Every time a bell rings

Source: google.com via Donna on Pinterest

Merry Christmas to every single one of you :)

Smell this

We are guilty of so many of these!!!! Absolutely hilarious

Everlasting Love

Source: garibay.tumblr.com via Chelito on Pinterest

I'm about to start a water color, which, in all honesty, I have NO idea how to do. I am so so SO nervous that I keep thinking of any little thing (such as blogging about nothing relevant) in order to avoid starting. Then again, that moment in art where you get the kahunas to make that big move that you know will make or break the piece is so exhilarating. Lets just hope it's making, not breaking.
Man it's so good to be back home, where your biggest worry is no longer a research paper, but a handmade Christmas gift :)

Beautiful People

Listen whilst reading, enjoy :)

I'm sitting on a bed covered in clean clothes. Tonight is a good night. Listening to the Civil Wars and packing to go home tomorrow :) While I will miss Kel and Sam so so much, I can't wait to hop in Will Shat and hit the open road. I love a good road trip, especially when it means arriving at home, walking through a door covered in garland and bright ribbon, and walking in to the sound of my family.

I'm overwhelmed with a sense of love for the people in my life. If you've never seen them, feast your eyes on their wondrousness.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet my Grandad, the greatest man you'll ever meet.

Sarah, Jessie, Hannah and I

This is one of my favorite pictures of all time, it makes me misty.

Loved ones :)

Men's men.

Kel, she makes me coffee every morning :)

Super super loved ones

Woo girls

I'm sitting on a bed covered in clean clothes. Tonight is a good night. Listening to the Civil Wars and packing to go home tomorrow :) While I will miss Kel and Sam so so much, I can't wait to hop in Will Shat and hit the open road. I love a good road trip, especially when it means arriving at home, walking through a door covered in garland and bright ribbon, and walking in to the sound of my family.

I'm overwhelmed with a sense of love for the people in my life. If you've never seen them, feast your eyes on their wondrousness.

Teacup

I look at this little guy probably about every other day. He's so cute I almost can't stand it.

Source: tinywhitedaisies.tumblr.com via Haylee on Pinterest

Are you ready, do you know?

Today was the last day of semester my friends.
HAPPINESS. The elephant gets it.

Source: google.com via Cheryl on Pinterest

Also, watch this video *choreography's insane.* It's an awesome song and an equally awesome video. These people aren't human. And they look like they're having SO MUCH FUN.

Black and White

Source: johnspy.tumblr.com via aguamansa & Stefano on Pinterest

I

love this guy

Click and Refresh

So instead of reposting the article I read, I decided to just go ahead and post my own on after a long discussion that Andrew and I had. People all over tuned in to watch the VS Fashion show (instead of just thumbing through the catalogs already sitting on their kitchen counters...I guess sex sells better in slow motion.)

The goal: buy our lingerie, the message: you'll look like these women in it. because: these are the most beautiful women in the world.

These women are chosen for the 'big event' because they are the best of the best, the ideal female, yes?

Not quite. My initial reaction is to get pissed. These women, who's JOB is to look thin, strut their stuff on the runway after nearly starving themselves. Women like Adriana Lima, who talked in an interview about the week before The Show and how she spends it sitting on a couch for 24/7 doing nothing but drinking water, are displayed to us as the ideal form. It makes me want to beat them over the head with an 800 pound cookie. It is one thing for a woman to decide that being underweight is what is most important to her, but don't broadcast that woman where children with developing self images can see it. People are exposed, on average, to 10,000 media messages a day. Along side that, only 30 % of Caucasian girls interviewed at the age of 11 and 12 by the APA were satisfied with their body. 70-80% of African American girls were not only satisfied with the way they looked, but really liked their appearance. So where do women recieve such a harsh body image? They aren't (most likely) going home to parents who tell them that they just aren't all that good looking, or that they should be prettier. That means it comes other outlets of influence. You do the math.

Now, the opposite end of this argument is where things get dangerous. Opposite of the "you have to be 6 foot and 30 pounds underweight to be beautiful" problem is an issue that is almost just as disconcerting. In an effort to counter the pressure for women to be unnaturally thin, society has started the "you are beautiful just as you are," movement. While that is true, I'm gonna go ahead and be that asshole that says that if fat is "just as you are," that's not ok. The issue that everyone is missing is HEALTH. Neither being too skinny or too hefty is healthy, they are both so so bad for your body and your organs, especially on a long term basis. Everyone is built differently and some are naturally bigger than others. If that is your body's natural build up, that's fine. Work hard, exercise, and as long as you are keeping yourself fit for the sake of yourself and those who love you, more power to you. But if you're over the weight that is meant for your fame and still sitting on the couch stuffing your face with hydrogenated oils an hour before bed, there's a problem. There's the common excuse of having work, kids and a spouse to exhaust your energy and your time. And while I know that is SO demanding, think of those people in the long term. They deserve the best version of you, a healthy you.

