the goodbye dress

Rock, Paper, Scissors

2011-10-29T12:19:00.000-07:00

2nd place winners at Match.com Halloween Happy Hour

All on a Saturday Night

2011-05-18T18:45:00.001-07:00

Each Saturday growing up I went with my family to visit my grandparents in Dallas. I sat in the backseat and stared out the window. When it rained I would trace the raindrops with my finger. I watched them drip down the pane; watched their rolling bodies mesh into each other and fall apart like a broken love story. I used to make up songs and stories for their tapping pattering bodies. My parent’s country music would hum in and out of my stories, weaving its way in, pulling me away from my raindrops. Eventually the back and forth would lull me to sleep until I would wake up parked at the gas station while my Dad was buying a lotto ticket.

spring fever

2011-05-18T18:36:00.000-07:00

So adorable

2011-05-17T18:38:00.000-07:00

the past...

2011-04-18T18:50:00.000-07:00

The wounds of the past aren’t easily ignored. They hang on like the litter that snags the rotting branches after a storm.

yes!

2011-04-17T09:17:00.000-07:00

I love when trends come back in particular platforms! I always knew there was a reason I had been lugging my brown MIA platform wedges for the past 7 years.

New addition!

2011-04-06T01:43:00.000-07:00

Been skipping on the blogs to welcome Dylan a rescued blue heeler aussie shep mix to the fam!

If you do this I will laugh at you.

2011-04-03T08:48:00.000-07:00

Overalls (to me) are not flattering on anyone over the age of 14. One of many trends I just don't get!

http://www.glamour.com/fashion/2011/03/spring-outfit-ideas-not-your-same-old-jeans?mbid=styletipsnl#slide=1

Strawberry Jam in Summer

2011-03-24T18:31:00.000-07:00

Each summer my grandmother gave us jam that she bought from a lady on the outskirts of Dallas. My favorite was strawberry. The jar was glass with fruit prints pushed out on the side. The lid was a gold circle with a ridged open circle that wrapped around the jar securing the gold circle. My mom made strawberry jam sandwiches to send to school with me in the fall. The jam would sop the bread red and leak in the heavy Ziploc bag. When we were done my Mom washed the jars and placed them in the cabinet for drinking.

Just another simple memory

What’s your favorite band?

2011-03-23T18:47:00.000-07:00

This question irks me! No matter what I say I feel like I’m going to be judged. Better than Ezra is my favorite band and it never fails when talking to a music snob the response I get is - “Really?” Umm yes, really! I’ve listened to every song so I think I’m more qualified to pick my favorite band than someone who may/may not have listened to every song and is not me! I do feel left out of the club when they start talking about Rapid Donkey Beaters or whatever the current obscure band favorite is at the time. Better than Ezra moves me. Standing in a throng of people who are as moved as you are when the lead singer sings, “Maybe I should drop you at your door. Or leave tonight and vanish up the shore” is like nothing else. To feel part of something bigger and yet feel as though you are the only one makes you feel infinite. When it comes to picking a favorite band nothing beats that.

So judge away music snobs. I hope you actually like the Rapid Donkey Beaters.

Inspiration: At the Stars – Better Than Ezra

Sing a sad song...

2011-03-22T19:22:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wanted to feel sad so you can sing a sad song? Some songs make me wish for rain, for a day when I’m tucked inside with just my pain and turmoil.

Inspiration: Tim McGraw - Taylor Swift

A dying art.

2011-03-21T19:10:00.000-07:00

Poetry is the immortalization of the intangible, trying to hold onto a moment that would otherwise be ephemeral.

The Suicide

2011-03-20T19:06:00.000-07:00

It took a week for his body to be identified. He was a body in the paper, as the articles would say “an unidentified man jumped to death in Frisco”. It took a week for someone to read that article and miss him. Later it would read “Frisco man who jumped to death at hotel identified”. People felt better knowing this person had a name. I sat and remembered a green couch pushed up against the far wall; yellow paint peeling at the corner right where the couch arm hit the molding. The interior had all the elements of being a home yet some how it was empty.

Girl @ Starbucks:

2011-03-19T19:01:00.000-07:00

A little girl on tip toes plays with her hair, plays with the straws and then plays with the napkins. Wandering hands finally grab the cardboard for her hot chocolate. She anxiously holds it, bending it in and out waiting for her drink and her mom. While the girl is mousy with a messy mop of brown hair, her mom is shiny. She wears all black with her hair taut in a bun. She’s flirting shamelessly with the barista as her daughter watches on. The mom’s school girl giggles and casual tuck of one loose strand behind her ear are awkward in this scene.

