Turns out I might not have eighty posts. I don't know how this happened, I'm assuming blogger hates math as much as I do and one of us is wrong in our addition. Regardless, by now I'm sure many of you have sent me many "Happy Eighty Posts" day gifts and I just want you to know DO NOT FRET. I will still accept them, accurate counting or not.
Phew, huh? Sweet relief, I feel better too.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Numero Eighty-o
Eighty posts. That's obscene. Let's celebrate!
Today I started teaching the ninth graders a new book, one of which required that we take a look at the last 100 years of life. You know, a little fun history exercise and holy crap did they love exploring the U.S.'s past. I gave them the floor and suddenly found myself covered in dry erase marker smudges while running from one end of the board (1890) to the other (1995), trying to keep up with their frantic screaming of whats important enough to belong.
"Titanic! The first Wright Brother's Flight! World War I but please don't ask me what year that was I just know there was one! OH AND ABBA!"
And seriously, if you just let ninth graders take over they totally will. I had kids volunteering to carry my shit and wipe down the board and collect my quizzes and their participation was just through the freaking roof. It was seriously the MOST fun day I've ever had teaching and as the bell rang and they filed out, wishing "Mrs. E" a great day, my mentor teacher came up to me and smiling, said, "That looked like you had a lot of fun."
WITHOUT EVEN THINKING (because hello, it's me) I shout back at her in a fit of uncontrolled bliss, "Dude, it TOTALLY was!"
She blinked for several seconds, much like if I had spit in her cornea and she wasn't sure how to react next and it was in those few seconds that any shred of respect she had gained for me in that class session had disappeared in the professional world when I called her 'dude'. Nonetheless she shook it off, regained her composure and muttered, "Yes, well...I suppose that's good."
And I don't even care. I'm so freaking high off such a great class. I had kids coming UP TO ME. They were all "Hey, Mrs. E I read that book you were talking about and do you think I left my sweater here yesterday and I heard you told my best friend I put his name on all my vocab cards" and it was just such a connecting kind of day. You know? When students look at you and no longer see the weirdo who wears pencils in her hair and considers that 'business appropriate'? I'm no longer lame! Scratch that...I'm probably still just as much of a loser in their eyes today that I was yesterday. But today, I felt like their teacher. Their fun, 'Hey I might not hate English' teacher. And it's great. I'm pretty sure it's exactly how Obama felt four weeks into staying at the White House when he was suddenly all, "Holy crap...I'M the PRESIDENT". You know he had that moment. He had to. Today was mine. Today was my Obama moment.
Excuse me, I have to go now. I'm very busy and important being a teacher. Plus, I just downloaded all kinds of Abba.
Today I started teaching the ninth graders a new book, one of which required that we take a look at the last 100 years of life. You know, a little fun history exercise and holy crap did they love exploring the U.S.'s past. I gave them the floor and suddenly found myself covered in dry erase marker smudges while running from one end of the board (1890) to the other (1995), trying to keep up with their frantic screaming of whats important enough to belong.
"Titanic! The first Wright Brother's Flight! World War I but please don't ask me what year that was I just know there was one! OH AND ABBA!"
And seriously, if you just let ninth graders take over they totally will. I had kids volunteering to carry my shit and wipe down the board and collect my quizzes and their participation was just through the freaking roof. It was seriously the MOST fun day I've ever had teaching and as the bell rang and they filed out, wishing "Mrs. E" a great day, my mentor teacher came up to me and smiling, said, "That looked like you had a lot of fun."
WITHOUT EVEN THINKING (because hello, it's me) I shout back at her in a fit of uncontrolled bliss, "Dude, it TOTALLY was!"
She blinked for several seconds, much like if I had spit in her cornea and she wasn't sure how to react next and it was in those few seconds that any shred of respect she had gained for me in that class session had disappeared in the professional world when I called her 'dude'. Nonetheless she shook it off, regained her composure and muttered, "Yes, well...I suppose that's good."