My Turning Page

Fact: Not wanting to write a research paper you desperately need to write is a problem.
Fact: Craving a brown sugar and cinnamon pop-tart at 11 pm is also a problem.
Answer?
Tell yourself that if you work on your paper long enough to process the pop-tart before bed, you can have it.
As I swig my last sip of milk, wipe the crumbs from my lips, I stare at that tiny little sentence...
THE SECOND PAGE! We've hit the second page!! Perhaps just barely, perhaps with just a few trailing words on Surrealism in The Trail, but by golly we've hit it. It's always the biggest barrier for me, the transition from the first to the second page. If I can write two pages, I can write a novella.

That is unless it's on Kafka's The Trial, which has got to be one of my favorite little novels. Don't take the term "little novel" as one of endearment. This book is anything but endearing; it just really is a little novel. Regardless, I strongly suggest it to all.

I do NOT, however, suggest writing your research paper on the topic of your Cambridge graduate professor's dissertation (WHICH is a billion pages long, AND is being published.) She's already cooked up every topic on this kind of thing, making all I have to offer something lame, like Oatmeal.
But I'm going to hope that she is exceedingly sweet and fair with her grading, and maybe I'll make it out of her Modern Lit class alive.

Alas, a "how's work going?" text from Andrew made a slight pang of scholarly guilt strike my conscience, so I guess it's off to page two and adieu to you.


Listen to this song, but most of all, look up the lyrics. I've been listening to it on repeat since Kelsea showed me because it is absolutely beautiful. In fact, I'll post them for you!


I've waited a hundred yearsBut I'd wait a million more for youNothing prepared me for the privilege of being yoursIf I had only felt the warmth within your touchIf I had only seen how you smile when you blushOr how you curl your lip when you concentrate enoughI would have known what I was living forWhat I've been living for
Your love is my turning pageOnly the sweetest words remainEvery kiss is a cursive lineEvery touch is a redefining phraseI surrender who I've been for who you areNothing makes me stronger than your fragile heartIf I had only felt how it feels to be yoursI would have known what I've been living for all alongWhat I've been living for
We're tethered to the story we must tellWhen I saw you well I knew we'd tell it wellWith the whisper we will tame the vicious scenesLike a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees.

A truth

From a book my Aunt Lori is reading called "Tolstoy' Lied," posted to her blog:
It is exactly what I was talking about a few posts ago.

 "THERE IT IS.  Right there on the novel's first page.  Right there in the first line, staring the reader in the face.  A lie.
   Nothing against Tolstoy.  I'm an admirer.  I simply happen to believe he's responsible for the most widely quoted whopper in world literature.  
   "Happy families are all like; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
   Literary types swoon over that line, which opens Anna Karenina.  But have they considered the philosophy they're embracing?
   If Tolstoy is to be taken at his word, a person must be unhappy in order to be interesting.  If this is true, then certain other things follow.  Happy people have no stories you might possibly want to hear.  In order to be happy, you must whitewash your personality; steamroll your curiosities, your irritations, your honesty and indignation.  You must shed idiosyncratic dreams and march in lock-step with the hordes of the content.  Happiness, according to this witticism of Tolstoy's, is not a plant with spikes and gnarled roots; it is a daisy in a field of a thousand daisies.  It is for lovers of kitsch and those with subpar intelligence."

TIger Bait.

You know that moment when it hits you that your team REALLY is that good?

You do if your'e and LSU fan.

It's the one that gives you goosebumps.

Wear the old coat and buy the new book.

I cannot wait to make this

turn to this.

Source: iwastesomuchtime.com via Ashley on Pinterest

To make books come alive for children

We no speak Americano

Fact: It is incredibly hard to convince oneself that groceries are needed when there's almost a full bag of cocoa pebbles sitting on top of my fridge.

Another Fact: This week is going to be killer. Four of my six classes are intensive reading, so that means four research papers, ten pages each about surrealism and psychoanalysis and prostitution in the 18th century and so so much more. Not to mention that the novel reading in all of those classes doesn't exactly get put on the back burner amidst all that paper writing.

