Tuesday, September 13, 2011
I love fall.
Quite simply, it's the perfect season. Just like Goldilocks, I prefer my weather neither too hot, nor too cold - and fall's weather lands perfectly in that lovely in-between.
Leaves die in a splash of color (because, I guess, if you're going to go out then you might as well make a spectacle of it, and even Mother Nature is entitled to be one dramatic bitch sometimes), Halloween is right around the corner, apples are ripe for the picking, and there's this delicious crisp quality to the air that just makes me tingle.
That's right. Tingle. Not to be confused with Tinkle, which is an entirely different notion.
Football, hockey, fencing. I semi-follow football, pretty much bleed black and orange when hockey season starts, and I couldn't tell you anything at all about fencing - other than it sounds kind of cool, and I can totally picture myself with a sabre.
Ok. Let's face it. I just like sharp, pointy objects.
Something else I happen to adore: fall clothing. Boots. I will totally hit up Marshall's (because, well, who doesn't love Marshall's?) and make Charlie Sheen look positively sane in comparison. My girlish squeals of delight will echo down the aisles, and passerby will avoid all eye contact. I don't care. God help any soul unfortunate enough to be between me and a fabulous pair of boots. I can be a bit of a slut when it comes to a good fall jacket (or hoodie!), and it is painfully obvious whenever I step into the gloriously air-conditioned interior of my local Marshall's.
I've decided to join a gym this fall. It's one of those "open 24 hr" deals - hopefully I won't get stabbed or raped or mauled on my way there after work. Seeing as how I normally work until 9 to 9:30 pm, a 24hr gym is necessary. Along with attempting to eat better, I'm hoping that it'll do my body some good. Updates to come.
Then there's also Captain America (the boy). At the risk of sounding disgustingly sappy, I'm excited to spend this fall with him. His birthday is in November. I'm getting him Pixies tickets. I totally couldn't keep my trap shut and (right before eating dinner with him) I was totally all "So...DOYOUWANNASEETHEPIXIESWITHMEONYOURBIRTHDAY?"
After a moment (which I assume he took so he could decipher my babble), he blinked. Then told me I was awesome.
I know Captain America. I am awesome. Thank you for noticing. :)
Apple picking has started. I think I'm going to attempt it this Sunday. Maybe make a pie.
A pie seems like a nice way to welcome in fall, right? Right.
Monday, July 11, 2011
I'm totally stealing their idea. If anyone has more experience in fumbling, awkward boys I dare them to come forth with their stories. Do you hear that ladies?
I. FUCKING. DARE. YOU.
Nyx's guide to romance. Here you go,
We want the Bad Boy...
Yes. It's true. We want the bad boy, the guy who is the Jim Stark to our Judy. We don't want a boy that we're going to have to defend. We don't want to be the man in the relationship - it's up to you to be the man. And, let's face it - if you come off too nice, we're going to think that you're a wuss. That said, being a complete jackass isn't going to make our lady-parts swoon either. Just be you - be comfortable and secure in yourself.
Don't be a conversational whore
Ok boys. I know that you are more emotionally invested in your game of Magick the Gathering than more people are in their children. I realize that it's hard to focus on anything other than what sweet awesome attack you're going to totally pwn your opponent with, and I realize that you totally want to share the details of that attack with whoever you go out with. I have three words for you, compadre:
Don't. Do. It.
That's like...a total date killer. Especially if the girl isn't into it. And even if she is...the first date is about figuring out the other person's personality. Not about rambling on and on about your card game. Or sports. Or...insert hobby here. Seriously. You're on the date to meet us and vice versa. Don't make it all about you.
...I had thought this went without saying, however a friend of mine recently informed me that she went on a date and her date had B.O.
Instant turn-off, boys. Please. Bath. Shower. Whatever. Just don't smell like that funk that's at the bottom of a garbage disposal. Also in line with personal hygiene: clean clothing is a must, hair (if you have it) is to be neatly groomed, never ever style the peach fuzz on your chin into a goatee, and please keep the neck-beard to a minimum. Also: certain men can wear scruff, and it's dead sexy. If you are not one of these men, please, for the LOVE OF GOD, don't attempt it. You'll wind up looking like a squirrel with mange.
Tip the waiter well
If you're paying, then please make sure you tip the waiter well. Nobody likes a cheap-ass, and yes - we are watching.
DON'T SCRATCH YOUR BALLS
Seriously. Really? This has to be said?
Don't fucking patronize us, listen to us
We're talking to you because we value conversation and want to make sure you aren't a mental midget. You lose more and more points every time you oogle our cleavage. You also lose points for sounding like an arrogant ass, and treating us like we're inferior.
Personality's a must
Don't just sit there staring at us through dinner. Don't expect us to make up all the conversation. Don't expect us to do all the work.
Participate. Share your views, your ideas. Show us that winsome personality. Just don't make us feel like we're out to dinner with a tree stump.
