what happened. but then again, since it's only a few close friends reading this, you probably already know what happened. today, i was offered a press pass to cover the friday night line up of capital hill block party. and while this probably isn't as big of a deal as i think it is, it still feels like something.
for the first time in a long time, i'm getting somewhere. or at least it feels like somewhere. somewhere new. somewhere with possibilities. like, for instance, i'm interviewing wednesday to be write about social goings on in seattle for a mobile app. which would pocket me an ever 5hundo a month, not too shabby.
and while these are small somethings... the press pass... the published writing... the editor who seems to find my writing halfway decent... the wednesday interview... there's something special about my somethings i think.
only time will tell, but i figure, even dan rather had to start somewhere. and i bet fictional dan rather was damn excited about his first press pass too.
you'd think it would have been maybe when i wrote my first blog entry. or when i got my first compliment on my writing style. or when i was accepted to be a seattle contributor for culturemob.com. which would therefore make me a published writer. or maybe i should have considered myself a writer when i got my first piece of very public critisism. but no, today i feel like a writer. today, i feel like maybe this could go somewhere.
no, not this blog in particular. i have what, eleven followers, all of which are my friends. and there are WAAAAAY too many blogs out there of an all too similar quality. no, i don't expect this blog to go anywhere.
what i'm talking about is that today i feel like i could turn this little hobby of writing into something. maybe even a career. maybe you're wondering what happened. but then again, since it's only a few close friends reading this, you probably already know what happened. today, i was offered a press pass to cover the friday night line up of capital hill block party. and while this probably isn't as big of a deal as i think it is, it still feels like something.
for the first time in a long time, i'm getting somewhere. or at least it feels like somewhere. somewhere new. somewhere with possibilities. like, for instance, i'm interviewing wednesday to be write about social goings on in seattle for a mobile app. which would pocket me an ever 5hundo a month, not too shabby.
and while these are small somethings... the press pass... the published writing... the editor who seems to find my writing halfway decent... the wednesday interview... there's something special about my somethings i think.
only time will tell, but i figure, even dan rather had to start somewhere. and i bet fictional dan rather was damn excited about his first press pass too.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
number twenty four: the quarterlife
it's ironic that this one fell into my life in time to be number twenty four, seeing as that's what age i'll be on my next birthday. or maybe it's not ironic. but whatever. and this post might not be as obviously positive as previous posts. but it's weighing heavily on my mind.
no one ever warns you about this phase in your life. the quarterlife.
when this time frame comes up in discussion, the only thing i was ever told or witnessed is that it's amazing. and everything will fall into place.
but what happens if it isn't amazing? and nothing falls into place?
i went out to coffee today with a very old, dear friend and we got to talking about the position i know so many other people our age find themselves in. we're out of college. working jobs we don't see ourselves in long term. in relationships with questionable futures. and not exactly sure what comes next.
they say that college is our coming of age. i call bullshit. the person i was while in college was important, and she was a damn good time, but that person wasn't real. she didn't have responsibilities. she could make mistakes and recover easily with the help of mom and dad and a trip to the dance floor. her love life could constantly change and it never hurt. she knew where she would be in a year. her friends all lived within a three mile radius. and her biggest problem was trying to figure out another excuse to use when calling in sick for work so she could spend the day at the lake getting a tan.
i think the quarterlife is our real coming of age. it's the time when all the big decisions get made. and this time is scary, not glamorous. it might have moments of grandeur, with events and people that are utterly scrapbook worthy, but most people i've discussed the quarterlife with do so with a tone of fear in their voice. it's a time where no one seems to be sure of anything. or anyone. except those few friends we hold on to in order to keep our quarterlife world from crumbling.
i think what i've taken out of all my recent discussions about the future is that it's okay to voice your fear over your quarterlife. before, i didn't think other people were sharing the challenges and obstacles i was. which i think perpetuated my quarterlife crisis and the fear that goes along with it. but in reality, we're all in the same spot. for the most part. there obviously are a few exceptions. but for the most part, everyone in our age bracket has no idea where life is going to lead them. and it's scary.
but it's also real exciting.
my coffee friend and i are both overly logical. he's never been a really emotional person, and over the past year i realize i'm becoming more and more like him. i do less thinking with my heart and more with my head. and i'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but it is what it is.and in thinking logically about the quarterlife, i can offer my readers one nugget of wisdom. it's the only nugget of wisdom i know and therefore i think it applies to everything. but this nugget especially applies here.
everything will be okay. everything will work out. everything will be okay. because it has to be.
the quarterlife is the end of one age, the age of being irresponsible, and the ushering in of anther, adulthood. it's scary. it's overwhelming. there's not a sense of security. but if you can get past that, you can see how damn exciting it is.
i think you'll know if you're in a quarterlife crisis if you find yourself unsure of just about everything. and if you find yourself there, just remember: everything will be okay. everything will work out. everything will be okay. because it has to be.
no one ever warns you about this phase in your life. the quarterlife.
when this time frame comes up in discussion, the only thing i was ever told or witnessed is that it's amazing. and everything will fall into place.
but what happens if it isn't amazing? and nothing falls into place?
i went out to coffee today with a very old, dear friend and we got to talking about the position i know so many other people our age find themselves in. we're out of college. working jobs we don't see ourselves in long term. in relationships with questionable futures. and not exactly sure what comes next.
they say that college is our coming of age. i call bullshit. the person i was while in college was important, and she was a damn good time, but that person wasn't real. she didn't have responsibilities. she could make mistakes and recover easily with the help of mom and dad and a trip to the dance floor. her love life could constantly change and it never hurt. she knew where she would be in a year. her friends all lived within a three mile radius. and her biggest problem was trying to figure out another excuse to use when calling in sick for work so she could spend the day at the lake getting a tan.
i think the quarterlife is our real coming of age. it's the time when all the big decisions get made. and this time is scary, not glamorous. it might have moments of grandeur, with events and people that are utterly scrapbook worthy, but most people i've discussed the quarterlife with do so with a tone of fear in their voice. it's a time where no one seems to be sure of anything. or anyone. except those few friends we hold on to in order to keep our quarterlife world from crumbling.
i think what i've taken out of all my recent discussions about the future is that it's okay to voice your fear over your quarterlife. before, i didn't think other people were sharing the challenges and obstacles i was. which i think perpetuated my quarterlife crisis and the fear that goes along with it. but in reality, we're all in the same spot. for the most part. there obviously are a few exceptions. but for the most part, everyone in our age bracket has no idea where life is going to lead them. and it's scary.
but it's also real exciting.
my coffee friend and i are both overly logical. he's never been a really emotional person, and over the past year i realize i'm becoming more and more like him. i do less thinking with my heart and more with my head. and i'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but it is what it is.and in thinking logically about the quarterlife, i can offer my readers one nugget of wisdom. it's the only nugget of wisdom i know and therefore i think it applies to everything. but this nugget especially applies here.
everything will be okay. everything will work out. everything will be okay. because it has to be.
the quarterlife is the end of one age, the age of being irresponsible, and the ushering in of anther, adulthood. it's scary. it's overwhelming. there's not a sense of security. but if you can get past that, you can see how damn exciting it is.
i think you'll know if you're in a quarterlife crisis if you find yourself unsure of just about everything. and if you find yourself there, just remember: everything will be okay. everything will work out. everything will be okay. because it has to be.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
number twenty three: genuine compliments
so in 1999 i was 12. and baz luhrman realeased a song called 'Everybody's free (to wear sunscreen).'
my life was changed. and upon hearing it, it instantly become my anthem. i've spent five years as a volunteer at leadership camp, and there was a period of time where i would wake the girls up in my cabin with this song. because i find it to be so inspirational from start to finish. it's like the entire song is an instructional manual that is so relevant for our generation.
i'm listening to it right now and it's taking all my willpower not to just start quoting it here.
sucks for you all i have no will power:
"Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and
recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you
imagine."