While I love my classes, I have to say that Dr. Giles' class has yet to disappoint when it comes to the novels she chooses. RIght now we are in the middle of Corelli's Mandolin, and the writing in it is absolutely breathtaking. Listen to this excerpt, Greek's recount of World War I

"I said it was Pelagia and the sense of beauty that got me home, but I have said nothing about the sense of beauty. Once, near the Mesovon pass, in December, when it was twenty degrees below zero beacuse there was no cloud, the Italians sent up a starshell. It exploded in a cascade of brilliant blue light against the face of the full moon, and the sparks drifted to earth in slow motion like the souls of reluctant angels. As that small magnesium sun hovered and blazed, the black pines stepped out of their modest shadows as though previously they had been veiled like virgins but had now decided to be seen as they are in heaven. The drifts of snow pulsed with the incandescence of the absolute chastity of ice., a mortar coughed disconsolately, and an owl whooped. For the first time in my life I shivered physically from something other than the cold; the world had sloughed away its skin and revealed itself as energy and light.

It is my wish to get well so that I can go back to the lines and experience, perhaps only one more time, that immaculate moment when I saw the face of Gabriel in an instrument of war."

Another favorite, on the light on a Greek island

"It exposes colours in their original prelapsarian state, as though straight from the imagination of God in His youngest days, when He still believed that all was good."

Also, check this kid out, just 19 and mixin it up like a pro.

What's the Bizness

I have registered for my last semester of school ever. I feel like the little girl in the beginning of this video. Plus it's 10:30 at night and I am about to start a five page paper, and this song makes me feel very, very capable.

It's the colors you have

After many an airplane, metro and suburban ride I am back in Monroe. About an hour ago I touched down on a runway that brought an end to one perfect weekend.

A while back I was surprised with a plane ticket to Maryland and another ticket to FedEx Stadium to watch ND play Maryland, all courtesy of the loving Hinnenkamps.

I can't tell you how slowly thursday slid by. It was like time itself had gotten stuck in the Chariots of Fire beach scene, and then the Chariots of Fire DVD began to skip relentlessly. Finally I boarded an itty bitty Monroe airplane from one of the airports two terminals and jetted off to the North.

When I landed everything was on fire. Bright oranges and reds and yellows like I've ever seen light up the hilly town of College Park. Fall in the north might be my favorite. Poor Andrew, I must have told him to look at a billion different trees, like he's never seen a Ginko in the fall.

We (Andrew, Lynsey, Kendra, Mr. Paul and Mrs. Joan) saw monuments, took the subway, froze at a football game, drank hot chocolate, tried and ate Scrapple like a pro, and so much more.

Every single particle of me wanted to stay. Saying goodbye to such a good weekend and ever greater people is always such a drag, no matter when you'll see them next.

All the same I made it to my layover in Atlanta, whose tram was broken and left me booking it two miles through the airport to my gate. A two hour conversation with the sweet old man next to me about his hunting trips to Africa and his 6 foot pet snake in high school he never named got me to Monroe, where Kelsea and her boyfriend Sam waited in the tiny lobby with big signs that said my name on them :)

Unlike many, I have great people to come home to when I don't exactly want to be coming home.

And now I'm exhausted and going to work in the morning. For your pleasure, here is one of the many songs Andrew showed me this weekend that we rocked out to. It's fun :)

Kick It

"I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more."

Sittin on my tiny back patio in the 82 degree November weather, I was talking to my dad on the phone.

"I have to go run by I really don't want to."

"Just think of the awesome feeling you get when you're done," he said.

"The one where I want to puke my guts up?" I said sarcastically.

"Yes, that one."

He couldn't be more right.

Scattered Out With Pearls

Above is what I look like on the inside. Thank you for that, and for every day, Ace.

Expect more

Dear Reader,

press play to listen to the most beautiful song while you read. It almost forces you to take one very solid, very deep breath, and blow.

I just left a class where we discussed the novel we were reading.

First of all- This class is amazing. It's taught by Dr. Giles, (i.e. who I wanna be if I ever grow up) where all twelve of us sit in a circle with her and discuss modern literature. It's a three hour class, and I always leave rejuvenated. Now that's saying something.

What I love about that class is the differing opinions: there are atheists, christians, possibly nihilists, and more. Boy do we get into some discussions.