Have some pride
You're a nice guy. You don't think you've committed any grievous errors in judgement on the date, and yet...she didn't call you back! But you really liked her!
Sometimes, it just doesn't work. Move on. There's someone out there who will dig you, but to find her you're going to have to work a bit. I know what it feels like to be emotionally crushed. Trust me - if she didn't call you back, it's not something bad - it's just that you two aren't compatible. Work on finding someone who you are compatible with - you're a great guy, after all, and you deserve to find someone who can make you happy.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Anyways. So there I was. Driving. With glowing bug guts. I put on my windshield wipers and sprayed the hell out of my windshield in an effort to clean the distracting, glowing guts off of it. Didn't work.
Apparently, if you're going to murder an insect by slamming into it at a high speed, make sure it's not a lightening bug - that shit is impossible to clean off.
So there I was, in the humid (because...this is Delaware. And summers here are humid as fuck) night, cleaning bug guts off my windshield with a bottle of Windex and a not unsubstantial amount of paper towels. I had happened to have a crappy day, and I felt as if it were my own blasted insides that I was cleaning off that damn windshield.
I could hear children playing down the street in the summer night. I remembered when I was younger, teaching Leech how to catch fireflies and romping around the neighborhood with my buddies until all hours of the night. We were kind of invincible then, in our own little bubbles of self-assured childhood.
I miss that. It occurs to me that I've spent a good deal of time mourning my childhood. Somewhere, along the lines of life, I lost my innocence and wonder, and grew up and became responsible. I think it's a problem that a lot of people in my age bracket grapple with - finding their place in the world.
We all want to hold on to our childhood selves, we don't want to lose who we are - but we want to succeed. We want to stride forth in the working world and be individuals that are capable of standing out in the crowd, and yet in our pursuit of this we tend to lose who we really are. It's a tricky sort of paradox.
How many compromises do we have to make in order to succeed? Hopefully, not many. However, a good many of my friends have forgotten who they are in favor of fitting in with the crowd. I've even caught myself, a few times, losing who and what I am in an effort to assimilate.
And it's sad, in a way, that we're even being forced to make this decision (even if said decision is oft made subconsciously). It's sad that, in a culture that claims to celebrate and embrace individuality, we're all losing our own individuality in an effort to stand out.
What happened to just being me?
Sunday, June 19, 2011
My dad is, and always will be, an irascible, opinionated buffoon. I can say this because I'm his daughter.
If any of you said it, it's be grounds for harsh judgement on my end.
My dad taught me how to use a chainsaw properly. How to take care of a fishtank. How to best annoy my mother.
He taught me how to make pancakes in the shape of a 's.'
I love my dad. Even though, more often than not, he frustrates the hell out of me with his old-world ideas on what a family is and how "ladies" are supposed to behave. Even though he eats his weight in ice-cream on a weekly basis, despite having diabetes. Even though he can be the absolute densest person on earth sometimes - which, quite frankly, is annoying as fuck.
He's still my daddy.
Happy Father's day, y'all.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
So yea. I get to have Lily for the second time in a row on my blog. Heh. Wahoo! This ring is shitty movie awareness club, or SMAC as we like to call it, and this month's feature concerns animated movies. Anyways, I'll just let Lily take it from here, since she's so much more awesome than I ever could be. If you'd like to see me rag on Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, check out Tit's blog here. Also, big thanks to Nugs for organizing this monster of a ring - we love you long time.
Hi, and welcome to the June installment of Shitty Movie Awareness Club! This month’s theme is animated movies. And while, I love many animated movies, I have one to pick a bone or two with. I originally wanted to write about Disney’s Up. I quickly realized that despite the very depressing beginning to that movie, and how creepy I think it is that the old man travels around the world in his house with that chubby little boy …. I still LOVE Up and can never really say anything bad about it.
The Jetsons: The Movie. From the 1990’s. Not that I remember anything from 1990 (when the movie was released). I was only three, but I saw this when I was like six or seven and thought it was pretty stupid then, and I think it’s stupid now.
Firstly, the plot was dumb. How can someone as dumb as George Jetson get a super huge promotion, when according to Mr. Spacely, he’s a freaking idiot? To go from a Homer Simpson-esque position in Mr. Burn’s nuclear power plant to a Vice President position made my head explode. And the writers wanted me to believe that these cutesy wootesy little teddy bear thingies are the bad guys?! Yeah, NO!
Cute thingies can’t be bad guys! Plus they needed the sprockets, so screw you Mr. Spacely.
Everything’s just wrong with the stupid movie. It takes place it the near future. And while I guess in the 1950’s we thought we’d be a lot more advanced than we actually are… but that’s still no excuse (You hear that, Hanna-Barbera?). Here were my problems with this movie:
Problem #1: How do the Jetson’s live in the future and not have warm water? Even the Flintstones had warm water, and they were living in the Stone Age.