Inspiration: This was a year ago and yet I still remember that girl in that Starbucks waiting for her hot chocolate. Her nonchalance at her mother told me this was not the first time she waited for a hot chocolate.

Kleenex

2011-03-18T18:40:00.000-07:00

In Elementary school the class was not allowed to use more than one tissue at a time. I never understood how my teacher could let me get snot on my hand instead of letting me get a second tissue. The worst part was when it was the box my Mom donated. They were mine! Now that I have my own tissues I use as many as I want and I feel so rebellious. (Blog inspired by my constant sneezing this week).

window shopping

2011-03-17T02:15:00.000-07:00

I online window shop so much that it never fails that once a day I'm walking and I see someone and mentally note, "Yep, you got that at Urban Outfitters" or "Nice choice from Alloy". Today it was "eesh, glad I didn't order that shirt from XX1. It looks horrific on."

Don't you hate it when...

2011-03-16T18:23:00.000-07:00

you're at work and realize you have every hair accessory in your desk except a pony o. Next thing you know you have a rubber band in you hair. And of course there's the always fashionable paper clip bang holder or half up half down binder clip.

I suppose it's resourceful.

Non-authentic

2011-03-15T18:42:00.000-07:00

In HS had a friend who decided who she wanted to be and then worked as hard as she could to be that person, which included failing classes to be cool. Strange.

St Patty's Parade in pictures

2011-03-14T19:16:00.000-07:00

Things I'm obsessed with right now...

2011-03-13T19:20:00.000-07:00

1. My woven Crate and Barrel rug
2. Essie nail polish in Pretty Edgy. It takes 3 coats to get the bright green color, but I've had it on for days and my nails still look perfect!
3. This pearly orange and gold ring from forever21.

Mardi Gras

2011-03-07T18:58:00.000-08:00

So my crafty moment this weekend was making Mardi Gras masks including one for Lil Levi! I also made mini king cakes almost from scratch...

Recipe:
Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls (2 packs) w/ icing
Add pecans & apple cider soaked raisins
Cook as directed on package
Ice & sprinkle with yellow, green, & purple sprinkles
DELISH!

Polaroids!

2011-03-05T19:14:00.000-08:00

I'm seriously obsessed with these Polaroid photo frames! They are such a fun and unique way to relive my favorites memories. You can get them at Urban Outfitters or Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Crafting...

2011-03-01T19:21:00.000-08:00

One of the most difficult things since moving to our place in Addison has been finding things to fit in these weird shaped gray wood frames I bought. Until I decide what I want to put in my frames I decided to go a super cheap route for the interim... scrapbook paper. For about $0.50 I gave my bathroom a quick upgrade. Close ups below...

Death

2011-02-26T16:44:00.000-08:00

My uncle passed away when I was eight, a third grader. I walked to the cafeteria for the Ambassador’s meeting (a boy and girl from each class nominated to help new students, further proof of my inner dork). I was so close to the end of the hall when the principal took me to my parents. My Mom’s jaw locked up and my Dad seemed breakable when that morning he was invincible. I spent the next hour watching raindrops trickle little paths down the car windowpane. All I thought of was missing my chance with the boy I loved.

I just didn't get it.. I didn’t understand death, permanence, impermanence.

Yelping

2011-02-25T18:23:00.000-08:00

My new thing is yelping (aka either talking smack or praising the places I go on yelp). It's like mini blogging!

Growing up...

2011-02-15T19:50:00.000-08:00

One day I felt like growing up immediately, the next I was an adult and holding the broken pieces of glass where growing up should have taken place.

Depression

2011-02-12T04:53:00.000-08:00

Depression ruins you. He wraps five gnarly fingers around your head, forces his other into your chest and slowly digs until he’s squeezing your heart in his palm. He punches you right in the chest like a chip that just won’t quite go down your windpipe. Then he pulls you down like a championship wrestler on his last move. His teeth pierce your neck sucking hope out to weaken you, to make your fall greater and swifter. Depression’s not an opponent you want to fight. One person held my hand tight as though letting go would send me over the cliff, eventually the tugging landed me back down staring at the sky gasping for breath.

To Write Love On Her Arms

Oh the Places You’ll Go

2011-01-30T20:30:00.000-08:00

Inspiration for my title goes to my HS for gifting me a piece of luggage and the Dr. Seuss book Oh the Places You’ll Go at the banquet for the top 2% of my class (Yep, I’m a dork).