"The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm
on some idle Tuesday."
"Sing"
"Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours."
"Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe
you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky
chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t
congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your
choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s."
"Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you
knew when you were young."
those are a couple of my favorites. but really, listen. it's all solid gold.
but so the real point of this post. sorry, it's late and i can't sleep so this is long and rambling.
today Elizabeth Taylor died. hollywood mourned, and the the fight to cure AIDS lost a champion of the cause. and upon hearing the news, i was instantly brought back to this moment 6 or 7 years ago.
i was working the front desk at my job and this patient came in and we were making the standard small talk. thinking back, i can't even remember which patient it was. but so in the middle of the standard small talk, this patient looks at me and says "you've got eyes just like Elizabeth Taylor."
isn't it funny how certain compliments you receive simply resonate for years to come? they stick with you, and even in your darkest moments you can recall them. while your world is crashing, there's at least this one golden nugget of verbal love. this compliment, which was maybe a meaningless observation to the person saying it, sticks. and sticks right.
there's this point in the Luhrman song where he instructs: "Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how."
because of having this pointed out to me in his song, i've always tried to hold onto the good and get rid of the bad. i can remember specific compliments. the liz taylor one. my first boyfriend complimenting my dancing. my most recent boyfriend complimenting my wit. a friend complimenting my writing.
and i can only remember one specific insult.
i think i've managed one part of Luhrman's manual. though how, i can't tell you.
but since he's all about giving advice, i'll add to what he had to say. compliments are important, and maybe in order for them to stick tighter than the insults we need to hear them often. which means maybe we need to give them more often.
a genuine compliment can clearly last a lifetime. i'll probably always hold onto my liz taylor compliment. start giving some verbal love in the form of a compliment. it could change a life.
but trust me on the sunscreen.
my life was changed. and upon hearing it, it instantly become my anthem. i've spent five years as a volunteer at leadership camp, and there was a period of time where i would wake the girls up in my cabin with this song. because i find it to be so inspirational from start to finish. it's like the entire song is an instructional manual that is so relevant for our generation.
i'm listening to it right now and it's taking all my willpower not to just start quoting it here.
sucks for you all i have no will power:
"Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and
recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you
imagine."
"The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm
on some idle Tuesday."
"Sing"
"Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours."
"Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe
you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky
chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t
congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your
choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s."
"Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you
knew when you were young."
those are a couple of my favorites. but really, listen. it's all solid gold.
but so the real point of this post. sorry, it's late and i can't sleep so this is long and rambling.
today Elizabeth Taylor died. hollywood mourned, and the the fight to cure AIDS lost a champion of the cause. and upon hearing the news, i was instantly brought back to this moment 6 or 7 years ago.
i was working the front desk at my job and this patient came in and we were making the standard small talk. thinking back, i can't even remember which patient it was. but so in the middle of the standard small talk, this patient looks at me and says "you've got eyes just like Elizabeth Taylor."
isn't it funny how certain compliments you receive simply resonate for years to come? they stick with you, and even in your darkest moments you can recall them. while your world is crashing, there's at least this one golden nugget of verbal love. this compliment, which was maybe a meaningless observation to the person saying it, sticks. and sticks right.
there's this point in the Luhrman song where he instructs: "Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how."
because of having this pointed out to me in his song, i've always tried to hold onto the good and get rid of the bad. i can remember specific compliments. the liz taylor one. my first boyfriend complimenting my dancing. my most recent boyfriend complimenting my wit. a friend complimenting my writing.
and i can only remember one specific insult.
i think i've managed one part of Luhrman's manual. though how, i can't tell you.
but since he's all about giving advice, i'll add to what he had to say. compliments are important, and maybe in order for them to stick tighter than the insults we need to hear them often. which means maybe we need to give them more often.
a genuine compliment can clearly last a lifetime. i'll probably always hold onto my liz taylor compliment. start giving some verbal love in the form of a compliment. it could change a life.
but trust me on the sunscreen.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
number twenty two: cherry blossoms
so this afternoon was a terrible one. first, i'm still not 100% over the great flu pandemic. and i don't care if i'm using the term pandemic incorrectly, i'm all for exaggerating. but in all honestly, the sickness is pretty over. i even ate for the first real time in three days. it was glorious.
the second thing is really what made my day rough.
so i'm driving down 405 on my way to work this afternoon and i notice my heat gauge sky rocket out of no where. i think to myself hmmm, well that's funny! let's just ignore it and hope it knocks it off. that's my policy when something goes wrong with anything (car... friendship... boyfriend... weight gain...) and most times, things work themselves out.
well, i get off the freeway and am at a stoplight and my car dies. in an intersection. suddenly smoke starts coming out from under my hood.
i was that girl. in a sundress. and boots. wearing over sized sunglasses. and some might even consider me blonde. PANICKING with a stalled car. saying i looked like a twit is probably an understatement.
somehow by the grace of god i got my car to start without causing a major traffic incident and managed to park it at work. i was in a tizzy, so i did what i always do when something is going awry. i called my daddy.
when he heard me say "my car won't start" he promptly hung up on me. my father never hangs up on me. he occasionally raises his voice (like with my first car which i killed since no one ever told me i needed to put oil in a car... his bad though really... how is a 16 year old girl supposed to just know that, right?). but i don't know if he's ever hung up on me.
it was then that this day could have gone from poo on your shoe bad to pooping your pants bad.
however, i didn't melt down like i normally tend to do. i'm reeeeeal good at going from cool and collected to total japan style nuclear reactor threat in less than 30 seconds flat. too soon for that reference?
today instead i locked my car door, watched as smoke billowed out from under my hood, and walked towards work. and then something caught my attention.
first, it was that the sun was out. rare for washington, esp since i've seemingly been engulfed in darkness lately from being camped out in the sick ward of my basement bedroom. it was a sunny day and then i realized oh my goodness, the cherry blossoms are out in full force.
cherry blossoms, you see, equate to spring. which equates to sunshine. and sunshine equates to sundresses. and sundresses equate to happiness. i could do a mathematical equation for you to see exactly how this all works out, but i won't.
spring isn't my favorite season. indian summer takes that prize. however this year winter seems like it's stretched on and on and on. and then on some more. i know it's washington, so i know not to get my hopes up. our sunshine isn't going to last, it never does. it'll be raining by thursday.
however, the cherry blossoms are here. and my dad called back and apologized for hanging up on me. and my car's now running again. and so today, today is a good day. and soon enough i'll wake up to greet the heat in a new summer dress and bare feet.
but at least today i've got cherry blossoms. and the best dad in the world.
the second thing is really what made my day rough.
so i'm driving down 405 on my way to work this afternoon and i notice my heat gauge sky rocket out of no where. i think to myself hmmm, well that's funny! let's just ignore it and hope it knocks it off. that's my policy when something goes wrong with anything (car... friendship... boyfriend... weight gain...) and most times, things work themselves out.
well, i get off the freeway and am at a stoplight and my car dies. in an intersection. suddenly smoke starts coming out from under my hood.
