Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
The place where I come from is cold eight months out of the year. I remember snow like today. I used to get up early and leave my house at 5:30 in the morning to get to work. One day, the morning was dark and luminous at the same time because of the perfect downy snowflakes. I was inside of a snow globe. That is the perfect snow.
I saw the northern lights where I come from when I was 10 years old. I was in my gray snowsuit laying in the snowy front yard with the older kids. It was midnight; I was eating snow and watching a glowing performance of lights that I thought was just for me. Back then, I did not realize that would be the only time in my childhood I would see such a thing. I can recall the taste of the sopping snow and feeling minute.
There were neighbor girls where I come from. We sledded and ice-skated every day after school. We built snowmen, forts, and had snowball fights. When we were finished playing we would put our dripping knit mittens on the radiator vents to dry and make hot cocoa with milk.
I remember 1991 where I come from. My brother was born a month before the blizzard. I was a princess on Halloween and it snowed. Is snowed and snowed and snowed. Dad let us jump off the roof that year into the humongous snow banks.
Christmas where I come from involve ice fishing. My uncle's coveralls always smelled like outside when I hugged him and my aunt's flannel shirt scratched against my cheek when it was time to say goodbye. My first fish was a Northern.
I miss it all today, including the snow. I miss where I come from.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Tomorrow is Rachael's birthday fun on Market Street where we are going pup crawling. I think I will do my first Adventure of Yet-To-Be-Named Creamer Cow then.
Happy happy hour my kickin' chickens! Please vote for my creamer cow's name on the right. Here is a picture for inspiration:
Thursday, January 22, 2009
- The guys who work at Valvoline (no, I don't want a stupid air filter).
- Waitresses in a hurry and make me order something I don't want to eat.
- People who say "thanks much" or write "thanx" instead of "thanks." It's one extra letter!
- People who call only to put me on hold.
- Slow baristas.
- $180 Textbooks.
- The Gap.
- Blank pages.
- Writing when there's nothing to write about.
- Writer's block because I haven't been anywhere or done anything lately.
I am kind of dissapointed in my posts lately. They have been barely mediocre. I started up another semester at school and am taking many writing classes so I am hopeful that from now on my posts will be both thrilling and thoughtful! My first creative writing assignment was to write a short story in exactly one hundred words. I encourage you to give it a whirl; it is kind of fun. Here it is:
The man could not believe that after thirty-five years it was over. However, by the gray in her face and the snarl in her hair he could tell it was true this time. The cold way she told him to get out left him exasperated, yet relieved.
He ambled down to Market Street and made a decision. The man pulled of his sullied fedora, reached into his pocket, and pulled out creased dollars. The money passed to a man selling yellow roses.
The man walked back up the street to her knotted wooden door and knocked. She was already gone.
**Now that I read the story again, it is kind of a downer. I need happier posts, I think
***For a happier post on inauguration party hilarity check out this by The Bloggess.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Worse yet, his life used to be normal. Now it is not. I do not know the word for that either. Nevertheless, I know it is my fault.
After meditating on this strange world, for a moment I realized that perhaps “strange” is the word I am looking for.
What a long way from then to now, from there to here. Do I want to go back? Can I get back? Perhaps before, my life was normal and now it is strange. Our lives are strange.
I am not sure I agree with that. Maybe the word “slightly” is too relative. What is slightly strange as opposed to, mostly strange?
Also, does the phrase work backwards? Can the world be strange when you are slightly amazing? What do you think?
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Upon entering the bar, you can see it is pocket-sized, yet immaculate. The bar, stools, and low tables are all made of a dark and rich wood that adds to the vibe. Doc’s is a cozy joint that caters to a motley crowd. The drinks are made stiff and the bartenders are both pleasant and warmhearted. After a few cordial drinks, it is not out of the ordinary to have the locals strike up curious conversation. At this point, it is highly suggested to inquire about the celebrated Doc Holliday.
There are varying different versions, but one will soon learn that the Doc is buried in the Linwood Cemetery on the way out of town. There are just enough signs for the gravesite that it piques one’s curiosity. So, bring some hiking shoes, as the cemetery is a quarter of a mile up a hill. This is not a bad idea if you quit drinking the night before. However, the more you drink at Doc Holliday’s the more friends you make and the later you stay out. This makes the next day’s hike excruciating. A daring and dehydrated walk up the hill becomes a bitter disappointment when coming across a sign that informs tourists that there is a good chance that good old Doc is not buried there.
What the hell? Why did I just walk up this hill then?
Monday, January 19, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
When I wake up on Fridays, I am almost euphoric. There is a whole weekend of possibilities ahead. Have you ever noticed that at work everyone has a completely different attitude on Fridays? Maybe it is the casual dress. Maybe it is that everyone is keyed up for what lies ahead.
My dad instilled the love of Fridays in me. When I was little he would wake me up on Friday mornings and exclaim, “Good morning Jillie, it’s our favorite day!” This continued well into high school and I remember this phrase fondly as one of my much-loved memories while growing up.