Today it was about morality, or a lack there of, in the novel we read. Look, I don't need to read kitsch stories where every character is Mother Theresa, but I don't want to read a story where people with no moral compass whatsoever are justified. It leaves me feeling so icky.

We discussed that the book shows people in their most human state (cheating on one another incessantly and with no remorse), and how something about its depravity is beautiful.

Every fiber of my being disagreed.

Can we not hold ourselves to a higher standard?

Yes, I agree that by nature, man is depraved. However, grace restores him from that.

Let the depravity of man be the explanation, not the excuse. Yes, we are filled with nastiness and can sometimes desire to do nasty things to one another. It is human nature not to be perfect. But expect more.

Don't find that depravity beautiful and enticing. That's much, much too easy.

What's truly beautiful is a depraved man and woman who except something so much greater than their own human state, and strive with their entire purpose to hold themselves to a moral standard.

I think that a lot of people overlook the courage it takes to be vulnerable enough to give yourself to God.

What's beautiful is feeling the Id clawing at you, and taming that for the sake of your husband, wife, Father. I am not naive enough to think that man by nature craves monogamy. However, a man with a grasp on what he owes God, and what he has been given, never seeks something outside of a relationship that is the union of two people for a much greater cause, symbolic of Christ's marriage to his people. Dwelling there, in the kind of love that can only be found in monogamy, vulnerably giving yourself to one person as you do your Creator, fulfillment is found. And happiness.

Whew, I no longer feel icky. I feel...ventilated.

Red Man

After almost half a year, I have FINALLY written something I like. Now that's writers block for you.

I'll give you the moon, Mary

I love this scene. It is one of my favorite scenes in movie history. I often think that Jimmy Stewart was more american than John Wayne.

Christmas is coming. And while I can't stand people who don't even give ghouls and ghosts of Halloween a chance before they start stringing up their Christmas lights, I am deep down cousin to them. I love Halloween, it is one of my absolute favorite holidays. A day that has turned into the celebration of candy, what could be better?! What I really love is that it is one day where the community celebrates one another, literally opens their homes, and it's ok to make little kids cry. However, I would be lying if I said I didn't hum the occasional Christmas carol on slightly chili days (ie 72 degrees) or looks up sentimental clips of It's A Wonderful Life.

Part of tonight has been somewhat exhausting, but oh so rewarding. God takes such good care of me. Sometimes I feel not only like the lost sheep, but the lost sheep with Downs. And the most beautiful part of being led back to the flock are the different shepherds God uses to get you there. > You pick me up, put me on your shoulders, and carry me through anything. Thank you so much Ace.

I hope I can give back to this world as much as I've been given in one person.

Oh, and here you go just for kicks, because he's amazing and does a pretty dern good job

I am Nuwanda

I am going to run a half marathon.

Cocoon

Have I ever told you about my room?

It's a great room.

I sit cross legged on the most beautiful quilt that mom surprised me with. It's a soft white color with vertical rows of grey and yellow branches. "It's soothing," she said, justifying the price as she clutched it to her chest in a Target isle. "It is." I agreed. Two or three more paces past it and we decided that we were better bargain shoppers than this, and left it on the metal rack.

And yet, you'll never guess what I found in my closet the night I packed for college.

I love this room.

I rest my head against my crafty self made headboard and look out. A very narrow bookshelf with very few books on it has been spray painted a robin egg blue. On it's shelves sit pictures of France, and a large framed photo of my grandparents on their wedding day. They are sitting in a car, they are beautiful. It's taken as if someone from the passenger's seat turned around and leaned over the center console to capture them. Behind them out the back windshield you can see the headlights of some old vehicle, all rounded and bulging. I think it is my favorite picture. It's why I'm here, really. A few books accompany the pictures, the rest is mostly journals and very crucial white space.

In the corner of my room is a fantastic antique chair that I got by default, seeing as antiques give Mr. Kenny the heebie-jeebies. It shelters a silk throw Ms. Kellie brought me from India and a purple glittery pillow.

To my left hangs a 2x3 foot picture of a girl in a black ball gown advertising some winning champagne of 1929 Napa Valley. Opposite her are framed pictures of my cajun relatives in Mary Janes and sailor suits. One of the pictures is over exposed, like walking out of a theater at midday. All thirty six of them pose on the front porch of a tiny house with a raised porch and an acadian styled roof.

A burlap Saints bag hangs from my door.

I can't wait to have a whole house to do this to. To have a home that shelters everything you serve, fuss over, nurture, love. It seems only right that it should be beautiful.