i was that girl. in a sundress. and boots. wearing over sized sunglasses. and some might even consider me blonde. PANICKING with a stalled car. saying i looked like a twit is probably an understatement.
somehow by the grace of god i got my car to start without causing a major traffic incident and managed to park it at work. i was in a tizzy, so i did what i always do when something is going awry. i called my daddy.
when he heard me say "my car won't start" he promptly hung up on me. my father never hangs up on me. he occasionally raises his voice (like with my first car which i killed since no one ever told me i needed to put oil in a car... his bad though really... how is a 16 year old girl supposed to just know that, right?). but i don't know if he's ever hung up on me.
it was then that this day could have gone from poo on your shoe bad to pooping your pants bad.
however, i didn't melt down like i normally tend to do. i'm reeeeeal good at going from cool and collected to total japan style nuclear reactor threat in less than 30 seconds flat. too soon for that reference?
today instead i locked my car door, watched as smoke billowed out from under my hood, and walked towards work. and then something caught my attention.
first, it was that the sun was out. rare for washington, esp since i've seemingly been engulfed in darkness lately from being camped out in the sick ward of my basement bedroom. it was a sunny day and then i realized oh my goodness, the cherry blossoms are out in full force.
cherry blossoms, you see, equate to spring. which equates to sunshine. and sunshine equates to sundresses. and sundresses equate to happiness. i could do a mathematical equation for you to see exactly how this all works out, but i won't.
spring isn't my favorite season. indian summer takes that prize. however this year winter seems like it's stretched on and on and on. and then on some more. i know it's washington, so i know not to get my hopes up. our sunshine isn't going to last, it never does. it'll be raining by thursday.
however, the cherry blossoms are here. and my dad called back and apologized for hanging up on me. and my car's now running again. and so today, today is a good day. and soon enough i'll wake up to greet the heat in a new summer dress and bare feet.
but at least today i've got cherry blossoms. and the best dad in the world.
Monday, March 21, 2011
number twenty one: british accents
the first brit i ever met in person was a guy named bertie. i was 16 and was instantly in love. seeing as i'm now 23 and bertie and i aren't together, it's safe to say my crush didn't work out.
by the way, say 'bertie' in a british accent. you'll understand my instant love. i still giggle thinking about the way he said his name.
anyway though, back to the point.
i don't pay much notice to accents. mostly because hearing them in the northwest is so rare. occasionally you'll come across a good southern boy or a midwesterner. maybe if you're lucky you'll stumble across someone from boston. but rarely in this neck of the woods do you come across a british accent.
that is, unless you're home sick on a monday and you remember you recently bought a four pack of chick flick themed dvds. and you remember that 'Nottinghill' is part of that box set.
welcome to hugh grant heaven.
there's just something about that accent. in case you forgot, hugh grant has a thing for gross looking hookers. and yet, when he asks julia roberts in for tea you completely forget that. you just get lost in his voice. without fail.
hugh grant heaven is one full of crumpets. and horse and hound magazine. and you get lost in british culture. i was thisclose to buying a funny hat and going to find my nearest polo match.
these accents are addictive. they're worse than a herion addiction. okay, well maybe not that bad. but you get my point.
you may now proceed to watch hugh grant with caution, it'll make normal people talking to you so much less enjoyable.
and if you meet a british gent named bertie, pass along my number. i think he may have lost it.
by the way, say 'bertie' in a british accent. you'll understand my instant love. i still giggle thinking about the way he said his name.
anyway though, back to the point.
i don't pay much notice to accents. mostly because hearing them in the northwest is so rare. occasionally you'll come across a good southern boy or a midwesterner. maybe if you're lucky you'll stumble across someone from boston. but rarely in this neck of the woods do you come across a british accent.
that is, unless you're home sick on a monday and you remember you recently bought a four pack of chick flick themed dvds. and you remember that 'Nottinghill' is part of that box set.
welcome to hugh grant heaven.
there's just something about that accent. in case you forgot, hugh grant has a thing for gross looking hookers. and yet, when he asks julia roberts in for tea you completely forget that. you just get lost in his voice. without fail.
hugh grant heaven is one full of crumpets. and horse and hound magazine. and you get lost in british culture. i was thisclose to buying a funny hat and going to find my nearest polo match.
these accents are addictive. they're worse than a herion addiction. okay, well maybe not that bad. but you get my point.
you may now proceed to watch hugh grant with caution, it'll make normal people talking to you so much less enjoyable.
and if you meet a british gent named bertie, pass along my number. i think he may have lost it.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
number twenty: old favorite books
so this weekend i was sick. and we're not just talking migraine headache sick. we're not talking runny nose and hacking cough sick.
we're talking flu sick. it's the worst kind of sick.
everyone knows i complain a lot. probably more than most people. and usually about silly things, like that my socks aren't soft enough. but when a lady has the flu, a little complaining is bound to happen.
so this weekend, my poor parents had to suffer hearing me complain about how terrible i felt. about how i couldn't eat anything. about how all i wanted was sprite, and my mother had the nerve to buy 7-up. i've heard most women handle being sick well, and it's you men out there that are the wussies who can't handle it. that is very much not the case for me.
however, in the hours right before the deathly 2011 flu hit me, i was in my basement bedroom taking a gander at the many boxes stored near where i sleep. you see, when i was away at school my parents moved from the house i spent middle and high school in to the one i call home now. i didn't come home to help pack boxes (because clearly i'm a brat) and so now whenever my mind gets to wandering about where a certain long forgotten object is i know that i'm flat outta luck. it's boxed in the many boxes we've yet to unpack, and i'm not about to dig through them all.
that is, until i got to wondering where all my harry potter books were.
i know i know, nerdy. it just kind of hit me, and i had the insatiable need to get my hands on them.
after coming across many a spider, having a box of camping dishwear fall on my head, and getting very distracted by my brother's stash of tech-decks, i hit the mother load. i came across a box of my favorite books from my teen years.
you see, growing up i was a bit of a reader. and by "a bit" i mean it was something i loved. even more so than i loved obsessing about boys. even more than i loved worrying about how thick my eyebrows were. even more than i loved picking on my brother. even more than i loved spending hours on the phone with katie talking about who knows what. i gobbled up books, and there were some that i read over and over and over again. and this box i found contained all of them.
it was my holy grail. dusty. torn. creased edges. the smell of an old book. this box was an amazing find. this box was like finding a part of myself i'd forgotten about, since i'd forgotten many of these books. or at least i'd forgotten their titles. but upon cracking their worn spines i came across stories so familiar that i burned through one cover to cover, all 200 pages, in an hour.
friday, before i was knocked on my butt from being sick, i got lost in the heaven that was my adolescence.
or at least the heaven that was my literary adolescence.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
number nineteen: pet adoption
okay, so this one is important. and i mean more than just being important to me and my small, contained world. this one is BIG important. like, whole world important.
animals are important to me. i've already written a post about my love of dogs, it was an early one. and so maybe i'm repeating myself. but i don't have a problem doing that to hopefully get a point across.
and as aforementioned, this is an important point.
march 15th is national pet adoption day. a day which i celebrated by buying my pup Mac a rather large bone and finally got him a fancy dog tag. Mac is a shelter dog. i adopted him from PAWS in september when he was three months old. he had been previously owned by a family who decided they couldn't have a dog after having bought him. had it not been for the possibility of adoption, who knows what would have happened to him. he certainly would not be cuddled up in my bed with me living the good life. chewing on a bone bigger than his head.