And I don't even care. I'm so freaking high off such a great class. I had kids coming UP TO ME. They were all "Hey, Mrs. E I read that book you were talking about and do you think I left my sweater here yesterday and I heard you told my best friend I put his name on all my vocab cards" and it was just such a connecting kind of day. You know? When students look at you and no longer see the weirdo who wears pencils in her hair and considers that 'business appropriate'? I'm no longer lame! Scratch that...I'm probably still just as much of a loser in their eyes today that I was yesterday. But today, I felt like their teacher. Their fun, 'Hey I might not hate English' teacher. And it's great. I'm pretty sure it's exactly how Obama felt four weeks into staying at the White House when he was suddenly all, "Holy crap...I'M the PRESIDENT". You know he had that moment. He had to. Today was mine. Today was my Obama moment.
Excuse me, I have to go now. I'm very busy and important being a teacher. Plus, I just downloaded all kinds of Abba.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Happy Birthday To Me
What I'm about to share might be too much. You may start this and go "Oh Jesus, if I had known she was in a dear diary mood I might have just spared myself from the beginning" and thus, if you do not care hear to me gripe and complain for however many paragraphs it takes to get this out, then please move on to candystand.com or something and waste your time there. If you decided to stick around, hold onto your hats. This one is a fucking DOOZY.
I do not talk to my father. Anyone who knows me knows that. The fact of the matter is that I do not like my father. I don't deem him a "nice" individual. He isn't kind. He's actually quite selfish. And mean. I could elaborate on those but I won't because I'm nice. Just know I have my reasons for decidedly not conversing with him. It saves everyone a lot of grumbling and fierce shouting in the long run. For the most part I live at my parents house and we just avoid one another at all costs. Like we're the others invisible counterpart. It works well.
Well. It DID work well. See, as much as I dislike my father, for whatever the reasons may be, I'm not cruel to him. If he asks me a direct question (which is rare) I will answer it. If he needs me to hand him a pencil, say, I will hand it to him (pointy side out) and if he were drowning in the backyard due to a sudden quick-sand portal that opened up where our septic tank used to be I would throw the guy a freaking rope. In the same manner, when it is Father's Day or his birthday or Christmas I extend him a card, a gift, a well wish. He is still family, family still deserve some perks of having to share a living space.
You might be able to see where this is going.
This weekend I went home to spend time with my family. I'm terribly homesick for my mother's ludicrous dogs and my flannel sheets and the way the house smells like feet and cinnamon potpourri (a special home creation)and so I went and the plan was to celebrate my birthday in the same manner that we celebrate everyone's birthday every year. A gift, a cake, singing, etc. Nothing elaborate. Hell, I'm 25. It's not like I need a clown (although I wouldn't object). I just need them.
And it didn't happen. It was supposed to but it didn't work out. My brother and my dad ended up working on Sunday and what should have only been a half a day job turned out to last until late in the evening until I had no choice but to drive back without seeing them. My mother and my sister sang to me over a pitifully delicious cake and took pictures of me crying because I am simply that pathetic. I guess I was looking forward to the celebration more than I thought. I guess I was considering how much we put into everyone's birthdays every year and just felt so jipped. So forgotten and it was silly of me to get so upset, especially since my mother and sister tried so hard, but I did. I cried uncontrollably in the car the entire ride to Kalamazoo. What was worse is that I didn't start crying, like full on rumbling tears, until I realized that they had made it home shortly after I left and still hadn't called me to tell me they were sorry. I think it was then that my disappointment grew to something so much more.
I love my brother. He may be 21 but he just a child and therefore perhaps doesn't realize quite yet just how much his actions hurt me. My father, however...well, get in the fucking game dude. Sure, maybe we don't talk. Maybe your selfish and cruel actions finally caught up to a point where you proved me right BY FORGETTING YOUR OLDEST DAUGHTERS BIRTHDAY?
Just, if you can for a moment, think back to the moment you wanted me. Think back to the day when you decided to be a part of my creation. When I arrived and you held me for the first time and you said to yourself, "she is going to be something great" and you realized that I looked more like you than I looked like mom and perhaps that thought gave you the smallest sense of pride. Maybe it didn't. Let's pretend it did. Let's pretend for a second that you celebrated that day, the day of my arrival, the day your life was changed forever. Conversation or not, I'm still your child. Relationship or not, you still owed me that phone call and apology.
