in the genes?

This my cousin. See how much she rocks. And no, I don't look like her in the slightest, or she doesn't look like me, I'm older. She's amazing and one of the greatest people in my life and just like the article says, she changes lives.



will go for wilco

I’ve got a new love again. It’s Wilco. Last night, a sunny Sunday in Charlottesville, I went back to my old stomping grounds and sat on the lawn and listened with bright orange earplugs in my ears. I’d never been to a concert with earplugs though I’ve seen my brother do it (it’s a necessity for musicians or else they go deaf very early). Earplugs at concerts are surprisingly wonderful. You can actually hear the music much more clearly because all the distortion is filtered out. I’m just plugging the earplug is all.

But, Wilco, dear lord. I think I’m just in love, in swoon, in lust, in longing. It’s just so wonderful to love a band. It’s like a new friend that comes over whenever you want them too and they always say the right thing.

The weather was perfect, I mean perfect. We ate pizza at Christian’s, which is the best pizza in the world. Seriously, I think Italy has a run. Then we had gelato. I miss C-ville. We wore sunglasses until the music started and they sang Hummingbird which is on my of all time favorites and baby, they do it better live. Wilco are not the prettiest rockers out there, but they play and sing like they invent beauty. And then they did a double encore. No band does a double encore anymore. I love Wilco and you should too. Go Listen.

Did I mention that I miss C-ville?



the lull returns

Tonight I made spinach pesto with gnocchi, homemade balsamic vinegarette for a salad with chevre and toasted pecans. And then I whipped up a pecan pie too. I meant so much to take pictures, but I forgot. And then my old high school friend suggested a walk, which was so perfect on this cool, crisp night, but then my shoes rubbed a hella blister on my foot. On that one, I'll spare the pictures.

In the last 2 weeks I've learned of a friend's engagement (congrats D.B.) and another's pregnancy (congrats J.S.). Knowledge that my life is at a standstill= priceless.

The lull is nothing serious, as some friends suspect when they see the silence here. The well is just dry. I'm not down, just unmotivated to write.

I've been nuturing my nesting and mothering instinct lately. If you'd like to come over for dinner, let me know.



shitake mushrooms

When things are not going my way, I've become prone to spitting out "Shitake, Shitake, Shitake." This is not so much in leiu of actual cursing, it's just, well, more ladylike I've decided. This one is shouted when I am still in a relatively calm state like, misplaced my keys, "Shitake, Shitake Shitake." And I'm calm here because I know that I will find them and there is not need to go into the long sentence I say when things are realy bad like say, a huge spider just got lose in my bedroom. Which happens tonight, which I then let out this long sentence that starts with "Well..." and ends with "...duck." And I'm pretty sure I am the oringal inventor of this phrase. It's a good one, but I'm not sharing.

Needles to say, "Shitake" for the hole of nonblogging going on about here. There will be a new one tomorrow, I promise. If, of couse, I don't come home from a full day of work and collaspe.

And the ring below is fake and on the hand of a three year-old. Gawd, if I were that skinny and that rich, the countries I'd conquer.

Night everyone, the ambien is being to talk.




Sometimes you just need a little glamour.




I went to Starbucks today for three reasons; 1- obvious, the addictive stimulant in the form of a grande, half caf., 2%, mocha and yes, the first time I ordered it I totally fouled it up and said latte when I meant mocha and I totally meant to make it iced too, whatever, too much 2- to get out of my house as it is officially Spring Break and while I love downtime, I am sick of my house and know that after 3 more days I may start climbing the walls just to test if gravity really exists 3- to read, which somehow done in public spaces makes me feel like I am really accomplishing something.

With my earphones on and book in hand, my mind wandered whether I would run into any of the boys (well 2 of them) of which I’ve had some sort of “past” (in this case “past” means 1-2 dates, or non-dates as it were) who live in the same neighborhood and who are coffee drinkers. I was really thinking of one in particular whom I met at this particular Starbucks. Then, about 30 minutes into my listening and reading and drinking, I see him, the back of him at least, and he is with an impossibly skinny little thing, the new one, I assume.