adoption is undeniably important. i'm not good with stats. i should be better, but i'm not. thank goodness for google. i found while conducting a little research that according to the ASPCA there are 5000 animal shelters nationwide. and no, there aren't real guidelines or nationwide regulations. some animals get lucky. like mac. some don't.
it is estimated that each year between 5 and 7 million animals are put in shelters.
here comes the part that is hard.
it's also estimated that 3 to 4 million animals are euthanized.
and this is something else i had to share, "five out of ten dogs in shelters and seven out of ten cats in shelters are destroyed simply because there is no one to adopt them."
okay okay, i know i know. i'm being a debbie downer. except i'm not really.
what i've learned is that pet ownership is right for some people and not for others. up until this point, owning a dog would have been a disaster for me. and even moreso for my poor roommate. it's important to wait until you're ready to commit. because trust me, having a dog really is like having a child. albeit, it's a lot more socially acceptable to have a smelly dog versus a smelly child.
pet adoption is important. but it's important to do so when you're ready. when you're at the right point in your life.
but when you're at that point, and you know the only thing missing from your life is the purr of a cat or a tail wagging to greet you at the door please adopt.
it'll be the only thing i ever ask you to do (at least in this post...)
please adopt when you're ready for a pet.
and if you're not ready for an animal in your life, donate. help save a life from euthanasia.
and hey, for more information about pet sponsorship in another part of the world (and some REALLY adorable pictures) check out this link:
http://aandbctheworld.blogspot.com/2011/03/dog-lovers.html
animals are important to me. i've already written a post about my love of dogs, it was an early one. and so maybe i'm repeating myself. but i don't have a problem doing that to hopefully get a point across.
and as aforementioned, this is an important point.
march 15th is national pet adoption day. a day which i celebrated by buying my pup Mac a rather large bone and finally got him a fancy dog tag. Mac is a shelter dog. i adopted him from PAWS in september when he was three months old. he had been previously owned by a family who decided they couldn't have a dog after having bought him. had it not been for the possibility of adoption, who knows what would have happened to him. he certainly would not be cuddled up in my bed with me living the good life. chewing on a bone bigger than his head.
adoption is undeniably important. i'm not good with stats. i should be better, but i'm not. thank goodness for google. i found while conducting a little research that according to the ASPCA there are 5000 animal shelters nationwide. and no, there aren't real guidelines or nationwide regulations. some animals get lucky. like mac. some don't.
it is estimated that each year between 5 and 7 million animals are put in shelters.
here comes the part that is hard.
it's also estimated that 3 to 4 million animals are euthanized.
and this is something else i had to share, "five out of ten dogs in shelters and seven out of ten cats in shelters are destroyed simply because there is no one to adopt them."
okay okay, i know i know. i'm being a debbie downer. except i'm not really.
what i've learned is that pet ownership is right for some people and not for others. up until this point, owning a dog would have been a disaster for me. and even moreso for my poor roommate. it's important to wait until you're ready to commit. because trust me, having a dog really is like having a child. albeit, it's a lot more socially acceptable to have a smelly dog versus a smelly child.
pet adoption is important. but it's important to do so when you're ready. when you're at the right point in your life.
but when you're at that point, and you know the only thing missing from your life is the purr of a cat or a tail wagging to greet you at the door please adopt.
it'll be the only thing i ever ask you to do (at least in this post...)
please adopt when you're ready for a pet.
and if you're not ready for an animal in your life, donate. help save a life from euthanasia.
and hey, for more information about pet sponsorship in another part of the world (and some REALLY adorable pictures) check out this link:
http://aandbctheworld.blogspot.com/2011/03/dog-lovers.html
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
number eighteen: Drunk History
ok, so thus far in my blogging history i think the most important information i've given you is that my favorite number to write out is eleven. and just so you're all aware, my least favorite number to write out is eighteen. ugh. it just makes me cringe to even look at that number written out.
seriously, worst number ever. that's what's kept me away from writing for so long, avoiding writing out that number.
however, it's time to bite the bullet to share you one of the most ridiculous things i re-stumbled upon tonight. some of you are presumably familiar with funny or die, a website created by will ferrell. let me say, my opinion of will ferrell is similar to that of kirsten dunst. i'm not a huge fan. but every once in a while he gives me something i can't live without. certain things off this website fall into that category.
i can't imagine my life without drunk history. it's featured on the website and is pure genius.
let me explain the premise of these videos. history buffs (which i think are probably grad students due to the age they appear to be) get drunk and talk about a historical event. i know i know, it's a complicated premise right? simplicity equates to genius in my book, and hence why i am in love with this web series.
this is the first video created. and clearly, it's amazing.
http://FunnyOrDie.com/m/kyw
i like to think that i would make an EPIC episode of drunk history.
and yes, clearly i already know the specifics.
i would consume 5 AMFs. for all of you who aren't aware of what this drink is, consider yourself lucky.
and then i would consume at least one original 4loko. you know, just to keep things classy.
i would then proceed to talk about a specific historical event. mine would be about amelia earhart and her failed trip around the world. because for whatever reason i can still remember a project i did on her in like 6th grade.
the drunk history would undoubtedly end with me yelling about really needing a hot dog. followed by my language skills failing and i would begin to speak complete jibberish. and finally ending with an attempt to make out with the camera man.
clearly, my drunk history would be a funny or die classic.
drunk history, you are utterly wonderful.
will ferrell, i'll be waiting for your call to start filming.
seriously, worst number ever. that's what's kept me away from writing for so long, avoiding writing out that number.
however, it's time to bite the bullet to share you one of the most ridiculous things i re-stumbled upon tonight. some of you are presumably familiar with funny or die, a website created by will ferrell. let me say, my opinion of will ferrell is similar to that of kirsten dunst. i'm not a huge fan. but every once in a while he gives me something i can't live without. certain things off this website fall into that category.
i can't imagine my life without drunk history. it's featured on the website and is pure genius.
let me explain the premise of these videos. history buffs (which i think are probably grad students due to the age they appear to be) get drunk and talk about a historical event. i know i know, it's a complicated premise right? simplicity equates to genius in my book, and hence why i am in love with this web series.
this is the first video created. and clearly, it's amazing.
http://FunnyOrDie.com/m/kyw
i like to think that i would make an EPIC episode of drunk history.
and yes, clearly i already know the specifics.
i would consume 5 AMFs. for all of you who aren't aware of what this drink is, consider yourself lucky.
and then i would consume at least one original 4loko. you know, just to keep things classy.
i would then proceed to talk about a specific historical event. mine would be about amelia earhart and her failed trip around the world. because for whatever reason i can still remember a project i did on her in like 6th grade.
the drunk history would undoubtedly end with me yelling about really needing a hot dog. followed by my language skills failing and i would begin to speak complete jibberish. and finally ending with an attempt to make out with the camera man.
clearly, my drunk history would be a funny or die classic.
drunk history, you are utterly wonderful.
will ferrell, i'll be waiting for your call to start filming.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
number seventeen: new nail polish
as i've mentioned before and will mention again, i'm a very girly girl. i like frilly things and will someday decorate my house with plants potted in old boots.
like this:
something i do when i'm feeling less than amazing is do something to make myself feel more.... just more i suppose. sometimes i'll treat myself to a new pair of shoes... other times i'll get my hair chopped off... when i'm feeling unhealthy i'll even go tanning. but somedays, when i don't want to get out of sweat pants, the best thing to do is give myself a mini manicure.