Goodness

I have just recently learned that people I thought were good were not very good at all. In fact, they were quite far from it. And it makes me wonder, did I really think them good people, or do we just settle for mediocre people and call them "good" because the actual good ones are so few and far between? Then suddenly what was really just "good enough" becomes good to us, because actual goodness is becoming such a rarity. It is something to naive to hope for in most encounters.

When I stop to analyze the people I come in contact with, I realize that most of them are not purely "good." That, when it comes down to scrapping it out with themselves and the other guy, people aren't exactly Mother Theresa. But hey, they are generally nice people and kind on a day to day basis, so they'll do, right?

To find people of a higher caliber, people of real goodness, would be to challenge myself. It is a task, hard work. I'm not saying they aren't out there, that I don't know any, or that our society is doomed or anything really awful like that. I'm just saying that they seem to be stretching thin. With age and the fading away of naivety I am beginning to realize man's depraved nature for what it really is: something quite real.

So I challenge myself, and you, dear reader, to challenge someone who is "good enough," to real goodness, be it a friend, stranger, or yourself.

Game: blouses.

My pouty purple postcard guy from Kelsea, bought somewhere in Texas. He's too cool not to share :)

Like a school kid waiting for the spring

After an incredible weekend, I'm back in Monroe. A four hour drive and a night class finally brought me to a clean apartment and a postcard waiting on my bed. It's a painting of a very pouty man with a fantastically purple shirt, courtesy of my sweet roommate thinking of me when she saw it. So there are good things to come back to in Monroe. Sort of.

This weekend was incredible.

Thursday night was spent sitting around the Hinnenkamp house with the whole family (minus Andrew) plus a few Tulane friends. What a blast those people are. Being there is all part of being home. Then I was onto some random bar in a random part of town with random people from high school. Oh joy.

Friday however brought the laziness of not getting out of bed until 11 and, best of all, my man. What rejuvenation. There's nothing better than being caught up in a foot's difference embrace. That night mom, Andrew, Garrett, Mindi, Lynsey, Jerry and I all went to see The Thing. It was very disturbing and very disappointing. Both of which were expected. But my gosh was it fun

Saturday was a lot of wonderful nothing; pinochle with the Hinnenkamps (which i actually get!! sort of...) and dancing in an upstairs office.

Sunday marked the start of another long month. And here I am, back in Motown, babbling on in a blog instead of writing the two papers I have due tomorrow.

I am so burnt out on school. Burnt out to the point that a four day vacation isn't nearly enough. To the point where the longer the vacation, the harder it is to start again. Especially one as wonderful as this one was.

Norah Jones plays from a speaker somewhere behind this screen, and Madame Bovary stares up at me from her pastel colored book cover.

*You're blessed to be a scholar, you're blessed to be a scholar, you're blessed to be a scholar*

Nope, still don't want to write these papers. Maybe a Heineken will work...

Farewell, or shall I say Auf wiedersehen

"You are a lone reed"

Joe Fox: N-Y-one-five-two. One hundred and fifty-two. He's a hundred and fifty-two years old. He's had one hundred and fifty-two moles removed, so now he's got one hundred fifty-two pock marks on his... on his face...
Kathleen Kelly: The number of people who think he looks like Clark Gable.
Joe Fox: One hundred and fifty-two people who think he looks like a Clark *Bar*

It's Wednesday morning, I've slept later than I have in a very long time. Midterm Day literally took everything I had out of me. My last blog post was the only bit of sane thought I had left-i squeezed it out, talked (probably insensibly) to Andrew, and slept for ten hours. Now, my New Yorker coffee cup sits half full beside me, and You've Got Mail plays on the tab next to this one. I could watch this movie everyday.

What would it be like to own a bookstore in New York?...Probably very stressful, since no one reads, and if they do it's through a screen. It seems like such an overly romantic idea, but, someone somewhere does it. Maybe just any store, I think I'd be happy with any store as long as there's wood floods and a real bell on the door. And that door would be wooden, and heavy.

I have class from 4 to 8 today. I'll come home, throw some clothes in a bag and hit the sack. The next morning, hopefully are 7 o'clock, I'll get in William Shatner and head to Baton Rouge for the second time this week. :)

I'm starving, inappropriately want stuffing for breakfast, but will resign to eating oatmeal, for the billionth time this month.

Happy Wednesday everyone :)

The Wind that Shakes the Barley

I just watched The Wind that Shakes the Barley.