Problem #2: The people of the late 21st century have personal spaceships. But said ships have no breaks, and they have to break with their feet?!
The only thing that is semi-right is the robot maid thing:
Robot Maid meet Robot Maid.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Oh. Right. This isn't twitter, this is my blog. Silly me. Still though....#stoked.
Right. Onto Lily's post :) If you want to see mine, head on over to the fabulous Risha's blog (I know I say this everytime I post these things, but I so won the jackpot this time).
Hello Bloggerstock readers! I’m lily and I’m from Is it too early for a martini? Nyxy and I both signed up for two different blog rings, and by chance, I’m guest posting on her blog twice. And this is the first of the two.
This month for bloggerstock, we got a chance to bring out our old diaries and journals and reflect back on what we wrote. I found an entry that was short and simple… but I’m going to re-write is as an adult.
School today was boring. We didn’t do anything. We were supposed to start thinking about what we want to do it on. I’m not sure what I should do yet. It’s not really a competition type, so there’s no prize. And Mr. S ---- said he’s going to film us while we talk about our project. Weird.
After school, Luis walked me home. He told me he still liked me. I don’t know if I still like him. He said he wanted me to be his girlfriend. I told him I need to think about it. So I told him to call me later. Or I’ll just tell him on Monday.
How I would write this now:
I was being the typical underachiever today at school. I’m sure we were learning something we needed to learn … like the pythagorean theorem, or something like that. Our task was supposed to pick an experiment for our science project. Which - by the way - isn’t a competition like REAL science projects. What the fuck is up with that? I would so take this more seriously if I got some sort of ribbon, or even a certificate for this… but a trophy would be nice. Mr. S ---- told us he would be filming our presentations. Can you say CREEPO!? Who records 14 year olds talking about rotten bananas? Pedos. That’s who.
Luis and I walked home together after school. I mean, not like we don’t live in the same direction. He said he still liked me. And I don’t blame him. I’m the only girl in our class who doesn’t wear a training bra! Duh, he’s still going to like me. Then this little dipshit asked me out. Uh, yeah, no Luis. No. I don’t really like him anymore. He’s just really cute but kind of a douchebag. I told him to call me when he got home… because I have him wrapped around my finger. But, most likely on Monday, I’ll tell him, “No dice!”.
Monday, May 23, 2011
It was a lavish affair filled with the type of insanity that my mother's side of the family specializes in. My mother is the second eldest out of six girls. I get the feeling that Grandpop just wanted one son - instead he got six girls. Of the 20-something cousins I have on mom's side of the family, I only have three male cousins.
All that estrogen is bound to make a family wonky.
The affair was lavish, the food spectacular. I wore a dress, and high heels, and managed to completely girl myself out without looking like a drag queen gone wrong, so points to me for that (I think).
Despite it having been my cousin's wedding, my grandmother is the one who shone.
She's 81 years old, has hair that adds a good two and a half inches to her height, and is a complete and utter diva.
So there I was, sitting at a table with one of my few male cousins, drinking whiskey and making awkward small talk. That is, making awkward small talk until I saw Andrew's mouth gape open and his gaze focus on a point somewhere over my left shoulder.
I turned around, and felt my own jaw drop. I'm sure my eyes widened marginally as well.
There, on the dance floor, was the beloved matriarch of my family, the woman who believes in saving yourself for marriage and is one of the most respectable people I've ever met...that same woman...
Was dancing to Beyonce's Single Ladies.
Hand motions and everything.
She then followed that up with a glass of pinot and a cherry bomb. She thought the bomb was a delightful drink.
My grandmother? Is Fucking Awesome.
She partied late into the wee hours of the morning. I seriously think she keeps her husband, my grandfather, alive by sheer force of will.
You have to understand, my grandmother is a classy dame.
I don't have a single bad memory of either her or my grandfather, and their relationship is everything that I hope for in my future. They got married when she was 19 (so they've been together for about 62 years), and they're still crazy in love with each other. They're that little old couple at the park, sitting on a bench together, that couple that makes hearts melt at the mere sight of their presence.
Except Grandmom wouldn't be caught dead walking around in a park. No, she's more likely to drag Grandpop to the movies, or dancing.
Grandpop hates dancing, but does it anyways because Grandmom loves it.
I hope I inherit her genes.
Monday, May 2, 2011
So today I'm hosting the wonderful...the fabulous...(insert Oprah drama here)...Tits!
I am completely psyched for this, it's kind of embarrassing. Anyway, If you want to see my review, head on over to Krista's blog.
Welcome to Shitty Movie Awareness Club for May! We co-opted the fabulous Mandy Moore into SMAC, so we choose to do Pop-Star movies this month. Because lets be honest
Anyways I'm going after Willie Nelson and Jessica Simpson for the awful train-wreck that was the Dukes of Hazzard. Now i should note I have never seen the original Duke of Hazzard tv show, so i went into watching this movie with no preconceived notions of what it should be like except that Daisy Duke was a Brunette and OMG why did they cast Jessica Simpson in that role?