we all need to be pampered, and i like to DIM- do it myself.
my nails are now painted plum perfect. and whatdoyaknow- i feel kinda plum perfect too.
like this:
something i do when i'm feeling less than amazing is do something to make myself feel more.... just more i suppose. sometimes i'll treat myself to a new pair of shoes... other times i'll get my hair chopped off... when i'm feeling unhealthy i'll even go tanning. but somedays, when i don't want to get out of sweat pants, the best thing to do is give myself a mini manicure.
we all need to be pampered, and i like to DIM- do it myself.
my nails are now painted plum perfect. and whatdoyaknow- i feel kinda plum perfect too.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
number sixteen: humble love
today, february 16th, is my parent's 26th wedding anniversary.
i should note that last year was their 25th, which i totally forgot about, and failed to do anything special for. and being the dirt poor 23 year old i am, i can't really do anything special for them this year either. life's the poops sometimes huh?
back the point though.
a few years back when i was in the only "serious" relationship i've ever encountered, i got to talking to my mom about her and my dad. you know the usual- how'd you meet, when did you guys get married, how'd you know he was "the one," etc. i didn't get a lot of solid answers, other than that they met at a party. i like to think she fell in love with his mustache first, and his sense of humor after. those are the two things i've always associated with my dad- a sweet stache (which he recently shaved despite my protest) and his amazing humor.
from where i've stood the past 23 years, my parents seem to have a humble love. they're not showy, they just seem to be confident and comfortable in their roles of husband and wife, father and mother. this is something i never fully appreciated until recently.
my parents are fantastic. they're the kind of parents every kid wishes they had. for instance: yesterday i was in a car accident. my 10th i believe. and i did what i always do- call my dad crying hysterically and then let him tell my mom. i was able to drive home and before my mom could even say anything, she took her weeping 20-something daughter inside and hugged me until i calmed down. which clearly took a while. they never yelled. they just reassured me that everything would be okay. which i hope will still be the case once we get the estimate from the chick i hit.
that incident and their reaction is one of the reasons i love my parents. they have always been there for me and put my sanity first and foremost. they truly take care of me, and i am so lucky.
that my parents have been married 26 years seems impossible. that they've been putting up with my crap for 23 years seems even more impossible.
i might never know what goes into making a 26 plus year marriage work, and therefore never truly appreciate everything they've been through. however, i will say i'm thankful. i'm so thankful that my parents met, fell in love, and got married. and then proceeded to be really stupid and have my brother and i.
i doubt my parents will ever read this. i just want the world to know that today is their anniversary. and i wish into cyberspace that they have many, many more anniversaries to come. i'm already looking forward to throwing them the party they deserve for their 50th.
my parents are the very definition of utterly wonderful, and i hope someday that i have the sort of humble love they do.
i should note that last year was their 25th, which i totally forgot about, and failed to do anything special for. and being the dirt poor 23 year old i am, i can't really do anything special for them this year either. life's the poops sometimes huh?
back the point though.
a few years back when i was in the only "serious" relationship i've ever encountered, i got to talking to my mom about her and my dad. you know the usual- how'd you meet, when did you guys get married, how'd you know he was "the one," etc. i didn't get a lot of solid answers, other than that they met at a party. i like to think she fell in love with his mustache first, and his sense of humor after. those are the two things i've always associated with my dad- a sweet stache (which he recently shaved despite my protest) and his amazing humor.
from where i've stood the past 23 years, my parents seem to have a humble love. they're not showy, they just seem to be confident and comfortable in their roles of husband and wife, father and mother. this is something i never fully appreciated until recently.
my parents are fantastic. they're the kind of parents every kid wishes they had. for instance: yesterday i was in a car accident. my 10th i believe. and i did what i always do- call my dad crying hysterically and then let him tell my mom. i was able to drive home and before my mom could even say anything, she took her weeping 20-something daughter inside and hugged me until i calmed down. which clearly took a while. they never yelled. they just reassured me that everything would be okay. which i hope will still be the case once we get the estimate from the chick i hit.
that incident and their reaction is one of the reasons i love my parents. they have always been there for me and put my sanity first and foremost. they truly take care of me, and i am so lucky.
that my parents have been married 26 years seems impossible. that they've been putting up with my crap for 23 years seems even more impossible.
i might never know what goes into making a 26 plus year marriage work, and therefore never truly appreciate everything they've been through. however, i will say i'm thankful. i'm so thankful that my parents met, fell in love, and got married. and then proceeded to be really stupid and have my brother and i.
i doubt my parents will ever read this. i just want the world to know that today is their anniversary. and i wish into cyberspace that they have many, many more anniversaries to come. i'm already looking forward to throwing them the party they deserve for their 50th.
my parents are the very definition of utterly wonderful, and i hope someday that i have the sort of humble love they do.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
number fifteen: valentines day
i know i know, this holiday was created by the card companies.
and yeah, i probably just confused some of my avid readers... the happily solo LKB has a thing for valentines day? what sort of sense does this make? well, i don't have to make sense, it's my right as a woman.
the first valentines day i can recall was in elementary school. my longest relationship by a landslide was to a guy named matt i dated from 5th grade through part of 7th. this is the equivalent to over a decade when you're a preteen. matt spoiled me rotten every year, and taught me a lesson young- if a guy's crazy about you he'll show it.
my 5th grade self was getting an early example of what love should look like. however, it wasn't until the summer before my junior year of high school that my expectations about love were phrased eloquently and i am here to pass that on to you all today.
love is a verb.
say it aloud.
love. is. a. verb.
love isn't a word. love isn't a feeling.
love is a verb.
this is one of the many things i have learned from a little summer camp i've dedicated myself to for years upon years. it is probably the lesson that has shaped my life the most thus far. so i've brought this little nugget of theory into your world. what does that have to do with valentines day?
everything, of course.
i love love. i love the terrible love songs, holding hands is like the best drug in the world, and first kisses... don't even get me started. however, that's not what this day is really about. valentines day is, i believe, the most important holiday we've got. it is the one day of the year where you are readily encouraged to show your love through action for someone. you can't just say, "hey, it's valentines day, i stinkin love you." and expect that to suffice. on valentines day you're expected to show your love. ie demonstrate love. ie live the phrase i'm drilling into your head.
clearly i believe that love is actions. valentines day is the perfect day to show how you feel about the special one of a kind people in your life. and although in a perfect would you'd do it day after day maybe this day is a perfect time to start the behavior. practice makes perfect, start practicing using love as a verb tomorrow.
or if you wanna get real crazy, start practicing today.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
number fourteen: being alone
i'm not sure if you have seen this video i stumbled upon last month, but it's amazing. it's called, clearly, 'how to be alone.' and it's the only instruction manual i've ever cared to take note of.
people tend not to believe me when i say i enjoy being alone. when i told a friend a few weeks back that i'd been single for roughly three years, his eyes got wide and he didn't know quite what to say. sure, there have been people who have passed through my world. even one i'd classify as an earth shaker. but no one's stuck for long. and it's something that perplexes people. but personally, it's something i find liberating.
what i like about this video is that it gives other people who are alone pointers. something that our society pushes is that being alone is a bad thing. that being lonely is something that should be avoided. and that if you are alone, you are automatically lonely. i am here to say that the two do no go hand in hand. being filled up by the experience of flying solo is the most fulfilling experience i've had in a very long time. when was the last time you sat and enjoyed you own mind, thought over your own messes, savored a flavor, paused to take in something beautiful...
i leave you with this, my favorite thought from this poem.