So let’s chat about the places I’ve been in January…

The Farmers Market: Quinn and I went to the Farmer’s Market to spice up our weekend. Yes we went in January (maybe not the best time for produce). So what did we do? We ate tamales from a tamale stand (amazing, I recommend the chicken – if you are ever at the farmers market and find yourself at the tamale stand). Then we wine tasted. For $2 you could taste all 4 wines. So after the tasting, I drank a whole glass, and then bought 2 bottles. Yep, I suddenly found myself tipsy at the farmers market. This led to cravings such as an éclair from a deli and a homemade pickle from a street vendor. Of course tipsy Q & Ezz don’t stop there; we travel on to Dealey Plaza (best part was Quinn carrying me over a chained fence flashing my goodies only to discover the sober people walking through a gate). After chilling on the grassy knoll and snapping some photos we move on to West End (aka truffle buying, scrabble playing, drinking at Fridays over spinach dip).

The night continued to afternoon drinks and cheese plates at Astoria and dancing at Blackfinn. I won’t get into many details here but the highlight was grooving to Yeah by Usher. Or it could be when I had a drunk cry about Levi dying (He's not dead; I was crying about his future death in like 10 years).

So you may be wondering how the next adventure can top that… it doesn’t really but it does involve chicken & waffles at Lemon Bar, bottomless mimosas, a shot, chocolate cake, and then a drunk mall trip with Quinn’s sister that resulted in me returning a bunch of stuff the next week.

So yeah about those places I’ll go.

If you'd like to read Quinn's version of events check out: GoldenBootChronicles

Daydreamer

2011-01-29T18:45:00.000-08:00

I slip like a kite between two worlds, the one I’m in and the one I invent

Blog about a homeless woman

2011-01-09T11:13:00.000-08:00

Today my planner said: “What are the conversations in your head?" Right now, I’m thinking of the things I don’t understand. Of a woman younger than her wrinkled skin, dried with sun, lets on. Of her buggy pushed up next to her body slumped in a doorway. Her foot resting on the cart as though the inside contained treasures from afar. Yet all I see is trash.

"'And I don't know why but with you I dance in a storm in my best dress, fearless" - Taylor Swift

2011-01-01T19:46:00.000-08:00

Meeting Quinn was like someone put an umbrella over my head and it was only then I realized I was standing in the pouring rain.

New Year's Resolution

2011-01-01T18:43:00.000-08:00

I want to be calmer, nicer, more patient. Not to already give up on myself but I’m not so sure how this will go. I’m passionate, spirited, emotional.

Polly Pocket Horror!

2010-12-13T12:49:00.000-08:00

I saw a sign for Polly Pocket at Target and I freaked out with excitement. I go to show Quinn what Polly Pocket was all about, when to my horror I realized Polly cannot fit in your pocket anymore. She’s bigger and slowly on her way to being another Barbie. When I was kid, my Polly Pocket was a yellow heart; when you opened it there was a barbershop. Little Polly Pocket could bend to sit in the little chair with her friends. I’m also pretty sure her hair was plastic. When I was done I could close it up and put it in my pocket.

I'm a rockstar!

2010-12-12T11:08:00.001-08:00

Quinn & I dressed up for my work's Rockstar holiday party! So much fun!

Glee + Gwyneth = awesomeness

2010-12-01T23:32:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T18:27:00.000-08:00

This year I'm thankful for my new home, my new job, the family I was given, and the family I created.

The Leaf Poem

2010-11-02T19:28:00.000-07:00

Leaves shiver to the ground rippling my skin as they pass; saying hello and goodbye. Fall has come and fall will go.

Every Painting in the MoMA

2010-09-05T23:11:00.000-07:00

Sunglasses

2010-09-02T07:24:00.000-07:00

One time I was driving and everything looked brighter, the day was out ready to greet me. Green was greener, sun was brighter, people were nicer, my day was better. I went through my whole day thinking what a beautiful day it was outside. When I went back out in the afternoon it had died, the trees were back to just trees, the sun was in my eyes, people were cranky from heat. I thought what happened. Then I put my yellow sunglasses back on and realized everything I had seen that morning was through tinted lenses.

Hocus Pocus

2010-09-01T19:14:00.000-07:00

My sisters and I watched Hocus Pocus every time it came on television. We fought over the witch we wanted “to be” in the story. I typically won out the role of Sarah Jessica Parker’s character. Wonder why no one ever picked one of the mortal girls. I suppose witchcraft fascinated us; the idea we could change what was with only words, some of which rhymed.