Frankly, the casting in general for the movie kinda sucked. Johnny Knoxville (Luke Duke) is playing the same stupid asshole character he seems to be in real life. Sean William Scott (Bo Duke) is typecast into another role as a blubbering idiot. Willie Nelson (Uncle Jesse) is just one big pot joke the entire movie. Jessica Simpson (Daisy Duke) was cast for the sole purpose of being pretty because her acting in the movie is most limited to her flirting her way into getting someone to do something for her. The only good casting in the movie is Burt Reynolds as Boss Hogg, because Burt Reynolds plays a good bad guy.
The plot is just as abysmal. Luke, Bo and Daisy run a moonshine business for Uncle Jesse. Luke sleeps with every available girl he can find, while Bo is in love with his car, the General Lee. Boss Hogg has an evil plan to round up the farms in the area and turn them into a strip
But lets get the main culprit here: Jessica Simpson. For a foray into acting, this was the lamest attempt ever. She didn't act; she strolled around being sexy for half the film. In the opening scene she beats the crap out of some guy for hitting on her even though she is wearing shorts so tiny you can see up her ass. In one scene she needs to get information from the local town cop for her cousins, so what does she do?
She shows up in a bikini to seduce the information out of him. I mean how fucking cheap can you get? The best scene in the whole movie for me is where Daisy has to get the roadblock moved so that the Duke boys can get through to save the town. So what does she do? She shows up in skin tight jeans and this tiny top with her boobs falling out to a roadblock claiming she has a flat tire and poor little her can't change it. It almost works too all the male cops are following Daisy until one butch lesbian cop calls them all the other cops out for being idiots who only think with their small heads. The face Jessica Simpson makes at that point is the most acting she does in the entire film.
Plus I will never forgive her for the awful things she did to Nancy Sinatra's These Boots Are Made for Walking for the soundtrack. I happen to love that song and Jessica Simpson ruined it. She took it from a powerful song about a girl being wronged and getting back at the asshole who did it and made it a song about how sexy she is. I mean watch this video and tell me if i am wrong. When i get to the part at the end where she is washing the General Lee, I just want to vomit. Way to set the women's movement back a generation. Willie Nelson is now dead to me for contributing to that trainwreck.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Anyways, here he is!!
Welcome to bloggerstock. This month the topic is "photo inspired." it just so happens that the image used for inspiration this month is one of mine. After my post I will tell you more about the image itself, but for now enjoy the ramblings inspired by it! I suppose my writing is probably somewhat influenced by the fact that I was there to capture the scene, but most of what I am writing is fiction.
The warm sun beat down on the cobblestones warming the streets as the small town bustled with midday activity. There was barely a cloud in the sky on the beautiful summer day. Snippets of frenetic conversations of friends and lovers drifted up from the sidewalk caves along with the mouth-watering aromas of lunch. People wandered the streets below, darting in and out of shops and stopping to see what the street vendors were offering today.
All this was happening below. Below the rampart walkway that overlooked the small harbour. A multitude of brightly colored sailboats sat resting at their moorings on the calm waters, the stillness broken every now and then by small rowboats carrying people to and from their boats.
No one bothered to look up, people rarely do. There was too much going on in the streets for most people to spare a moment to look up. Most of the people knew what to expect anyway, the rampart walk was were one would see young lovers walking hand in hand or leaning out over the walls together. It was a place for romance on warm summer evenings under the brightly colors clouds of sunset.
Today the walk was mostly empty, after all, it was a market day and it was lunchtime. No one noticed the little girl who just stood, watching. Ariadne wasn't running away or trying to escape, she just sought some solitude. She wanted some time to think. Most people wouldn't have thought that a girl her age would seek such solitude for her pensiveness, but she was not like other girls her age.
She stared out over the water in silent reverie, barely noticed by anyone around. Even with her golden curls glowing in the afternoon sunlight she almost blended into the background. This was how she wanted felt, how she wanted to be: part of the scenery and lost in thought. Even when passersby did notice her there, they didn’t pay much mind, the streets were full of little girls.
As she looked out over the water she felt a pull, a longing. Despite her age she felt like there was more, something that she was missing. Home was nice, but the world called to her. This was not the first time she stood on this walkway feeling this way. It wouldn’t be the last either. What she didn’t know was that this day was different. She had already seen something that would change the path of her life, but like her, it blended into the background. It had seen here to, but like itself she blended into the background. For now…
A few notes about this post. First off, in writing this, I think that I might pick this up as a starting point for more. It was kind of fun to write. So you might discover more of this on my blog in the future.
Secondly, about the photo. For all the participants in bloggerstock and anyone who was wondering, the photo was taken in La Rochelle, France. I don’t know who the girl was, I just spotted her there, alone for a while and then with another young girl. The walk is above the street level and does look out on a harbour.