"Society is afraid of alone though. Like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements. Like people must have problems if after awhile nobody is dating them.
But lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it."
if you're alone, you're not the only one.
give it a second and you might love it.
people tend not to believe me when i say i enjoy being alone. when i told a friend a few weeks back that i'd been single for roughly three years, his eyes got wide and he didn't know quite what to say. sure, there have been people who have passed through my world. even one i'd classify as an earth shaker. but no one's stuck for long. and it's something that perplexes people. but personally, it's something i find liberating.
what i like about this video is that it gives other people who are alone pointers. something that our society pushes is that being alone is a bad thing. that being lonely is something that should be avoided. and that if you are alone, you are automatically lonely. i am here to say that the two do no go hand in hand. being filled up by the experience of flying solo is the most fulfilling experience i've had in a very long time. when was the last time you sat and enjoyed you own mind, thought over your own messes, savored a flavor, paused to take in something beautiful...
i leave you with this, my favorite thought from this poem.
"Society is afraid of alone though. Like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements. Like people must have problems if after awhile nobody is dating them.
But lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it."
if you're alone, you're not the only one.
give it a second and you might love it.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
number thirteen: alaska
alaska is the 49th state, which is the basis for my next tattoo. it is also a place i am currently beyond in love with.
this past weekend, my dani campoamor's boyfriend andrew flew me to anchorage to surprise her for her birthday. the surprise was epic and so was the rest of my trip.
i met some fantastic people, saw amazing sights, and left feeling revived. a picture is worth a thousand words, so instead of going into detail as to why i loved this trip and am seriously looking into moving there i'll just post some pictures.
enjoy!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
number eleven: madison beach
i think eleven is my favorite number to write out. eleven eleven eleven eleven.
ok, now that's out of my system i think.
eleven eleven. ok, for reals now...
i think today goes down as one of the best saturdays in history. well, in my own personal history. i'm sure there have been other saturdays in history that are more significant. but i'm self interested, so eff those other saturdays, i know you're all dying to hear about my day. clearly, since you're reading this.
my morning isn't important, but where i wound up i think is. if you're from seattle, you know how perfect this city is in the sunshine. and once the weather warms up, i guarantee a post about why i think seattle summers are utterly wonderful. but on a perfect day, regardless of the season, when there are fluffy clouds out and it's bright enough to warrant sunglasses, the streets become a playground for observation rather than something you dash across to get out of the rain.
today the sidewalks, parks, benches, and even rooftops were crowded. and in the best way. they were crowded with fellow emerald city patrons in love with this city. as i was driving down to madison beach though capital hill (i apparently take the longest possible route anywhere) something i noticed more than anything was the abundance of smiles. something i'm learning about spending so much time talking to people not from this area is this behavior seattle folk have called the seattle freeze. apparently, we're all bitches. yeah, and they're not just talking about the people who live in capital hill. but today, i didn't see a trace of that. people were actually smiling at each other. i smiled at a lady crossing the street and felt that little bit of magic between strangers. i forgot how wonderful that is.
as mentioned, i wound up in madison beach. specifically i met danielle and hilary for lunch at cactus and had the most wonderful quesadilla in the world. and any opportunity i have for girl talk is likely to make any day pretty damn wonderful. but after lunch is when the glory of my day really took hold.
the girls had to leave for danielle to go meet her new boyfriends parents (EXCITING!!) so i decided to take advantage of the weather with the world's best wingman: man's best friend. mac my puppy is pretty much the cutest, least obedient, most easily distracted pup in the world. but he makes for damn good company on the seattle streets- he even manages to poop when there's no one on the same street as us so when i'm a bad owner and forget bags i don't get chewed out for not cleaning up after him. warning: there's a big dog dump on 42nd and lee.
so mac and i took it to the streets. madison beach is an adorable little pocket in the city. because you're pulled away from downtown and the freeway, it really is like being in a different city. there's even free parking. and there's an open expanse of water with other puppies playing. and in the summer, the popsicle man comes through.
the real thing i love about this neighborhood are the homes. they're incredible. a combination of classic crafstman and bungalo stacked right next to contemporary design. i love neighborhoods like that, without a consistent look so each house you walk past gives a new experience. i am in love with houses, hence why i spent my afternoon wandering the streets and staring. and wishing i'd brought my camera to take pictures of strangers houses. the whole time, mac wandered along with me and only jumped all over two people.
all the while, the sun was shining and people were smiling.
i never thought i'd be the kind of person to talk about the weather. but today was perfect. it's days like today that make me sure that i can't live anywhere else but this city. and i hope someday i'll trick a man into marrying me who will be able to buy me one of those pretty houses i spent my afternoon obsessing over.
ok, now that's out of my system i think.
eleven eleven. ok, for reals now...
i think today goes down as one of the best saturdays in history. well, in my own personal history. i'm sure there have been other saturdays in history that are more significant. but i'm self interested, so eff those other saturdays, i know you're all dying to hear about my day. clearly, since you're reading this.
my morning isn't important, but where i wound up i think is. if you're from seattle, you know how perfect this city is in the sunshine. and once the weather warms up, i guarantee a post about why i think seattle summers are utterly wonderful. but on a perfect day, regardless of the season, when there are fluffy clouds out and it's bright enough to warrant sunglasses, the streets become a playground for observation rather than something you dash across to get out of the rain.
today the sidewalks, parks, benches, and even rooftops were crowded. and in the best way. they were crowded with fellow emerald city patrons in love with this city. as i was driving down to madison beach though capital hill (i apparently take the longest possible route anywhere) something i noticed more than anything was the abundance of smiles. something i'm learning about spending so much time talking to people not from this area is this behavior seattle folk have called the seattle freeze. apparently, we're all bitches. yeah, and they're not just talking about the people who live in capital hill. but today, i didn't see a trace of that. people were actually smiling at each other. i smiled at a lady crossing the street and felt that little bit of magic between strangers. i forgot how wonderful that is.
as mentioned, i wound up in madison beach. specifically i met danielle and hilary for lunch at cactus and had the most wonderful quesadilla in the world. and any opportunity i have for girl talk is likely to make any day pretty damn wonderful. but after lunch is when the glory of my day really took hold.
the girls had to leave for danielle to go meet her new boyfriends parents (EXCITING!!) so i decided to take advantage of the weather with the world's best wingman: man's best friend. mac my puppy is pretty much the cutest, least obedient, most easily distracted pup in the world. but he makes for damn good company on the seattle streets- he even manages to poop when there's no one on the same street as us so when i'm a bad owner and forget bags i don't get chewed out for not cleaning up after him. warning: there's a big dog dump on 42nd and lee.
so mac and i took it to the streets. madison beach is an adorable little pocket in the city. because you're pulled away from downtown and the freeway, it really is like being in a different city. there's even free parking. and there's an open expanse of water with other puppies playing. and in the summer, the popsicle man comes through.
the real thing i love about this neighborhood are the homes. they're incredible. a combination of classic crafstman and bungalo stacked right next to contemporary design. i love neighborhoods like that, without a consistent look so each house you walk past gives a new experience. i am in love with houses, hence why i spent my afternoon wandering the streets and staring. and wishing i'd brought my camera to take pictures of strangers houses. the whole time, mac wandered along with me and only jumped all over two people.
all the while, the sun was shining and people were smiling.
