number thirty two: the perfect morning drive music

Avicii: Levels

that was what came on my pandora this morning half way through my drive.

i'm one of those people for whom music sets the mood of my day. if something melodramatic comes on, my day or at least moment is likely to be a mellow one. if it starts with Hova, the day is going to have swag. but when something like this, something... with heat... with energy... when the perfect bass driven song plays i can't not want to kick the day's ass. and do so with a full blown, nothing held back, smile on my face. no matter what has been going on in my sad little pretty damn perfect life, when something like this comes blasting through my speakers first thing in the morning, it's like god is giving me permission to make this day my bitch.

picture me: haven't showered in three days, haven't slept in just as many if not more, 20oz sugar free redbull in my hot little hand, heat cranked in the battle wagon i call a subaru. fist pumping (and making moves similar to homeboy in this video, obviously) my FACE off. alone. my fellow drivers who happened to take a gander must have witnessed quite the little show.

it's moments like this, when there's an incredible sunrise showing off how great the mountains look (Washington's lovely lady lumps, in my humble opinion), and i've got something like this making my ears rattle, that i'm reminded that life is good. no matter how much garbage i feel like i'm drowning in.

Turn the Avicii up, turn down the bullshit, and fistpump your morning away. when you get to work and completely show the day who's boss, you'll know who to thank (the electronic synth gods).

number thirty one: control

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 ;)