Hope you are enjoying bloggerstock, make sure to check out the other posts for this month and if you are interested in participating in the future, visit the bloggerstock website: http://www.bloggerstock.net/
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
If you want to see my ridiculousness, you can head over to Bianca's blog. Earplugs are recommended.
Here's her intro:
and here's the main event!!!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
I put her through so much shit when we were little. When she was 5 or 6 (and I was 11 or 12), I once told her that she was adopted, and that Mom and Dad wanted to return her because she was defective. I put a stamp on her forehead, and had her out on the curb packed and waiting for the mailman, tears be damned.
Mom wasn't too happy with me then. I like to think she was laughing on the inside. Once Dad was done laughing (and after getting a quelling look from Mother), I was sent to my room (seriously, they thought that was a punishment? My books were in my room), presumably to think over my most grievous error in judgement and taste.
I schemed instead.
I remember romping around the neighborhood with my friends, Leech (my sister) trailing behind. We'd ride our bikes and she'd attempt to keep up with her brand new scooter, because she refused to learn how to ride a bike.
We outran her every time.
I taught Leech many things when we were little. I taught her how to dig for worms, where the best spot in the creek was to catch minnows, how to avoid crazy old Mrs. McCluskie's dog whenever cutting through her yard. I also taught her not to eat yellow snow.
She still hasn't thanked me for that.
We were raised differently. When I was younger, my family didn't have a lot of money. I remember the electricity getting shut off, or us not having any heat in the wintertime because we couldn't afford to fill the oil tank up. My father has his own business now, and it took off when Leech was young. So she never went through any of that (thank God). She never knew what it was like to do without. As a result, she's quite spoiled (I think my parents kind of overcompensated a smidge). I'm the frugal spendthriftyish one (or, as she likes to call me, the Scrooge), and she burns through money like it's going out of style.
As I write this, she's getting ready to go out with her friends. It suddenly occurs to me that my baby sister is growing up, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. She's in college - attempting to procure a business degree.
Her grammar still sucks.
We still fight. We still pretend to hate each other. And yet...there's a sort of camaraderie that wasn't there when we were younger. It's most unsettling.
So I'm watching her go out the door now, to go hang out with her "friend that's just a coworker" (that pays for all her food, movie tickets, etc). She's all grown up, and she can take care of herself now.
But if he hurts her, I have a hockey stick, and I'm not afraid to use it.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
I mentioned myspace to a teenager the other day. He asked me what it was (I FEEL OLD). So, without further ado...a list. My comments are in italics.
Instructions: The post is a list of 99 things you could have done, and you are supposed to bold the ones that you yourself have done.
1. Started your own blog obviously.
2. Slept under the stars bring the bug spray.
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower I make it a habit to try to catch them. The Perseids are my favorite.
6. Given more than you can afford to charity Anything I give is more than I can afford.
7. Been to DisneyWorld Yep. I might have to blog about that trip. It's...amusing.
8. Climbed a mountain Yep. Done that. It was a little one though :-p
9. Held a praying mantis I love praying mantises (mantii?). I held a bit of a fascination for bugs when I was little...and even now I'll pick one up for the hell of it.
10. Sang a solo I don't want to talk about it.
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm One of my favorite things to do in the summer is to sit out on the back deck, with a cup of iced tea, and watch thunderstorms.
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch Photography. I used to rent books from the library about photography, and kind of stumbled into the rest. Watercolors and oils as well - learning is half the fun.
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning Another one I don't want to talk about.
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables I grow tomatoes in the summer, and tend to mix up the rest. Loose leaf lettuce, cucumbers, peppers. I like to grow herbs as well.
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight Uh, yea. You're missing out if you haven't.
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill You know you have. And if you haven't...you're lying.
24. Built a snow fort Every winter. It's one of my traditions.
25. Held a lamb I got chased by one once....
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse Of the heart!!!
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset Back when I was dedicated to my photography, I used to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to grab a sunrise picture. Yea. I was nuts.
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors Both the Irish and Scottish ones! Next up...English, Italian, German...crap. This could get expensive.
35. Seen an Amish community I live less than 40 minutes away from Lancaster. Seriously, why is this even on the list?
36. Taught yourself a new language Uh. I kind of sort of know Spanish. A mute first grader's Spanish, but it counts...right?
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied Working on it.
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing Kind of sort of. Since it wasn't technically rock climbing, I'm not going to bold it. But there was a sheer cliff face, and there was climbing involved.
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke Thanks Pumpkin. And Kandace. *Grumble*
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt Man. I really want to put a penis joke here.
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight I saw baby turtles!
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing We caught a few sharks.
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris-
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain And let me tell you. It. Was. Hawt.
53. Played in the mud Who doesn't?
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class Yep. I could totally kick your ass.