The celebration of a life still deserves a birthday card.
Needless to say my father doesn't read this and I'm sorry you had to. Perhaps it's a bit hypocritical for me to expect anything. "You chose not to talk to him, what do you care if he gives you a card or calls?" and yeah, maybe you're right. Maybe I'm bringing about my own misery. Maybe this is part of the deal that comes with not speaking to your father and I should just face that fact rather than fight it or complain about it.
And perhaps another part of that deal HE should live with is that I'm so totally paying someone to shit in his Christmas stocking this year as an act of retaliation. Forget your daughter's birthday? Lesson: Learned.
I do not talk to my father. Anyone who knows me knows that. The fact of the matter is that I do not like my father. I don't deem him a "nice" individual. He isn't kind. He's actually quite selfish. And mean. I could elaborate on those but I won't because I'm nice. Just know I have my reasons for decidedly not conversing with him. It saves everyone a lot of grumbling and fierce shouting in the long run. For the most part I live at my parents house and we just avoid one another at all costs. Like we're the others invisible counterpart. It works well.
Well. It DID work well. See, as much as I dislike my father, for whatever the reasons may be, I'm not cruel to him. If he asks me a direct question (which is rare) I will answer it. If he needs me to hand him a pencil, say, I will hand it to him (pointy side out) and if he were drowning in the backyard due to a sudden quick-sand portal that opened up where our septic tank used to be I would throw the guy a freaking rope. In the same manner, when it is Father's Day or his birthday or Christmas I extend him a card, a gift, a well wish. He is still family, family still deserve some perks of having to share a living space.
You might be able to see where this is going.
This weekend I went home to spend time with my family. I'm terribly homesick for my mother's ludicrous dogs and my flannel sheets and the way the house smells like feet and cinnamon potpourri (a special home creation)and so I went and the plan was to celebrate my birthday in the same manner that we celebrate everyone's birthday every year. A gift, a cake, singing, etc. Nothing elaborate. Hell, I'm 25. It's not like I need a clown (although I wouldn't object). I just need them.
And it didn't happen. It was supposed to but it didn't work out. My brother and my dad ended up working on Sunday and what should have only been a half a day job turned out to last until late in the evening until I had no choice but to drive back without seeing them. My mother and my sister sang to me over a pitifully delicious cake and took pictures of me crying because I am simply that pathetic. I guess I was looking forward to the celebration more than I thought. I guess I was considering how much we put into everyone's birthdays every year and just felt so jipped. So forgotten and it was silly of me to get so upset, especially since my mother and sister tried so hard, but I did. I cried uncontrollably in the car the entire ride to Kalamazoo. What was worse is that I didn't start crying, like full on rumbling tears, until I realized that they had made it home shortly after I left and still hadn't called me to tell me they were sorry. I think it was then that my disappointment grew to something so much more.
I love my brother. He may be 21 but he just a child and therefore perhaps doesn't realize quite yet just how much his actions hurt me. My father, however...well, get in the fucking game dude. Sure, maybe we don't talk. Maybe your selfish and cruel actions finally caught up to a point where you proved me right BY FORGETTING YOUR OLDEST DAUGHTERS BIRTHDAY?
Just, if you can for a moment, think back to the moment you wanted me. Think back to the day when you decided to be a part of my creation. When I arrived and you held me for the first time and you said to yourself, "she is going to be something great" and you realized that I looked more like you than I looked like mom and perhaps that thought gave you the smallest sense of pride. Maybe it didn't. Let's pretend it did. Let's pretend for a second that you celebrated that day, the day of my arrival, the day your life was changed forever. Conversation or not, I'm still your child. Relationship or not, you still owed me that phone call and apology.
The celebration of a life still deserves a birthday card.