Perception

2010-08-31T20:49:00.000-07:00

I always wonder is my worst day equal to someone else’s worst day based on perception. In the sense where objectively one day would be worse than the other, but subjectively they are equally bad.

hunger.

2010-08-30T20:47:00.000-07:00

I wrote a story for my former company’s newsletter about a food drive. Naturally I gravitated towards what I saw as the story, hunger. The editor, however, deleted all of that to print what she saw as the story; basic info that was light and upbeat. I’m just not sure what is upbeat about hunger. Sure we can pretend hunger is smiling guys & gals dropping soup cans into a stock cardboard box, but I think we all know it’s a bit uglier than that.

In D.C. I ate lunch with a homeless man. I had Chipotle; he drank straight from a Progresso soup can, cold soup to my delish meal. His hunger has become pure need, my hunger however remains tied to my appetite, whims, emotions etc.

I try to think of a time when I knew hunger for its basic rawness of providing nourishment. Perhaps when I was a baby. As far as I recall, my hunger is satiated with whatever I want whenever I want.

Doing research on hunger, I found many articles that tossed out the idea of only eating when hungry. To eat as though you were a member of the nation’s hungry. It sounds awful hard to break my eating habits, but I’m rather curious of what it would be like and intrigued by the weight I would lose.

ballet

2010-08-29T21:03:00.000-07:00

I have this photograph of Taylor and I before dance class. My Mom wrapped matching smiley face bandanas around our waists. Hard to believe once upon a time I was that small. I seem so happy, yet I remember very little about dance classes and nothing about that day. Bizarre holding a memory captured on film yet I have no recollection of its events. Did I go to school that morning? What time of day was it? Did I have fun in class? Was it tap or ballet? The photo holds as much sentiment as the photographs that come in the frame when you purchase it; you know the stock happy family in a happy little rectangle.

Just a Fairy

2010-08-27T21:00:00.000-07:00

I was a pink fairy sitting under a tree
Caught the dandelion wishes you blew towards me
I put them in old jam jars
You stole them from me to catch butterflies
Now I’m a girl sitting on a tree stump
Watching dandelion seeds blow from their wand
I let them float away this time.

Ordinary things...

2010-08-25T06:53:00.000-07:00

At a happy hour (mostly girls’ night) we dished out love advice. Although I’m only 25, my college relationship was so rocky it feels like I have 10 years worth of bad relationships in that one. Still the only advice I had was, “Who would you rather do ordinary things with?” It seemed to be a decent hit at the table. So what are some of my favorite ordinary things to do with the bf …?
1. Sing in the car (faves are Gold Digger & our duet to Kid Rock & Sheryl Crow
2. Eat frozen pizza
3. Watch reality TV
4. Dance parties
5. Tell really stupid jokes

Cemetaries

2010-08-24T18:21:00.000-07:00

I’m reading the tombstones dreaming of who the people were, how they lived, how they loved. The words are a secret door I open to the past. I walk through the graves of families, of generations. In my head I reel their sagas… you know she loved this Brother, but married the Other.

Sometimes

2010-08-22T10:39:00.000-07:00

I’m in a situation that causes me to look at my boyfriend and say, “Who are these people”. Not sure how bizarre people find me but they always do.

Example: At Tom Thumb our checker tells us his ex girlfriend’s Mom is on more drugs than Adriana. (Side note: who is Adriana? Is that the ex girlfriend or a Beverly Hills reference). He follows that awkward comment up with a little convo about our jobs and this kicker, “It must be nice to have a real job.” Quinn’s response, “Umm well umm yeah.” The ever astute checker decides to throw this out there, “You guys are probably like hurry up so we can leave.” Yes that is exactly what we are thinking. Once again all Quinn has is “Umm well umm yeah.” Still a better response than me; I hide behind the buggy. So dear Tom Thumb checker, thanks for the laugh and once again proving that something about our faces scream please be weird to us.

I want to buy the world a coke

2010-08-15T21:07:00.000-07:00

I love that Coca Cola slogan/line from Flickerstick song/reference in Reality Bites. It’s idealistic, American, and young. It makes me mushy inside and remember that I still believe in peace.

Wells Fargo

2010-08-11T10:54:00.000-07:00

I think THIS is hilarious/awesome/well deserved. Wells Fargo absolutely moves purchases around to the order that is most beneficial for them. That blatant disregard for the customer’s best interest is what earned them on my bad list and now owing $203 mil.

happy endings

2010-08-03T21:05:00.000-07:00

The joyous silly feeling of love reminds me of being a carefree child. My eyes are shut tight and I’m blowing dandelion seeds into the wind on my front lawn. I’m picturing a garden of roses, sun light tap dancing on golden hair. In love I can squeeze that memory to my chest and go back to twirling with butterflies.