Our relationship has evolved. He does not call me in the morning to tell me it is our favorite day; however, we started a new tradition. 928 miles separate our doorsteps and with our conflicting schedules, it is difficult to arrange regular phone calls during the week. You can count on very little things these days. I can count on my dad being at his bar for Friday happy hour and he can count on me being at my bar during happy hour. I always know that if I call between the hours of four and seven my dad will pick up the phone and be in great company and great spirits.
The “happy, happy hour” phone calls are what we call them. One of us calls up the other and exclaims, “happy happy hour!” It is a quick phone call, not a lot of catching up is done. Nevertheless, it is nice to know you are being thought about. My dad always says to have a drink for him and he will give me a “Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!” while looking to the West.
Traditions are good. Family is good. Friday is a combination of the two and is great.
Have a Happy Friday everyone and have one for me!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
For a long time people have found me strange and unnerving. I suppose, not comfortable in my own skin would be the best way to put it. At least that is how I felt I was perceived, I have long ago accepted my social clumsiness. This has been thwarting, painful, and most of all lonely. I thank my lucky stars I have such lovely friends who have seen me through my thorny years.
Social anxiety and mania make life extremely hard to live. It is terrifying to find life unlivable and forget who you are and where your spirit is. Fortitude was lost on my youth. Was I crazy? Was I having a quarter-life crisis? Was it hereditary? Was it all in my head? So much uncertainty and no reprieve.
It is strange what a capsule of medication can do. Or cannot do, for that matter. Side effects are sinister. The commercials on TV do not help. Moreover, the commercials gave me enough of a reason to put off getting help.
Never take for granted the ability to think clear and concise thoughts. The ability to feel effortless enjoyment, the gift of getting through the day without a fight. That was then, this is now. Minutes, hours, and days are infinitely easier. I never knew that living and breathing could be so unforced and natural. I like it. What a change from wanting to pack it all in and give up. I want to forget the hardships, but also recognize the importance in remembering them. Such are the vicissitudes of life. I will leave them here for now.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Bobaloo and I celebrated our three-month anniversary last Sunday. To make merry, we had some leftover gift cards from the wedding to spend. We should not be allowed to leave our house. Ever. Someone could get hurt. Don’t get me wrong I like to shop however, places such as Bed, Bath, and Beyond and Pier One Imports are a little out of our league. For us, this means both dangerous and new territory. Bobaloo signed up for this expedition so there were no excuses or complaining allowed by him.
When we shop together, it is strange. We are almost telepathic which both helps and hinders our shopping experience, either way it is certainly enhanced. We both get annoyed at the same time and at the same things. When we really get going, you can feel our combined blood boiling to Mt. Vesuvius proportions. Moreover, we exchange exasperated looks that scream, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Usually after a particularly perilous shopping trip, we end up drinking. See: Mall Trip at Christmastime 2007.
We are polite, courteous people. It just seems whenever we are out so is every idiot on the face of the planet. And, I truly mean every idiot. I am sure occasionally we are the aforementioned idiots, although we always move to the side of a store if we need to chat, we do not bump people in the back of the heels with shopping carts, and we do not have spoiled temper-tantrum-having babies with us. We do not just stop and leave our cart in the middle of an aisle. Or stalk people for parking spaces in the parking lot. When we go out, it seems like we are seeing the decline of common courtesy right before our eyes.
We started our super-extreme-fun shopping day at Barnes and Noble, which was pleasant. We had coffee and separated to find our own books in our own interest section. We soon left to walk over to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. We are smokers. Yep, disgusting, drudge of the earth smokers. However, we are also polite smokers. After Barnes and Noble, we moved a ways away from the entrance of the store to light up. It was just us, our cigarettes, and a wall separating two stores. Dumbass daddy decides his kids should play right in front of us. Making me feel immediately guilty, but at the same time, what the hell dude? It is called second-hand. So the cig was short-lived and we made it to BBB.
We made it to Barnes and Noble, Bed, Bath, and Beyond, and Target. The crescendo of the day though, was Pier One.
Top 5 reasons we should not be allowed in Pier One:
- Did you know “tweens” think Pier One is cool and frequent there? Weird. “Tween” girls that shop at Pier One freak me out. This post about Pier One has me using the word, “tween.” Ugh.
- There is a lot of glass. A lot of glass. Glass + Bobaloo + Me / Pier One = Catastrophe.
- I had to convince Bobaloo that we needed new glasses because the chipped free-with-a-bloody ones from college just are not cutting it. In the end, he gave in. He probably gave up because he wanted to leave. Either way, I am taking that win!
- The woman at the counter was not very nice. Even though I lied about not having an email address, she should not get all persnickety. I doubt I am the first person she has encountered who doesn’t want Pier One harassing them. Not to mention that I had “I am not a regular customer” written all over me.
- With a $25 gift card you can either buy one cool thing or all sorts of random objects such as eight glasses and a creamer cow.
Top one reason you should shop at pier one:
1. $5.00 Creamer cows. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.