Needless to say my father doesn't read this and I'm sorry you had to. Perhaps it's a bit hypocritical for me to expect anything. "You chose not to talk to him, what do you care if he gives you a card or calls?" and yeah, maybe you're right. Maybe I'm bringing about my own misery. Maybe this is part of the deal that comes with not speaking to your father and I should just face that fact rather than fight it or complain about it.
And perhaps another part of that deal HE should live with is that I'm so totally paying someone to shit in his Christmas stocking this year as an act of retaliation. Forget your daughter's birthday? Lesson: Learned.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Halloween can suck it
I hate costumes. This is why:
And this:
Why aren't I cute as a mouse? You don't EVEN want to see me with the tail on.
And this:
Why aren't I cute as a mouse? You don't EVEN want to see me with the tail on.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
A Conversation with my Mother
Mom: "Ok I have to go. I got a concussion last night walking the dogs and it's causing me a lot of pain now."
Me: "Oh....uh, alright. Talk to you later."
Mom: "Sounds good. Oh and if I die and we can't talk later...well...then goodbye."
Me: "Really?"
Mom: "What?"
Me: "Those are your last words for me? If this is the end...goodbye?"
Mom: "What do you want from me?"
Me: "I don't know. ANYTHING but that?"
Mom: "Fine. If this is the end, please...I don't know, take care of your sister."
Me: "Awesome. Will do."
Mom: "Oh and the dogs."
Me: "The dogs that are the cause of your imminent death? Sure, no problem."
Mom: "I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you. I'm running out of time, I'm in pain, I have to go now."
Me: "Seriously, this sucks. At least tell me I get your jewelry, something!"
Mom: "You already get all my life insurance, it's in your name."
Me: "No shit...seriously?"
Mom: "I'm going now."
Me: "That is SO MUCH BETTER than your crappy ass jewelry."
Mom: "Love you too Ash. Bye."
End Scene.
Me: "Oh....uh, alright. Talk to you later."
Mom: "Sounds good. Oh and if I die and we can't talk later...well...then goodbye."
Me: "Really?"
Mom: "What?"
Me: "Those are your last words for me? If this is the end...goodbye?"
Mom: "What do you want from me?"
Me: "I don't know. ANYTHING but that?"
Mom: "Fine. If this is the end, please...I don't know, take care of your sister."
Me: "Awesome. Will do."
Mom: "Oh and the dogs."
Me: "The dogs that are the cause of your imminent death? Sure, no problem."
Mom: "I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you. I'm running out of time, I'm in pain, I have to go now."
Me: "Seriously, this sucks. At least tell me I get your jewelry, something!"
Mom: "You already get all my life insurance, it's in your name."
Me: "No shit...seriously?"
Mom: "I'm going now."
Me: "That is SO MUCH BETTER than your crappy ass jewelry."
Mom: "Love you too Ash. Bye."
End Scene.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
My Parents and Yours
Today started out so lovely. I slept in. I got up and ate pizza for breakfast. I put on four day dirty clothes for optimal comfort and took up permanent residence on the couch with an orange juice to watch Sixteen Candles from start to finish, which, let's face it, never gets to happen. Always, ALWAYS, I turn on the television to catch it at the part where the Asian kid and his body-building girlfriend are on the exercise machine and while that's entertaining, it always irks me that I have missed my favorite part already - the school dance.
So I'm sitting, sipping, enjoying and my phone buzzes to let me know I have a text message and OF COURSE it's my mother who states the following:
i got a new phone with a keyboard! for more texting!
And I don't want to admit that I did this but let's just get it out there. I groaned OUT LOUD to myself the same way you might groan when you know that you have to start reading a manual for an electronic device or to build an IKEA bookshelf. It was SO LOUD. Exhaustingly loud, epically loud, "I'll bet they're going to make me read these directions in Spanish" loud and this is why.
The first text message my mother ever sent me was "Tori Spelling looks like a horse" and believe it or not, they have only gotten more absurd since that first one! Always with the questions and the useless information and suddenly, with a keyboard at her fingertips she is going to be worse than the mother on Everybody Loves Raymond who lives right next door because who needs geographical convenience when technology can make it seem like she's sitting right next to you ALL THE TIME. ALL THE TIME TEXTING EASILY.