Friendship

2010-07-27T21:01:00.000-07:00

“I’m rad, you’re rad, let’s hug” - Quote from a 14 year girl. I wish all friendships could be that easy.

Every wedding should have a caricature artist

2010-07-18T19:24:00.000-07:00

...because it's awesome!

A Day at School circa 2007

2010-07-11T10:27:00.001-07:00

I’m sitting on a bench in the corner outside the English building. A young boy, most likely a freshman, is walking to the front door with two arms wrapped around a stack of paper. He is awkward in his steps. The wind grasps a hold on his papers and scatters them to the sky. They are blowing in too many directions for him to quickly retrieve. His attempt to collect them becomes running circles with open hands similar to a movie scene. I want to help, but I’m so far away. I feel uncomfortable for even taking in the moment so I go back to studying.

Falling in Love

2010-07-10T17:55:00.000-07:00

The moonlight hangs by my head, the air heavy and nervous like your breath. The trees are leaning in to catch the softest whispers. Earth spins only for us. It’s meant for our taking and no one else matters. We are the only two people who have ever felt this way.

summer time

2010-07-09T06:19:00.000-07:00

Humidity drunk wind pushes a chiffon dress taut over a dark green swimsuit. The July moon watches on, dripping over her like the top of peach ice cream cone. The air is light with summer tunes; jack johnson and colbie caillat marry the evening cool. She sways to the beat, fluffy like a vanilla cupcake.

Night

2010-07-08T19:23:00.000-07:00

The night tiptoes over the sun’s golden canopy
It’s sneaky the way he creeps in
Slowly serenading the world to sleep
Only the young wish to dance with his moon

Mac n Cheese

2010-07-07T18:01:00.000-07:00

(I know another post about mac n cheese) Yesterday, my boyfriend and I split a box of mac n cheese. My job is to mix in the orange yellow congealed Velveeta deliciousness into the shells. Every time I try to lift the pot to drain water I am physically incapable of doing it. Tonight, when my boyfriend is no doubt starting a fight on the soccer field somewhere I am fully able drain the water out of the suddenly very light pot. Amazing how my muscles seem to kick into gear when he is not around.

Secret Garden

2010-07-06T17:31:00.000-07:00

I dream of a place where love grows on lily pads and pink tulle ties bows on tree branches dipping into clear ponds, my own secret garden.

Dear Summer...

2010-07-05T22:26:00.000-07:00

We are ready for you, for a tan, for sunshine; so please stop raining and being excessively windy!

USA

2010-07-04T15:22:00.000-07:00

Fourth of July Poem

2010-07-04T11:59:00.000-07:00

Another night with you
Your heart beat like a rocket
Take off!
You splattered the ceiling, off white
Painted briskly that summer
By some underpaid kids hired on a whim

It was Friday
The champagne stung cold
Tickled lips and tongues
The pills we drank danced in our stomachs
Falling backwards onto the fading couch
Staring into the sky
Your hand caught mind

It was half past 4 am
The paper strips dissolved on our tongues
We kissed and kissed
Fireworks and shooting stars, rainbows and unicorns
We saw it all, grabbed at the air
The touch of your skin, the feel of my hair
The music beat

Cigarettes burned the ground
Dropped from hands hanging limp
We played Shakespeare
Played it well
The acting was good
The blood was real

Disclaimer (mainly for my mom): I do not actually smoke cigarettes, eat paper strips, or take pills that are not prescribed to me by a physician.

Dandelion

2010-07-03T09:42:00.000-07:00

A dandelion seed brushes across my cheek. A wish you blow to me. You laugh as I flail it away. Not a loud laugh, more of a smile, you laugh with your eyes especially when you laugh at me. It’s a soundless laugh, an inside joke you don’t share.

You’re straddling the bench facing me. My legs are curled up Indian style into my body. You kiss me, the dandelion wand still in your hand as if you are going to grant my 3 wishes. You begin to poke me because you want my full attention, but I’m working. I’m supposed to be writing summer poems and taking photographs in the park. I’m pretending to be mad, but I want to kiss you so bad I give in and the world gets set aside.