I don't even know where to start.

Ireland.

I want to go so, so badly. What an amazing people. I'm fairly certain they are the most incredible country on the planet.

I can't possibly imagine standing around with ten other people, discussing the ten thousand troops of British soldiers in your country, and deciding to do something about it. It's hard to picture that kind of bravery at the core of any local man you came across. People then were a completely different breed.

I honestly don't think most realize the constant struggle Ireland has been in for centuries up until just these past few decades. Always being invaded, never fully conquered.

An entire people being taxed to pay the wages of the soldiers who searched your houses and murdered your people. Neighbors dying with green mouths from eating grass in starvation.

And I want an iphone.

Midterm week? Midterm DAY.

So it's 7:35 am and I have been relatively awake since 1:45 am.

While Maryland was literally one of the best weekends of my life, it left me on a time crunch. Monday I drove back from Baton Rouge just in time to make it to my 4 pm class, go to study group at 5:30, ANOTHER study group at 8, get home and sleep from 11-1:45 and now here I am.

Why you ask?

It's midterm day, upon which I have three grueling midterms that are about to be the end of me.

I'm sitting in my jammies with a cup of repeatedly reheated coffee and a loss at what else I could possibly say about the limitations of the Monarchy from Anglo-Saxon to Medieval England.

HOWEVER.

It is all so so so worth it, because there are so so so many things to be happy about.

I had the greatest weekend with the most incredible man I could have ever asked God for.

I have a new pair of boots that I got for more than 50% off (courtesy of the Mamma)

I am receiving an education

I have coffee :)

I have a roommate who brings me coffee :) :)

All the pictures in our living room have been hung...hanged...whatever.

I have a MASSIVE bruise on my leg that is a testament to me and the man's 20+ mile bike ride.

I am Spartacus.

In two days I will be going to Baton Rouge - again. Only this time I will see all my girls. Drinks with Lindsey Miller and Courtney George, and a whole weekend involving Lynsey, Kendra, Mrs. Joan, and the Mamma.

Andrew is coming to town :) :) :)

Until then, we have two eggs, a box of Oatmeal, and a jar of roux. That, a great deal of joy and an even greater cup of coffee will get me to Thursday.

I got them moves like Jagger

At three a.m. I jumped out of bed wide awake.

Every light was on. The fire, carbon monoxide, and house alarm were all going off.

Actually it was just my phone. And actually every light in the house was still off, leaving it feeling twice as big and twice as dark. A coherent thought finally made its way into my head, "Time to go to Maryland."

Mom stumbles into my room in a long sleeve shirt and jammy pants. She looks like a little girl. She hangs for about two seconds, and turns without a word for the coffee pot.

I guess it doesn't take much to get us going. Thirty minutes later we were both in the truck zooming towards New Orleans and belting Moves Like Jagger (sexiest song alive-which I am listening to now.)

She whisked me away with a kiss and a designer necklace to borrow for the weekend. She's kind of awesome for all of the above.

5:00 am, I sit in a terminal of business men in stark suits, already on their computers and crossing things off legal paper. I look down at my tights, comfy boots and boarding pass.

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

A common misconception

‎"Alright bud I'm going to join the chain gang."
"What?? I guess I could invest in leather chaps..."
"You're not getting this....Chain gangs are groups of people chained together for labor or rigorous work."
"Oh...I thought you were talking about ruffians going around beating people with bits of linked metal."

"Cardiovascular Activity": world's stuffiest expression.

I miss the cardio of childhood.

The kind that came spontaneously.

Now it's the kind that's not only planned, but dreaded. I have to organize a run with myself. Schedule it through work, school and the sluggishness that comes with hips and responsibility.

Ah. the of a cardio of adulthood. Now it's bearing a cross for three miles of shin splints and fallen arches.

What happened to cardio that just HAPPENED. Through back yards and across ditches and after the make-believe. It didn't have to be organized: all girl, all boy, co-ed, 5k, 8k, two hand touch, spin, zumba, butts and guts.

I want to run to the neighbor's in hopes of a friend being home, bang on the door until their mom (not boyfriend) answers. And then just PLAY. Play until daylight decides you're out of time, or until someone's pride gets hurt and goes home, leaving us all enthralled with a drama we don't understand yet.

Where the cold burning of your esophagus fuels you instead of slowing you down.

I miss the feeling of being absolutely exhausted and still finding the will to run to base.