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching I don't suppose spending the day at Rehoboth counts?
63. Got flowers for no reason Yes. And it made me blush. Damnit.
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy Her name is Ashley. AND SHE HAS FEELINGS TOO, DAMNIT.
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been a passenger on a motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper I was like...7. And I was precocious and had an awesomely carved pumpkin.
85. Kissed a stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve
86. Visited the White House Standing outside the gate and oogling the greeness of the lawn counts, right?
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Got a tattoo
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee Fucker.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
"Here." A single syllable, and one that was meant to be uttered truthfully. But if I'm being honest? I wasn't there. I was anywhere but there. I was too busy trying to figure out my schedule to listen to the teacher tell us the rules, was too busy thinking about the cute boy sitting two seats up to think about the morning prayer, and I was too busy thinking of all the things to come to realize that I? Wasn't there. I'll get back to this in a minute, so stay with me.
Anyways, high-school was a wholly terrifying experience for me.
I didn't quite know how to fit in. Underdeveloped, glasses that could have doubled as petri dishes, and an unfortunate habit of falling were among the least of my concerns during what is oft referred to as 'the best years of my life.'
I'm telling you, World. If those were the best years of my life I might as well just give the fuck up right now.
Seeing as how no lightening has struck me down yet, I'm gunna assume that the Big Guy has better plans for me and that there will, in fact, be better years ahead.
Anyways, the point is, I didn't exactly fit in. Everyone else in art class attempted to make artwork that reflected them. They tried to "express themselves".
I? Made dragons. Because c'mon now...dragons are kickass and kind of awesome. I remember my teacher walking over to where I was carefully laying strips of paper mache over wire.
"Sara. What are you making?" I leaned back slightly to look at her.
"Sara, that's not what the assignment was. You're supposed to express yourself - you need to let us know who you are. I suggest you start over." With a disdainful sniff and the clatter of her
I looked at my poor half-constructed reptilian friend, and dismantled him. Started over. Made something suitably expressive. Got an A.
That's pretty much how high-school went for me. Go to class, try to fit in, fail miserably. Go home. Wake up, repeat.
And then I hit college. All of a sudden I was exposed to people from other cultures, I had the chance to get involved in intellectual discussions, I was able to be myself without being looked at like there was something intrinsically wrong with me.
But I didn't.
I didn't step out of my box and get to know my classmates, and I didn't debate and cause hell. I went to class, stayed silent, took my notes and passed my tests. I met a few friends along the way - I even still talk to a few of them, and I'm lucky enough to count at least one as a good friend. I graduated with my BA in anthropology (perhaps one of the biggest ironies in my life thus far is that my degree is in the study of something that I never quite felt a part of - culture).
I had a few boyfriends through college and after it. I've learned something different from every one, and I have the great fortune of genuinely saying that they? Are all really nice guys. I don't regret a thing.
I found myself drifting recently. Depression set in, and I began drinking far too much. I contemplated doing something that I swore to myself that I'd never do to myself ever again. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw nothing. An absolute void of a person, with no notable accomplishments to date and no reason to exist.
I was wrong.
All my life I've had people telling me who I am, what I should do, what's appropriate and what's not. I've had people judge me based off my job, and I've had people tell me what I should think about this, that or the other. And I? Am sick of it.
I have plans. Big ones. And I will accomplish them in my own time. When I, and no one else, am ready for them. I'm so tired of sophomoric, needless drama that does nothing other than inhibit who and what I am - all so that other people can give me the great "benefit" of their "advice."
In short, I'm done with giving a fuck.
I am done with trying to be this person that I think people will like. I'm done with saying 'here' without really meaning it. I'm done with making a suitable facsimile of what people think I should be.
I'm going to be a mother-fucking dragon if I damn well want to be.
And it is in this revelation that I've finally found my joy. And my groove.
I finally got my groove back.
Time to accomplish something great.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
That's right. I did karaoke. On the youtube. Where
Big big thanks to Nips. Without her, this whole crazy bout of insanity never would have happened.
And y'wanna know who else rocks? Daniella. That's the lovely lady whose video is posted below. Mhm. Check her out. She's freakin adorable. I envy her eyes. Look at how freakin blue they are! JEALOUS. Anyways, Daniella sent me this little tidbit to put before her KBROD vid. And I couldn't agree with it more(and don't forget to visit her blog!)
So the best part about college is right here in this very song. So at 2am when I recorded it, completely sober, this is what I chose. Enjoy!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Zaz. She's french. And sassy. And she looks like she just gets so much joy out of singing - it's just fun to watch her. Thanks Rawr, for suggesting her :) I'd heard of her before, but I kind of forgot her :P
Next up: Tom suggested this band. This particular song makes me want to spin...over and over and over again, until I'm deliriously dizzy. I adore spinning 'round and 'round.