A Night at Galveston Beach

2010-07-02T07:20:00.000-07:00

Humidity clings to my skin, mosquitoes sting at the back of my legs, fighting each other for a taste. I fear for the welts I’ll only notice later when I accidentally graze them and realize the spot itches. Funny how it never itches until you see it. The heat wilts the cheap flowers I have in the backseat of the car and he doesn’t stop there. He digs his hot fingers into my skin, runs his hand through my hair until it’s a tangled mess of oil. The glowing sun left a while back, yet he lingers being sneaky in the shadows. It never fails that each step brings the sharpness of a shell or weed. Why are there so many weeds on this beach? There must be more grass than sand here. I decide to skip on tip toes back to the car when I step on a beer can. Not the most lovely summer evening.

Gratitude

2010-07-01T17:44:00.000-07:00

I think gratitude is important. Every time I hear the word I immediately jot down a note to say what I’m grateful for once a day. So today I’m grateful for a boyfriend who inspires me to move forward as opposed to being stuck like static cling on my favorite black dress to the past.

Melon Mishap...

2010-06-30T15:40:00.000-07:00

Quinn is in the kitchen slicing watermelon with an unnecessarily large butcher knife; I multi task yoga moves and Cupcake Wars. My mind dances with thoughts of the first bite of fresh watermelon, the soggy crunch and subsequent sticky pink juice on the chin. Then, I hear a “!$@%” and “**********” and “#$ %^&(@!&*(),” followed by some more expletives. Quinn is no longer standing over the counter. I rush to the other side of the counter expecting to find my love on the floor and his thumb a few tiles away where it bounced after its fateful chopping. I prepare to grab shoes, insurance cards, and keys, because the only thing screaming and large knives equal is ER. Apparently, it also equals a dropped piece of watermelon. As I approach the kitchen, Quinn stands up holding a rogue wedge. He throws it away. I calm down. We share a plate of watermelon and finish the ep of Cupcake Wars.

Unforgiving rain steals the day’s sun...

2010-06-28T15:54:00.000-07:00

I'm thankful the rain is light and the wind slow, because I wore a white top and light skirt to work. Although I wouldn't mind being at Point Lobos again and looking out at this. For now a photo tacked up with scotch tape next to my laptop will have to do!

A little quote for today...

2010-06-26T09:05:00.000-07:00

“Why don’t I learn to turn cartwheels, instead of regretting that I never learned as a child” Annie Dillard.

Sky Poem...

2010-06-23T05:05:00.000-07:00

When I look at the sky it surrounds me, I feel close to it like I could reach up and poke the puffy white cloud with my finger. I only recognize how far away it is when night sets in. It just sort of eats you. The humid air that felt light with the sun starts to push down on you.

Fate

2010-06-22T15:21:00.000-07:00

My boyfriend refuses to believe in fate. I would also, except for one thing, us. We met at a bar on a night when we both considered being elsewhere. Two seconds before I asked him to dance I considered asking him to move. Leaving the bar I gave him my phone number when he didn’t ask. I would rather rough it in the woods than throw my number at a boy. We both had hazy memories of what the other looked like; yet he asked, and I agreed to a date. We have both since admitted we did not want to end our first date even though we had nothing in common. Apparently he would have sat in his car making small talk all night to keep me from getting out. I not wanting to say goodbye asked him in for wine and guitar hero. Alas no first kiss. (Two days later) On New Year’s Eve I already had a date that I stood up (Sorry : ( A. ) to be with Quinn. Even though I did not want a boyfriend I wanted him around. For no reason at all, but for all the right choices we did end up together. When I think of the choices I made that brought us together even down to the first one (making the decision to go out) to the second one (missing the turn to Sherlock’s and switching to Blackfinn) I have no idea why those things happened. I swear somebody intervened. One day on accident he said “I love you”. It was organic and natural there was nothing special yet nothing ordinary about it. It was exactly how I wanted/expected someone to tell me, I love you.

So is fate practical or reliable? Absolutely not, but I swear she took a little twig and kept poking me in the back making me do things I normally would not to force us together.

Hello summer, thanks for showing up on time! Please stay awhile or maybe forever.

2010-06-21T15:19:00.000-07:00

In honor of my favorite season I wrote a little poem about one of my favorite summer activities, sunbathing. I have about a gazillion more poems dedicated to the summer so expect more to come.

I lay out in my swimsuit eyes closed. It's so quiet; all I hear is the wind that slightly cools the sweat drops on my body when the sun takes a break. My mind is quiet with only the hum of the wind, the cool of the sweat, and the power of the heat. I’m alone on a beach. Waves are moving in rhythm with the wind now. Carefree dances of sunlight peek through the trees, forcing their way in as the day rolls on.

California

2010-06-10T19:05:00.000-07:00

Carmel is one of the most beautiful places I have been. One minute I was walking along the Pacific Ocean, the next I was on top of a hill looking down to artichoke fields, and then I was in a forest with a deer family that walked right up to us.