I miss the cardio of childhood.

Carl Sandburg

I'm becoming obsessed with him I had always thought of him as that guy who wrote that overrated poem about fog as a cat they made us read in the eigth grade. I couldn't have been more wrong

OUT of the fire
Came a man sunken
To less than cinders,
A tea-cup of ashes or so.
And I,	5
The gold in the house,
Writhed into a stiff pool.

Bass Head

I have spent the whole night drawing.

It's probably the weirdest thing I've ever done, and by the time I finish I think it'll be my favorite. I love the feeling of starting a drawing and just knowing it's going to go well.

I'm starting to get so excited about life after college. For the first time in my life I actually have a list of STUFF I want to do!!!! Places to go, things to learn, art to see.

And hey, I know I'm not the first upcoming college graduate with a big imagination and an even bigger to do list, but I don't care.

Somewhere along the way things get compromised. But I'm feeling pretty uncompromising. Sure, 99% of people with an ambitious post grad to do list end up putting away in some box with the rest of their childhood. But not EVERYone.

What's even more beautiful is having someone who embellishes, helps you check off, and mot of all supports your to do list.

The ones on the horizon

1. See Skrillex

2. Get something published

3. Go to Coachella

4. Live in another state for a period of time

For the first time I'm so excited about life after college.

They say that college is the best years of your life. All in all mine were pretty lackluster. But I'm starting to see that as a good thing. The good years are still ahead of me. The best years of my life are still on their way. But I think I'll always think that way. I'll never be too old to have to the best years of my life coming. I hope I'm never too old for anything. Except miniskirts. I'm already too old for miniskirts.

But I never want to look at anything and wave a hand at it, with that tired phrase "Oh, you go ahead, I'm too old for all that."

The Vortex

Needs to learn to separate the cinnamon from the cumin. Chili: tastes like Christmas. Status: being eaten, because this is college, and we don't waste.

Meanwhile I'm writing a paper on the Norman conquest. Status: procrastinating at page two with cinnamon flavored nachos.

Rest of my schoolwork: being dominated by the Norman conquest.

It's a sad, sad circle my friends.

Ink Wash

It is so black and windy outside. Like when someone pours ink into water. swirling and greying, dark and beautiful. I love wind. Like stitching through earth's cloth.

How great would it be if everything was like the magic room in Willy Wonka full of candy??? If dirt was really just brownie bits, and everything green tasted like mint. I bet with that much sugar at our finger tips, people wouldn't actually crave it constantly. We could eliminate the obesity problem!

Did you know that by now, it doesn't matter how often children brush or floss their teeth? They will get a cavity. There is so much sugar in absolutely everything we eat that it has become inevitable for people being born into this generation. Good Gracious. I'm going to have to make my kids eat nothing but tofu, aren't I?

Professor Lock, on colonization, Isaac, and carports.

In her thick british accent:

"Imagine being in your home and all the sudden these men are in there with rifles. They tell you 'well, you've got to go because we have rifles and you don't.' And then as you're gathering your things, 'Hold on, hold on. We're not totally heartless; we'll let you live under the carport.'

"Nobody asked Isaac what he thought of all this. I'm sure he wasn't too pleased about his father standing over him ready to stick him. But then God says 'Alright alright everybody just calm down a minute. Abraham, put that knife down, it's all well and good old boy.' And Isaac lived to see another day."

Life Update

I just had the hardest run of my life. And it was just one mile

it's THAT hot outside.

"I say never be complete"

I don't even have anything to say, really.

All I know is that I am eating a rice krispy treat, and it makes me happy. And when I get happy, I want to share it with you. Did I mention that I have a white mocha WITH whip cream?? It's that kind of a day.

I also have a free movie rental in my car. So ha ha.

Notice, by any chance, that I am once again at Starbucks? We have no internet and no cable in the apartment yet, despite our going back and forth with a man named Kermit, nothing's been installed. Hopefully soon he will install our internet, basic cable, and free, yes FREE landline.

When Kelsea (the awesome new roommie) declined, he responded so"

"Are you not two young girls alone in an apartment complex together?"

And would not it be a bad thing if your call got dropped when calling 911 because a man is in your house?"

See you'd probably have better luck getting a call out from Dante's seventh circle rather than our apartment building.

Needless to say, we are getting the landline.

When the lady at Starbucks brought me my rice krispy treat, she asked if i'd be needing a fork. I said a "no" that really said "heck no woman, I'm eating this one with my fingers because it's that kind of a day." And no, I don't care that the man across from me is looking at me like I'm five. I feel five. Why should I not be five?!