Now, one of my favorite vocalists. I first saw John Faye back when I was at UD when he was singing alone for a charity thing...and I remember being absolutely blown away. I could just close my eyes and listen to him all. Day. Long. And all. Night. Long. I love this man's vocals, I really do. He's the lead singer of IKE, and I hope they're around for a while (they had a bit of a rough patch a while back I remember...and my heart almost died that day. I'm glad to see they're still around). Also, this song? Started out as a lullaby for his son. HOW ADORABLE IS THAT? *ovary explode*
Another fav from my UD days is The Canon Logic. Seriously, these guys freakin rock my socks off - I first saw them a few years ago, back when I was a photographer for the school paper. I was required to go to Deer Park (a bar...who likes to call itself a tavern) and take photos of them. They blew me away, and I was hooked from that moment on. Whenever I'm feeling down, they're my go-to band. Listening to them transports me back to when I was in college, a heavy backpack weighing me down with books, trudging across campus. Maybe stopping by the Scrounge to grab a quick bite to eat, maybe saying hi to a few friends/professors/acquaintances, going out every Thurs night to see the bands at Deer Park with my friend A, and avoiding all the skuzzy creepers as we rocked out to whatever band was playing (copious amounts of alcohol may or may not have been involved). And my fancy with this particular band has nothing to do with them being hawt. Nope. That's just a bonus. I mean, really. How can you NOT smile when seeing this video?
See. Instant smile. Admit it, you're smiling.
I've been having a horrible, no good, downright nasty week. I'd forgotten one of my principles - Just Be. I mean, I know it sounds simple and whatnot (and like something you'd find in some God-awful self-help book), but I think that we - more often then not - get so caught up in the little things that we forget about the big picture. We forget that life's too short to be mired in drama and unhappiness.
And thanks to the 20sb crowd - and a little bit of music - things are suddenly looking up, and I've remembered who and what I am. That's better than any therapy I could ever pay for.
Goodbye Drama. Goodbye Unhappiness. Goodbye bad feelings, lingering thoughts, and worries.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Without further ado....
I'm sure Nyxy Boo Boo has explained the blog ring to you (at least I hope she did, because I didn't either!) Oh well! Please be sure to check out my blog, Shelly's Musings, to read what Coyote Rose from Dancing on the Bar of Life has to say about her terrible Rom Com movie.
First I will say, I can't stand either of these actors. Ashton Kutcher is the stereotypical douche bag, and when I see him I just want to punch him in his perfectly sculpted six-pack abs. He's so annoying. Cameron Diaz is like an aging clown. Scares the living daylights out of me. Ack! On top of that, romantic comedies sort of bore me. Those of you who read my blog know I'm more of a sci fi girl myself. I love a good adventure! So this was quite a task in itself. But here we go!
The main characters of the movie are Joy and Jack. Joy (Diaz) is an anal retentive, planner who works 80 hours a week. Jack (Kutcher) is a carefree bachelor who has lots of sex in his nasty apartment. One night, Joy throws her fiance, Jason Sudakis (totally forgot the character's name) a surprise birthday party, complete with a gift of a vacation to Vegas! Only to her dismay, does he dump her before the SURPRISE! In front of everyone! Womp! Womp! So instead, Joy and her friend go to Vegas to have a GIRLS WEEKEND! SQUEEEE!
I sort of missed how Jack ended up going to Vegas, because I was busy pulling a frozen pizza out of the oven...but him and his friend (some bald guy) go as well. ANYWAY! Somehow, the four of them end up in the same hotel room. They all get drunk and party hard in Vegas. The next morning Joy wakes up to realize her and Jack got married. They bicker a little, and decide to divorce. Just as Joy walks away, Jack puts HER quarter into a slot machine and wins 3 million dollars. ...And let the shenanigans begin!
Conveniently, the are both from NYC, so they go to court for an annulment, which oddly, has no other cases, because they get in quick. The judge sentences them to stay married for six whole months and go to marriage counseling (Note, marriage counselor is Queen Latifah). No one gets any money until this sorts out!
So they move in together....the usual romantic comedy mishaps ensue...I sort of lost track of the movie, I won't lie. Between the pizza and cleaning up the kitchen, 20sb distracting me. The next thing I know is GASP! They're in love. Shocking I know. And in typical Rom Com fashion, there has to be a dressy scene. You know, where the male lead is in a tux, and the lady love is in some fancy dress. Naturally, it is some sort of dinner, with a Vegas theme, and they have their first dance and kiss. Sooo magical! After the wonderful dance, the twosome goes on a romatic walk where Joy tells Jack about her favorite place in the world...Some lighthouse by a beach. ...Yeahhh....
After that magical night full of what seems like love and the mixed feelings of "Can I really be in love?!" Drama ensues. Jack does something to upset Joy right before their six months are up. So at the divorce hearing, Joy gives up her half of the 3 million dollars and just wants a divorce. She really cared for him! She's heartbroken. Jack must make things right! Joy was the love of his life! He finds her lighthouse and proposes right there. Joy has a speech about how she never did anything for herself until him, and it felt so good, so she's saying "I DO!" And then say it with me...