I never wanted to date this one, just wanted to be friends with him, to open up both of our horizons a bit, add flavor and friendship while we continued to search for date-ables. But in the instant of seeing the skinny one, I had a pang of rejection that kept me wandering what it was about me that made him not choose me. And when I saw him again at Kroger in the self-check out line 30 minutes later, I knew they were dating, that they were buying dinner things and even a bouquet of casual flowers. I looked at her shoes, her clothes, not completely unlike me yet with an air of spunk I don’t possess.

On my way to dinner at my sister-in-law’s house to play with and dine with the only children who may ever be the closest to my own, I got stuck behind someone driving under the speed limit “Is this my life?” I thought. “Is my life going under the speed limit?” When and how to we even know the correct speed, or even the distance we need to travel to get there, wherever there is?



dreaming in meta

I believe that in our dreams we work through the problems that our waking mind can’t wrap itself around. Dreaming allows us to travel a different avenue, try another ending, wear another outfit. And when we don’t remember all of our dreams, I think it’s our subconscious helping us take out the trash, throwing away the varied paths that even in dreaming didn’t work out the way we hoped. It’s possibly why I like to sleep so much, my mind wanting to get a state of complete and perfect logic where boundaries are figments and reality is as clear and precise as a mirror reflecting another mirror, all twisted and never-ending.

Last night I dreamed of an old missed opportunity (with a boy-yes) and when I was done with that dream, my sleeping self had a conversation among the different areas that make up my dreams. While sleeping, with no images, I confirmed with myself that I had indeed missed that opportunity and these dreams could now stop (they were recurring). I then told myself to take on another topic, to dream about it in order to find the question that needed to be answered: Do I move to London, let go of what I’m holding on to here and take the leap? Will staying here be a missed opportunity?

The next thing, it was morning and I groggily slapped the snooze alarm for more sleep, more thinking time. I eventually woke and remembered sleeping conversation within my dreaming mind, the questions about my favorite city. And then I remembered the images that followed; Piccadilly Circus, a café in Covent Garden, Kensington Gardens, and my hotel on Queensway Rd. I was so happy that I had dreamed of London, that I had controlled my dream within my dreaming state and chosen the topic I needed to work through. And then my heart sank. While I did dream of London, I was destinctly and decidedly there as a tourist. I wasn’t a Londoner in my dream, but I was in my heart. I remember begging and pleading with my travel friend to go to my favorite places, knowing the streets and routes with ease, and then stealing away my own time to be alone with favorite bit of earth.

Sometimes dreams make things clearer; sometimes they can break our hearts, sometimes they make us want a do over. There's a reason why I remembered this conversation and the images that came before and after. Life should not be missed opportunities that we replay and torment ourselves with. Wether London is my home or my next overseas flight, this time I think my dream told me at least that London is in my future, in one way or another, and it will not be a missed opportunity.




The only law I like to follow is Murphy’s. In that vein, last Friday I got my toes all spiffed up and polished with a friend of mine. I sat there on that massage chair while some poor woman cleaned and scrubbed and buffed my feet perfect. I chose the color, “Senorita Rose-alita.” It’s a dark pink with a little sparkle, a perfect way to usher in spring.

My feet you see, have been having spring fever in that my closed toed shoes were causing them to sweat and thus perfume the air around me with a discusting-clear-the-room odor. A foot-peeling extravaganza was in order and I couldn’t wait for the spring shoes, the open toedness, to begin. My friend and I even walked around a grocery store with those pedicure fake flip-flops, and you know how hard it is to walk in those stupid things.

So, it’s Tuesday and I have yet to wear open toed shoes this week because it have been 40°F in the morning. I can’t walk out of the house with my feet FREEZING. Stupid weather, stupid toes, stupid Murphy.



well, dry

I look at this blog everyday and think, “Well, nothing exciting happened today and my brain can’t come up with its own ideas so we’ll just keep on trekking.” Yesterday, Kristin (she’s a click over there to the right, I’m to lazy to make a link inside this post) called and said, “What did you do today?” In that split second of response I knew that she had just run a 10K, which I slept through most of and was now on her way to a school function (on a SATURDAY). My response was this, “Well, I finished my book.” I had also watched a movie and worked a bit on my knitting, but I HAD NOT run a 10K, recovered and moved on with my day. So, people, go about your lives. My well is dry; there is no dipping into the cool water of words with interesting (or semi-interesting) things happening within them. There are, clearly, some ellipses going on, at least.

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