Yesterday in class my creative writing prof looked at me and boldly asked "Why do you write?"

...why do i write? My brain immediately racked itself with answers typical of a writer.

I don't write! I attempt and fail and I'll never write anything with integrity or worth publishing.!! And I'm quitting right now!

Of course I didn't say any of those things. He cleverly interjected, and told me to write it down somewhere ;)

This is the same man that, earlier in the day when I told him I couldn't come up with a story idea, looked at me, turned on his heel and walking away said "then have a drink." and disappeared down the stairs. What a badass.

I want to play the trumpet, but I never want to look like Louis Armstrong. Maybe that's why there are no great woman trumpet players.

I have a very good friend who made a very hard choice today. I hope she knows I'm proud of her. What courage.

Did you know that in a study done by some big school on criminology, 80% of people confessed to doing a crime they didn't do when a false witness was involved? And without the witness, and only a false accusation, 25% confessed to something they DIDNT do?

Do you know what I think? We are a society of non-confrontation. We drown our sentences in like and "parenthetical you knows." Even our facebooks, the greatest social network in the world gives you the options of accepting friend requests by clicking "yes" or "not now." We can't even say no in private!

It's like everybody's toes are twelve sizes too big and we are trying REALLY really hard not to step on them. Yuck, I am so sick of wishy washy twenty year olds with no passion for anything but themselves.

Heck I think I'd respect an idiot who would argue to death the necessity of lipstick cases to society than a person of average intelligence who just sort of like, stood for, mehhh?

When did we stop caring? When we were handed everything?

Take things away from a man and then he'll develop an opinion on them.

I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

But I can't, I'n not legally allowed to. That's called stealing. So instead, I've got a free movie rental, an empty apartment, and a month to kill.

Open Up Your Throat

Starbucks is about to blow away. The umbrellas sort of look like seizing jellyfish.

What's even cooler- the sky is a real dull white, so you can't see the lightening, but it still flashes, so that it's more of a blink. Like the sky is a dying bulb, about to go out.

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There is a really quiet Indian couple that lives above us. I wish their living habits were as silent as their social habits. My goodness, how can such a tiny couple make so much noise?? They do have the cutest little baby with a full head of black hair, eyes the size of his face, and a little gold bracelet. ... When am I going to learn that bracelet doesn't have an O in it?? Probably never.

My room has as corner. With a deep antique chair, and a tall lamp, and a picture of Somalian children dancing in one of those mini dust tornados.

I also have a beetle, or had a beetle before my killer instincts kicked in and I squished him into oblivion. Thats what it gets for being about the size of my thumb and landing on my back at 3 am in the morning. He met his end somewhere in the middle of my box-spring. When i ripped back all the covers and he was nowhere to be found, I lifted my mattress and there he was. A mad dash for the tissue and three, count them, THREE squishes later, he was dead.

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In the bathroom here they have a sticker that teaches employees how to wash hands.

1. wet 2. soap 3. wash 4.rinse 5. dry 6. turn off water.

I wonder what einstein's job it was to come up with that equation.

"Whats that Bill? We've got step six figured? It's so simple! Call my wife back and tell her I will be home for dinner."

I wonder what he' s doing right now. Probably reinventing hop scotch.

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Today I took William Shatner to Bawcomville to get my broken off dipstick out of its holder. Watching four big Bubbas try to pull that thing out of there was hysterical. They all thought they had the tool that would do it. A screw, pliers, a magnet, barber scissors. Finally the biggest one of the group (we are talking 6'5 and at LEAST 270) explained to the us that it was about finesse, not power. A gentle jiggle later we had it out. They charged me a low 20 bucks and all tipped their hate, "ma'am."

Ever realize that it REALLY isn't going to stop raining, and you've just missed the only opening where it was a drizzle instead of a downpour to run to your car? I have.

Did you know that people who have events to look forward to are generally happier in life?

I have a plane ticket:) courtesy of an early Christmas present from mamma.

I'm supposed to be reading The Country Wife, but stopped because I was literally so disgusted with how the men were talking about women, and all the infidelity. I don't care if it was written in the 18th century. When attitudes about fidelity and integrity are haven't really changed much, its nauseating to read.

It's so good to have a good man. Rephrasing. So great to have a really, realllly great man.

It's drizzling again, and I won't be fooled twice.

Out!