My body must be going through withdrawals because I have been sick since our plane landed in Dallas last Thursday night. (On a side note, I knew I was back in Dallas the minute someone used the words "excuse me" instead of just bumping into me to make me move).

Quinn and I decided that for July we are going to publish a post per day. Until then expect the usual sporadic sampling of poems and reflections!

Laundry...

2010-05-25T18:04:00.000-07:00

for my vacation has officially become what can I febreze and throw in dryer v. what actually has to be washed. Well at least I'll be wearing clean underwear on the trip.

the blue balloon..

2010-05-06T16:07:00.000-07:00

I feel like I’m always hearing "live in the present" or "be in the moment", whether it’s from a self-help book, Pilates class or my boyfriend. All I can think is how I can possibly be in the moment when the second I’ve recognized the moment, it’s gone. The present is always fleeing from me. I try to embody the go with the flow persona, but I inevitably get caught up in the bills, in making lists, in planning for anything and everything. I just want to catch the ribbon at the end of the blue balloon that is floating away from me. I want to yank it back to Earth and ask it to stay awhile. Maybe I would tie it to a chair across from mine, so I could watch it for any sudden moves to drift away. Then I think I could breathe and live in the moment. For now its rush rush rush, I’m here I’m there another year, I’m almost 25, and I don’t know where all those moments went.

Empathy for a wolf

2010-05-05T16:01:00.000-07:00

“Sometimes an Eskimo would catch a wolf with a knife. He slathered the knife with blubber and buried the hilt in the snow or ice. A hungry wolf would scent the blubber, find the knife, and lick it compulsively with numbed tongue, until he sliced his tongue to ribbons, and bled to death” – Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Turkey Creek p. 44

The first time I read this book I missed those 3 sentences. I remember the mantises eating hummingbirds, but not this. At work on my break today I re-read those 3 sentences and I was there. I was cold watching a bundled man wrap a knife then jab it with force deep in snow. I was there when the wolf began licking the knife. I was there when the wolf lay bleeding red goo onto the palest snow. A predator lured to his death by nothing more than a trick. The image is horrific and beautiful. I’m awed not just by the story, but that I was put there so vividly by words. I want to be this kind of writer. I want to grab someone’s hand and drag them into my scenes whether they want to go or not.

Wishing Well

2010-05-03T20:32:00.001-07:00

A girl of 11 grips tightly to a coin her mother gave her. It came from a coin purse, the kind with the faux leather pouch and tight gold latches that are hard to open. She walks up to the fountain at the mall. Closing her eyes she makes a wish and throws the coin in the fountain. She crosses her fingers for extra luck begging her wish to come true. She does this each time she comes to the mall. She wants to be pretty, to be liked, and most of all to grow up. She waits for her fairy tale all the while dutifully placing coins in the fountain. At first she wanted a castle with a green yard. But now she wants love with any boy band member. She lies on her bed watching the fan spin. The three light bulbs seem to follow her gaze as she hums song lyrics. Off to bed she holds her teddy bear tight, smiling as she slips to dream of prince charming.

May Day

2010-05-02T19:20:00.000-07:00

White scarves ripple by manifesting as clouds
Quick skips rumple the girls’ taffeta gowns
Shy blue trees peek from behind the crowd
Occasionally a scrap of dark lace appears from the inside
The warm breeze sneaking in a winter leftover

He wrestles through the crowd, into the girls
Rain drizzles, drips, drenches
Still the feet twirl, creating sunken mud in their wake
Buttercups of April tip over wet with weight
Blackberries swell and honey bees pout their lips

Sweet 16

2010-05-01T19:29:00.000-07:00

Today is my baby sister’s 16th birthday. I still remember when she was born. Taylor & I were grounded so in the waiting room we could not speak, read, or watch TV. It was the most boring few hours of my life.

As a kid I thought my 16th was going to be about as awesome as I thought prom would be. This is thanks to shows like Saved by the Bell. Instead I went to lunch at Tia’s with my parents and cried after a fight with my Dad.

All too often I hype up events based on things I’ve read or seen. I spend hours daydreaming about what life is going to be like all the while forgetting to live it.

As a kid, I got by on daydreams because I told myself one day it would be real. Only I never really put in the effort to make it real. I’ve had to let go of some dreams to keep afloat in a world that praises success and money. Looking back now if I had any advice for 16 year old me it would be to take my passion/soul/heart/talent and light the world on fire with it.