i never thought i'd be the kind of person to talk about the weather. but today was perfect. it's days like today that make me sure that i can't live anywhere else but this city. and i hope someday i'll trick a man into marrying me who will be able to buy me one of those pretty houses i spent my afternoon obsessing over.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
number ten: pretty songs
i'm a typical girl in countless ways. i love bad romantic comedies. i wear dresses almost exclusively. i drink bitch beer. another thing that unites me with many other ovary-possessing humans is that the music i prefer tends to be soft and sweet with lyrics revolving about romance. or the lack thereof.
i've been spending a lot of time applying for jobs lately. like 3-6 hours per day. sounds terrible? tell me about it. it's consumed a great deal of my free time and in the process, is starting to kill my spirit about my future. i've always believed that i am the sort of person capable of anything. i'm impossibly charming, relentlessly driven, capable of meeting every challenge, and (clearly) shamelessly confident. you'd think i'd be a hot commodity. but that appears not to be the case after submitting easily 60something applications and rarely moving forward to getting an interview. saying that this all is frustrating would be a giant understatement.
the thing that's been keeping me sane through this process and preventing me from getting an ulcer from all the stress is the pretty music i always play in the background.
i'm kind of a pandora junkie. which i think is the healthiest sort of junkie to be. the kate nash station plays the sort of music that tends to be upbeat, maybe at times slightly melancholy. for whatever reason these pretty tunes (sung by ladies currently employed and probably not living in their parent's basements) put me at ease while at the same time allows me to be sort of sad about this process. and then, out of no where, a fantastic, upbeat, excitement producing song comes on and all my motivation is restored. and i suddenly feel less like the unhirable history major i apparently appear to be on paper and more like who i really am: the woman who any organization would be damn lucky to have on their payroll.
because i'm worth every. last. cent.
days like today i need to remind myself that good things will happen. people always tell me that, and i tend to write it off. i'm a realist, but about my future i am working on regaining the optimism that's gotten me this far. so tristan prettyman, keep singing and keeping me on track so the rest of my life can hurry up and start.
i've been spending a lot of time applying for jobs lately. like 3-6 hours per day. sounds terrible? tell me about it. it's consumed a great deal of my free time and in the process, is starting to kill my spirit about my future. i've always believed that i am the sort of person capable of anything. i'm impossibly charming, relentlessly driven, capable of meeting every challenge, and (clearly) shamelessly confident. you'd think i'd be a hot commodity. but that appears not to be the case after submitting easily 60something applications and rarely moving forward to getting an interview. saying that this all is frustrating would be a giant understatement.
the thing that's been keeping me sane through this process and preventing me from getting an ulcer from all the stress is the pretty music i always play in the background.
i'm kind of a pandora junkie. which i think is the healthiest sort of junkie to be. the kate nash station plays the sort of music that tends to be upbeat, maybe at times slightly melancholy. for whatever reason these pretty tunes (sung by ladies currently employed and probably not living in their parent's basements) put me at ease while at the same time allows me to be sort of sad about this process. and then, out of no where, a fantastic, upbeat, excitement producing song comes on and all my motivation is restored. and i suddenly feel less like the unhirable history major i apparently appear to be on paper and more like who i really am: the woman who any organization would be damn lucky to have on their payroll.
because i'm worth every. last. cent.
days like today i need to remind myself that good things will happen. people always tell me that, and i tend to write it off. i'm a realist, but about my future i am working on regaining the optimism that's gotten me this far. so tristan prettyman, keep singing and keeping me on track so the rest of my life can hurry up and start.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
number nine: post secret
sunday is probably my favorite day of the week. it used to be because this was my guaranteed day to sleep in. as i'm committing to yoga on sundays now, that will no longer be the case. other than sleeping in, sunday is my favorite because it feels like the one day where there isn't much i'm expected to do with accompaniment. it's like i get up, and the whole day is wide open to me... to do laundry... read a book... walk my dog... go sit in a museum... go to the library... and it's ok that i do all these things in silence and on my own. i like being alone more than most i think. and sundays i could easily spend the whole day in silence quite happily.
sundays are also my favorite day of the week because of a blog i discovered my freshman year at SU. i can remember this moment perfectly, walking past the bistro on my way to c-street to get a meal passing this bulletin board about an event on campus for postsecret. the add said something about the power of secrets or something, but i blew it off and missed the event. then, i stumbled upon the site and have been kicking myself for not attending frank warren's talk ever since.
the website is postsecret.com, and the basic premise for the site and also the books is that warren publishes postcards that people all around the world have sent him. these postcards are of people's secrets: they can be big or little, happy or sad, complex or simple, serious or hilarious. before coming across this site, i'd always thought of secrets as being some heavy, dramatic thing we all hold inside. and now i realize that they can be that, as well as a million other things.
the thing about the site, which makes warren one of the most wonderful people i can think of, is that the site unites people. when a person is feeling hopeless, as if life is crushing in all around them, the postcards demonstrate that a person is never really alone in misery or whatever else we're feeling at the time. we're all miserable, elated, crazy, hopeful, and mischievous.
i just appreciate anything that celebrates the emotions we all feel, and attempts to unite people on that basis. also, when reading some of these over the years, it's like i can feel the weight being lifted off the person's shoulders upon letting my eyes come across it.
i've never submitted anything to postsecret, mostly because i've never had a secret i haven't shared. but someday i might. and i'm glad that if there's ever something i need to get off my chest, the outlet is only a mailbox away.
below i've re-posted some of my favorite postcards from over the years. enjoy. consider. sleep well.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
number eight: left over thai food
first of all, when googling "fear of..." the first thing that comes up is "fear of long words." i want to meet a person who is afraid of long words and shout things like "antidisestablishmentarianism" at them. but alas, this post isn't about long words (although don't doubt that a later post won't be).
i was trying to find the correct name for fear of going on dates, but google failed me. and this google search wouldn't have been completely accurate in the first place- i'm not afraid of dates, i just like to avoid them at all cost. don't believe me? i've canceled just about every date in the past two years i've been asked out on. it's become a running joke for all my friends. typically the surest way to get me to want to spend time with you is NOT to ask me out. sorry men, i'm just another lady whose rationale is anything but rational.
against my better judgment, and with the coercion of kara "smith," i signed up for online dating. for someone who hates dating, this really doesn't make any sense. however i will say i love the conversation the site provides. and who doesn't like being flirted with? the site i'm using is okcupid.com, because it's free. if you're considering trying out a site, i highly recommend it. i was semi-freaked out to try it (worried i was going to be sent messages by countless creepers) but overall it's been a pleasant experience. but like i said before, generally when someone requests a date or drinks, i stop responding to them. just because it seems like the most rational (read: irrational) thing to do.
since the new year turned over, i've been feeling more like myself but less like myself at the same time. confusing? tell me about it. what i mean is this- i feel more like i did when i was thirsty for something interesting. something new. and less like myself in that i don't feel as committed to ruitine and in fact want the oppostite of that. so the other night, i actually went out on a date.
i won't go into details, but for my AVID readers just know it was nice. any date that results in left over thai food is a good one in my book. any date that results in left over thai AND a few days worth of ridiculously fun texting results in a second date too apparently. this post wasn't about what i'd intended to go into, but i think that's maybe the point. i'm enjoying all the things that are coming my way. discovering that if i approach life ready to face whatever fears or apprehensions i have, at least if nothing else in the end i'm left with fantastic left overs.