The best part is she doesn't even wait for my 'oh so convenient' text reply and immediately calls me to inform me that her and my father are on their way to 7-11 straight from the phone store.
And don't I know that this phone is so neat because it looks just like a Blackberry without all the trouble of actually having to BE a Blackberry with all that 'extra junk I don't want to pay for anyway' and do I want to add someone to their circle of friends for unlimited calling (sidenote: the moment I realized I had no one to add because I only ever consistently talk WITH MY MOTHER) and the best news of all DAD GOT A BLUE TOOTH.
So if you go to your local 7-11 this morning for a Big Gulp and a Slim Jim and you see two individuals sitting confusedly in the front seat of a TrailBlazer, one of which is sliding her phone open and shut with sheer amazement like a toddler who has just discovered its hands and the other, with sweatpants undoubtedly up to his armpits, wearing a Blue Tooth headset but talking to no one at all, just enjoying the feel of it on his head: Yes. Fine. Those are my parents.
And don't FOR A SECOND start to think you should feel bad for me. Because it's quite possible that the couple in the next minivan over struggling with an iPod and whatever the heck these fancy mp3's might be, are your parents.
So I'm sitting, sipping, enjoying and my phone buzzes to let me know I have a text message and OF COURSE it's my mother who states the following:
i got a new phone with a keyboard! for more texting!
And I don't want to admit that I did this but let's just get it out there. I groaned OUT LOUD to myself the same way you might groan when you know that you have to start reading a manual for an electronic device or to build an IKEA bookshelf. It was SO LOUD. Exhaustingly loud, epically loud, "I'll bet they're going to make me read these directions in Spanish" loud and this is why.
The first text message my mother ever sent me was "Tori Spelling looks like a horse" and believe it or not, they have only gotten more absurd since that first one! Always with the questions and the useless information and suddenly, with a keyboard at her fingertips she is going to be worse than the mother on Everybody Loves Raymond who lives right next door because who needs geographical convenience when technology can make it seem like she's sitting right next to you ALL THE TIME. ALL THE TIME TEXTING EASILY.
The best part is she doesn't even wait for my 'oh so convenient' text reply and immediately calls me to inform me that her and my father are on their way to 7-11 straight from the phone store.
And don't I know that this phone is so neat because it looks just like a Blackberry without all the trouble of actually having to BE a Blackberry with all that 'extra junk I don't want to pay for anyway' and do I want to add someone to their circle of friends for unlimited calling (sidenote: the moment I realized I had no one to add because I only ever consistently talk WITH MY MOTHER) and the best news of all DAD GOT A BLUE TOOTH.
So if you go to your local 7-11 this morning for a Big Gulp and a Slim Jim and you see two individuals sitting confusedly in the front seat of a TrailBlazer, one of which is sliding her phone open and shut with sheer amazement like a toddler who has just discovered its hands and the other, with sweatpants undoubtedly up to his armpits, wearing a Blue Tooth headset but talking to no one at all, just enjoying the feel of it on his head: Yes. Fine. Those are my parents.
And don't FOR A SECOND start to think you should feel bad for me. Because it's quite possible that the couple in the next minivan over struggling with an iPod and whatever the heck these fancy mp3's might be, are your parents.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Let's see if we can ketchup
In five or less headings, shall we?
Teaching: Is going fine. Well, I suppose it's going fine. It's going fine in the sense that someday, when I have my own classroom, as long as I don't opt to put porn on the syllabus, I will be allowed to teach whenever and however I want and that is a freaking GLORIOUS concept. That is what keeps me going. Freedom. I count down daily actually: 55 more days in the classroom under the watchful eye of my mentor teacher who can spot a screw-up in my honor from four classrooms away and will make sure I hear about it, even if telling me means making me cry. WHICH I HAVE DONE. Like a weakling. I need to toughen up. I need to figure out the brass knuckles of the soul. How do you take a hit and just not care? I need life lessons from bad asses and street walkers. Drug dealers and dirty lawyers. When the world seems against you, how do you not end up crying in some terrible high school bathroom stall? WHAT IS YOUR SECRET???