Friday, January 28, 2011
I've come to grips with this simple fact over the years. Due to events in my past, I've created walls between myself and other people, and I've developed a type of sixth sense as to why they do what they do. It's one of the main reasons why I found anthropology so fascinating.
I've also created personas for myself. I've been the brainiac, the ditz, the bookworm. I've been the ego-whore and the bohemian. The nerd and the sports fanatic. I am all of these and more, none overtaking the other, a veritable melting pot of crazy.
I remember when I was little, my grandfather used to sit me on his knee. He would tell me stories - stories about what it was like in the war, or about growing up in the Depression (apparently his mother made him bathe in the sink - she used the bathtub to make gin. See, it's inherited). Or, he'd just tell me about my mother and her sisters, and the hell they put him and Grandmom through. I remember that he always used to smell like pipe-smoke.
We had a lot of laughs, Grandpa and I.
I see myself in him. Or maybe I should say that I see him in me? I'm an interesting mix of my mother's sensibilities and my fathers absentmindedness. Late for everything, contrite about nothing, I don't know if my personality is inherited or was the result of freak chance.
I could do a post about nature v. nurture, but I'll be nice and abstain. I don't want this to be a lecture.
Who am I? I've grappled with this question for a while now. When I was with Ex 1 and Ex 2, I changed my personality to fit theirs. I pretended to be something I wasn't - I will never do that again. I did a pretty good job of remaining myself with Ex 3, but I never really fully opened up.
I have to work on that, and learn to stop hiding behind all my glass walls.
And so, World, you get to see the real me.
My name is Sara. I am 25 years old. I don't see the point in The Jersey Shore, but I am a total sucker for Bridezillas. I work in a pet store. Because of, or perhaps in spite of, my job I have an obsession with animals.
Seriously. Ask me anything about them. Odds are I know the answer. I'm a freak like that.
My favorite color is green. I also have a fascination with birds - always have, ever since I was a little girl. I used to like to picture myself flying (ok, I'll be honest - I still daydream about it sometimes). My favorite flower is honeysuckle - because when I was little we had a really large bush that would be covered by it every summer. I used to hide in there. It was like my secret hideaway, my place to go and hide from the world and live in fantasy.
That and I think they're pretty tasty.
I had more male friends than girl friends growing up. I still get along with boys better, even though I'll be damned if I understand them.
I adore reading. Literature is something I'm fascinated with. It - all at once - provides both an escape and a peek into another person's mind. And sometimes, if it's a really good book? It gives you a peek into your own mind.
Skeletons. I'm obsessed with them.
All of this and more are the itty bitty factors that make up me.
And y'know...I kind of like it. And I think I've come to the point where I'm ok with that.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Honestly, I read more than that, so the challenge portion of it is a bit of a moot point. But I'm going to spin the challenge and read books that I probably would take my sweet time reading otherwise, in addition to my normal load.
I'm a bit of a bibliophile.
I've read books ever since I was little. They were my oasis in an otherwise chaotic life. They were my friends and my obsessions. And they helped shape who I am. Oscar Wilde, Emily Dickenson, Mary Shelley. Joseph Conrad, Silvia Plath, Eric Carle. There's too many to list, too many authors whose works were a beacon in the darkness for me.
I love the smell of books. That slightly dusty aroma that slowly pervades the olfactory senses. It smells like home to me. Like pages that have yet to be read, ideas that have yet to be explored, creativity that has yet to be unleashed.
So, stay tuned for some book reviews.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
I was walking to my car today when, out of nowhere, a tree jumped in front of me. I, of course, smashed into it and fell backwards.
Looking up at the sky (as I was now laying on my back in the cold, cold weather) I noticed a few birds flitting by. Hoping that they wouldn't shit on my prone body, I gingerly stood up.
And came face to face with Garage Cat.
His name is Nick. He first showed up about three or four years ago around Christmas time (hence the name Nicholas - not my idea, I swear). He's a behemoth of a cat - he weighs over twenty pounds and stands up above my knee. He's not fat. Just huge. And fluffy.
I swear he's got mountain lion in him. He lives in our garage. His digs include a heated blanket, water bowl, a magical refilling food bowl, and all the
So, as I stared into his eyes (which are a peculiar shade of green-yellow, in case you were wondering), I couldn't help but think about him and what he must do during the day. What a life.
He eats. He sleeps. He prowls. His needs seem very basic, very simple.
And so it occurs to me that I might need to simplify my life a bit. I think that I, too often, get caught up in the little things. I forget that life really isn't supposed to be that hard, that really I'm just stressing out over things that are inconsequential in the big scheme of things.
That really, I just need to realize I have the freedom to be me.