i was trying to find the correct name for fear of going on dates, but google failed me. and this google search wouldn't have been completely accurate in the first place- i'm not afraid of dates, i just like to avoid them at all cost. don't believe me? i've canceled just about every date in the past two years i've been asked out on. it's become a running joke for all my friends. typically the surest way to get me to want to spend time with you is NOT to ask me out. sorry men, i'm just another lady whose rationale is anything but rational.
against my better judgment, and with the coercion of kara "smith," i signed up for online dating. for someone who hates dating, this really doesn't make any sense. however i will say i love the conversation the site provides. and who doesn't like being flirted with? the site i'm using is okcupid.com, because it's free. if you're considering trying out a site, i highly recommend it. i was semi-freaked out to try it (worried i was going to be sent messages by countless creepers) but overall it's been a pleasant experience. but like i said before, generally when someone requests a date or drinks, i stop responding to them. just because it seems like the most rational (read: irrational) thing to do.
since the new year turned over, i've been feeling more like myself but less like myself at the same time. confusing? tell me about it. what i mean is this- i feel more like i did when i was thirsty for something interesting. something new. and less like myself in that i don't feel as committed to ruitine and in fact want the oppostite of that. so the other night, i actually went out on a date.
i won't go into details, but for my AVID readers just know it was nice. any date that results in left over thai food is a good one in my book. any date that results in left over thai AND a few days worth of ridiculously fun texting results in a second date too apparently. this post wasn't about what i'd intended to go into, but i think that's maybe the point. i'm enjoying all the things that are coming my way. discovering that if i approach life ready to face whatever fears or apprehensions i have, at least if nothing else in the end i'm left with fantastic left overs.
Monday, January 10, 2011
number seven: love letters
last night i couldn't sleep. this happens a lot, i'm exhausted most of the day and then completely restless at night. so to cure my tossing and turning, i tend to read until i can't keep my eyes open. last night i wasn't in the mood to get heavily involved in the holocaust journal i'm in the midst of, so i took a gander at my bookshelf and decided to take a look at a book my mom gave me last year for christmas. she knows how nosy i am and gave me a book entitled "other people's love letters," which is a scrapbook of love letters, rejections, poems, and other mementos that document bits and pieces of a tryst.
i love that word, tryst.
i have a tendency to keep every scrap of paper ever given to me. i have a giant box of notes folded only the way 8th grade girls can fold, cards given for various birthdays from relatives i only see at christmas, and pictures from coloring books colored by the most irritating little girls who liked to pee in public places and made me look like a terrible nanny. i also have saved every love letter ever written to me. this can be hazardous when i'm feeling self destructive, bitter, or drunk. however, i've been giving this whole love letter business a second thought since reading through that book last night. most notably, i've come to the conclusion that love letters aren't strictly romantic, from the people we share epic make out sessions with. but they are also the written proof of unimaginable, awe inspiring, friendships.
everyone loves feeling loved. duh. but outside of your middle school boyfriends and the best friends who braid friendship bracelets, a written piece of love doesn't really exist anymore. i guess that's what makes the concept so special as we get older. i was reading letters written by adults, so enamored with their significant other they couldn't just say it- they had to write it down. that sort of documentation signifies something great, something romantic, and perhaps something that suddenly blindsides you that you can't live without.
the love letters i've always loved receiving and enjoyed reading last night are the ones that document a fleeting, fly by night, random, especially ridiculous event or trait that is totally exclusive to the relationship and person. and often, the note points something out that the other person had no idea was noticed. which makes it all the more unique and incredible.
people need to feel loved more often. i recently received a love letter from one of my oldest, dearest friends and i know it's a piece of paper that will never end up in the recycle. maybe we should all write down our love more, maybe people would hurt less if we did. maybe on a very bad terrible no good day those little mumblings of adoration and affection are what everyone needs. we need to love each other more, and write it down so that in times of doubt, when a hand can't be held, those words are there.
just a suggestion.
i love that word, tryst.
i have a tendency to keep every scrap of paper ever given to me. i have a giant box of notes folded only the way 8th grade girls can fold, cards given for various birthdays from relatives i only see at christmas, and pictures from coloring books colored by the most irritating little girls who liked to pee in public places and made me look like a terrible nanny. i also have saved every love letter ever written to me. this can be hazardous when i'm feeling self destructive, bitter, or drunk. however, i've been giving this whole love letter business a second thought since reading through that book last night. most notably, i've come to the conclusion that love letters aren't strictly romantic, from the people we share epic make out sessions with. but they are also the written proof of unimaginable, awe inspiring, friendships.
everyone loves feeling loved. duh. but outside of your middle school boyfriends and the best friends who braid friendship bracelets, a written piece of love doesn't really exist anymore. i guess that's what makes the concept so special as we get older. i was reading letters written by adults, so enamored with their significant other they couldn't just say it- they had to write it down. that sort of documentation signifies something great, something romantic, and perhaps something that suddenly blindsides you that you can't live without.
the love letters i've always loved receiving and enjoyed reading last night are the ones that document a fleeting, fly by night, random, especially ridiculous event or trait that is totally exclusive to the relationship and person. and often, the note points something out that the other person had no idea was noticed. which makes it all the more unique and incredible.
people need to feel loved more often. i recently received a love letter from one of my oldest, dearest friends and i know it's a piece of paper that will never end up in the recycle. maybe we should all write down our love more, maybe people would hurt less if we did. maybe on a very bad terrible no good day those little mumblings of adoration and affection are what everyone needs. we need to love each other more, and write it down so that in times of doubt, when a hand can't be held, those words are there.
just a suggestion.
Monday, January 3, 2011
number six: car dancing
do me a favor, while you're reading this post listen to florence and the machine. specifically, 'the dog days are over' or 'hurricane drunk.'
if you knew me in high school, you probably saw me dancing in the halls. without any musical accompaniment of course. side note- my first real boyfriend said that's what got his attention... knowing this always makes me smile. if you knew me at seattle university, you might have spotted me dancing on the island in the kitchen of 17th and jefferson. probably very sloppily. and if you knew me while at western, i could often be spotted shaking it to salt and peppa or a little britney with a whiskey sour in my hot little hand. again, probably very sloppily.
i don't understand people who don't dance. this means you, sarah paschall. who can listen to music, and is not inclined to lose all control? that's how i dance, without any sort of control. well, that's not how i always dance, but it is when i'm emotionally involved with the music. do you ever notice that? how certain songs you can just get completely lost in? those are my favorite kinds of songs, and i've met quite a few of them. some of the best memories i have are dancing my face off with scott morgan, at the wild buffalo, on funk mondays in 2009. fall quarter i'd put on my favorite jeans, leave my heels in my closet in favor of a pair of ratty converse i've had since 8th grade, and forget that i had class the next morning. it was amazing because i'd leave all my baggage at the door (and we all know i've got a lot of baggage) and just feel alive.
isn't that what they say music does- make you feel alive? let you get lost for a minute? i think somewhere over the past year i forgot that. i let myself start to believe that a dance floor was just another place where i might get some attention. i have the tendency to be an attention whore- i'll completely own that. but what i realized tonight while driving is that i've forgotten the joy that comes when you just dance your butt off and not care and really not want anyone to be looking. tonight i worked it out HARD when 'dog days' came on. like i probably should have pulled over i was dancing so hard. the feeling you get from getting entangled with a verse is something i'd lost until tonight. and it's funny how much someone so alive can forget what it feels like to really explode with life.
there's a difference between the two, and i hope you all explode someday soon. with love, and life, and joy, and grief, and passion. and i hope you all feel the weight that lifts when you get lost shaking your butt behind a steering wheel.
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