New Website: Is in the future. 55 classroom days away, hopefully. I've come to realize that blogging is my outlet. I live for it, even if no one could care less what I have to say. Music and books: I live to recommend. Complaining: Is my forte. Admitting all my faults while staying mysterious to whomever reads this blog in Australia (hey, thanks by the way): I need it. I bought the rights to my site name (soon to be revealed but my GOD is it kickin) and am currently on the hunt for someone in the area who can teach me how to make an actual website. Please be patient for awesomeness. Just pretend it was like before Titanic came out to the theaters and you bought Seventeen magazine monthly for new shots of Leo and a quick clip about production and you truly thought the movie would NEVER GET HERE and suddenly it did and it was just as fantastic as you had hoped and really, the wait was worth it. Crap, was that just me?
New Tunage: Hit an all time high today. I literally walked around FYE (not my first choice but HELLO, I'm on the west side of Michigan, there aren't a lot of Empire Record-esque options out here) for two hours while the guy at the counter came to collect used cd's from my clutches occasionally so I wouldn't drop them. Clearly, this was just his ploy to get me to buy more because everytime I looked down I only had one or two in my hands but by the time I got to the register there were eleven discs waiting for me and I had to sheepishly explain I don't know how this happened. One iced coffee and the girl loses all of her wits in CD land. I narrowed my choices down to five: Bob Marley (Legend), The Stone Roses (The Stone Roses), The Black Keys (Rubber Factory) Ryan Adams (Easy Tiger) and last but certainly not least, REM (Out of Time). If you're sitting there comtemplating my list and trying to narrow it down to just one fantastic rock-out fest at a time, I insist upon The Stone Roses self titled album. I won't even get into the head-banging that happened in the car on the way home. "This is the One" - really is the one you've been waiting for. They know it and remind you constantly.
My Girls: I miss you. I know that we're starting to get back in the groove of weekly calls and I'm sorry I was MIA for so long but I literally couldn't talk to another soul at the end of every day save for the guy at Taco Bell who knew my order by heart and we needed no words, just a connection of eyes at the drive thru window. I hope beyond hope we do Minneapolis for Halloween again. I've been thinking about costumes since I started texting Kel this morning and have been thinking of epic trios we just might have to take on. Observe:
Three Little Pigs: If anyone can make a snout sexy IT IS US.
Alice, Rosalie and Bella: Kelley read that and spontaneously combusted. I just know it. I hope Target has a good cleaning crew.
Ron, Harry and Hermoine: FINE FINE, I'll be Ron.
Sex, Drugs, Rock'n'Roll: Can we just stop for a second to determine how awesome those costumes would be?
That's all I have for now, but trust me, I have faith we can recreate the crazy of last year, minus Beth asleep on a sidewalk, plus even MORE Jimmy Johns.
Books: Is this even considered a heading? IT IS TODAY because I am in the middle of Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson and never before did I think a novel that told the step by step recovery of a burn victim could be so enticing! Every page I think to myself, "My God will he be debridled again? Will he tell me more about his days as a porn star? (wow, porn mentioned TWICE in this post. Record made!) Will I learn even more about medieval Germany?" Do yourself a favor, do not Google Debridlement because frankly, the book descriptions are enough to make any stomach turn. Get the book, become enraptured, send me a thank-you note on personalized stationery. (I heart personalized stationery hard.)
The bolding of this post was insane. Sorry if the headings exceeded the limit. Pray for my soft-as-cheese soul and please send the name and number of any badasses you can recommend to toughen me up. It's a hardknocks life...well, according to Annie anyway. Perhaps that's what I need. A bad-ass, street wise orphan. My God, what has my life come to?
Teaching: Is going fine. Well, I suppose it's going fine. It's going fine in the sense that someday, when I have my own classroom, as long as I don't opt to put porn on the syllabus, I will be allowed to teach whenever and however I want and that is a freaking GLORIOUS concept. That is what keeps me going. Freedom. I count down daily actually: 55 more days in the classroom under the watchful eye of my mentor teacher who can spot a screw-up in my honor from four classrooms away and will make sure I hear about it, even if telling me means making me cry. WHICH I HAVE DONE. Like a weakling. I need to toughen up. I need to figure out the brass knuckles of the soul. How do you take a hit and just not care? I need life lessons from bad asses and street walkers. Drug dealers and dirty lawyers. When the world seems against you, how do you not end up crying in some terrible high school bathroom stall? WHAT IS YOUR SECRET???
New Website: Is in the future. 55 classroom days away, hopefully. I've come to realize that blogging is my outlet. I live for it, even if no one could care less what I have to say. Music and books: I live to recommend. Complaining: Is my forte. Admitting all my faults while staying mysterious to whomever reads this blog in Australia (hey, thanks by the way): I need it. I bought the rights to my site name (soon to be revealed but my GOD is it kickin) and am currently on the hunt for someone in the area who can teach me how to make an actual website. Please be patient for awesomeness. Just pretend it was like before Titanic came out to the theaters and you bought Seventeen magazine monthly for new shots of Leo and a quick clip about production and you truly thought the movie would NEVER GET HERE and suddenly it did and it was just as fantastic as you had hoped and really, the wait was worth it. Crap, was that just me?
New Tunage: Hit an all time high today. I literally walked around FYE (not my first choice but HELLO, I'm on the west side of Michigan, there aren't a lot of Empire Record-esque options out here) for two hours while the guy at the counter came to collect used cd's from my clutches occasionally so I wouldn't drop them. Clearly, this was just his ploy to get me to buy more because everytime I looked down I only had one or two in my hands but by the time I got to the register there were eleven discs waiting for me and I had to sheepishly explain I don't know how this happened. One iced coffee and the girl loses all of her wits in CD land. I narrowed my choices down to five: Bob Marley (Legend), The Stone Roses (The Stone Roses), The Black Keys (Rubber Factory) Ryan Adams (Easy Tiger) and last but certainly not least, REM (Out of Time). If you're sitting there comtemplating my list and trying to narrow it down to just one fantastic rock-out fest at a time, I insist upon The Stone Roses self titled album. I won't even get into the head-banging that happened in the car on the way home. "This is the One" - really is the one you've been waiting for. They know it and remind you constantly.
My Girls: I miss you. I know that we're starting to get back in the groove of weekly calls and I'm sorry I was MIA for so long but I literally couldn't talk to another soul at the end of every day save for the guy at Taco Bell who knew my order by heart and we needed no words, just a connection of eyes at the drive thru window. I hope beyond hope we do Minneapolis for Halloween again. I've been thinking about costumes since I started texting Kel this morning and have been thinking of epic trios we just might have to take on. Observe:
Three Little Pigs: If anyone can make a snout sexy IT IS US.
Alice, Rosalie and Bella: Kelley read that and spontaneously combusted. I just know it. I hope Target has a good cleaning crew.
Ron, Harry and Hermoine: FINE FINE, I'll be Ron.
Sex, Drugs, Rock'n'Roll: Can we just stop for a second to determine how awesome those costumes would be?
That's all I have for now, but trust me, I have faith we can recreate the crazy of last year, minus Beth asleep on a sidewalk, plus even MORE Jimmy Johns.
Books: Is this even considered a heading? IT IS TODAY because I am in the middle of Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson and never before did I think a novel that told the step by step recovery of a burn victim could be so enticing! Every page I think to myself, "My God will he be debridled again? Will he tell me more about his days as a porn star? (wow, porn mentioned TWICE in this post. Record made!) Will I learn even more about medieval Germany?" Do yourself a favor, do not Google Debridlement because frankly, the book descriptions are enough to make any stomach turn. Get the book, become enraptured, send me a thank-you note on personalized stationery. (I heart personalized stationery hard.)
The bolding of this post was insane. Sorry if the headings exceeded the limit. Pray for my soft-as-cheese soul and please send the name and number of any badasses you can recommend to toughen me up. It's a hardknocks life...well, according to Annie anyway. Perhaps that's what I need. A bad-ass, street wise orphan. My God, what has my life come to?