So Happy Birthday Shelby, go light the world on fire.

Butterfly Poem:

2010-04-25T15:22:00.000-07:00

I was a butterfly in a past life
Flapping my wings to the wind
Taunting the children who swirled
Trying to catch me in old jelly jars
I was a butterfly in a past life
Shh, don’t tell anyone.

One April Afternoon

2010-04-18T15:45:00.000-07:00

To her funeral I wore a black dress with flowers
It was a Monday
Stung me cold like the first taste of champagne

kids v. adults

2010-04-17T10:38:00.001-07:00

How do I follow up that riveting story?

The last babysitter I remember having was a 13 year old neighbor who as I recall didn't come back after Taylor blew up a hot dog in the microwave and Morgan used a dirty diaper as paint in her bedroom.

One of the reason I enjoyed Quinn's story (which I've heard a million times) is because it’s funny to remember how as kids we viewed adults. Being scared of the babysitter encouraged him to be to sneaky. As a kid adults were the enemy you swore you would never be. In my journals I wrote down promises to myself. I would never yell at my child, I would never end play time, I would always buy the candy bar, and the list goes on.

Now when I'm in the grocery store, I want parents to make their child stop screaming or running free. And I desperately don't want them to buy the candy bar (childhood obesity). I guess I'm the lame adult now.

Guest Blog - By my amazing boyfriend Quinn

2010-04-06T16:03:00.000-07:00

McShay’s Last Day:
I’ve always wanted a blog. Unfortunately, I do not have enough creativity to keep one going. Fortunately, Courtney does and has presented me the opportunity to write a guest-blog post. Before I get started with my post, I would like to thank Ezz and everyone at The Goodbye Dress.

This post is about the scariest, most exciting event of my childhood. From time to time, I picture said event in my head and think of ways it could have played out differently. I think of other items that could have become weapons. I think of other things that could have been said. I think of the things we could have gotten away with. At the moment, we were thinking of the inevitable, impending repercussions that we would face, not knowing that the climatic finish to the event would be the determining factor in the they said/she said arguments that would later surface.
Allow me to set the scene. It was a hot summer’s day in the early 1990’s. We had just moved into our new house on Chestnut Ridge Drive and the new neighborhood was an exciting new place for us to explore and play. Whether it was in the acre of wooded area behind the house or in the under-construction lots with half-built house, we ran free. Each day, we built forts and rode our bikes to the end of the neighborhood (seemed like miles) and back. Yes, this new neighborhood was the place to be. This was going to be the best summer ever, right? Not if Mrs. McShay could help it.

McShay was not new to the Branson household. No, she had been around a long time. Way too long, if you asked certain people (not Whitney). My timeframes are a bit fuzzy, but I estimate she had been around since 1990, maybe earlier. She was the babysitter straight out of a horror movie. Think Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead meets The Hand that Rocks the Cradle. For years, she had been terrorizing the Branson boys while trying to make Whitney her own. She smelled funny and the food she cooked smelled worse. After all she had done to us, this day had been a long time coming.
I can only speculate as to how it all started. Not sure what’s wrong with me, but my memory is pretty sketchy. Perhaps, Mrs. McShay played a role (more to come later). Anyways, the whole thing probably began with some routine teasing of Whitney. Nothing too brutal - just your typical pick-on-the-youngest kind of teasing. Whatever it was that we did, it apparently deserved a time out to our bedroom. And thus begins the tale that I shall call, “McShay’s Last Day.”

So there we were, Graham and I having just been sent to our shared bedroom. Who was she to give us a time out? Something had to be done. But what? How about an all-out guerilla attack on the old bag? Yes! But first, some snacks.

As I tiptoed downstairs, I could hear her soaps blaring on the television. I knew exactly where she was. I crept pass the doorway and quietly propped myself up onto the counter. Slowly, I crawled across the countertops until I was just below the snack pantry. I reached in and grabbed some Cheez-Its. Got ‘em! Prematurely, I leapt off the counter to the cold tiles leaving the cabinet door open enough to create a small noise as it shut. I’d been discovered. Like a fire had been lit beneath me, I rounded the corner to the stairs and sprinted for my room. I could hear McShay chasing after me yelling some nonsense. I slammed the bedroom door behind me as I run through the doorway. Graham clicks the lock. Safety! After banging on the door for what must have been ten minutes, Mrs. McShay reluctantly lets up and returns to her soaps downstairs.

After feasting on the delicious cheesy snacks, we decided enough was enough. This one was to be a two man mission. Graham and I slipped out the door and could hear McShay downstairs watching TV. This was going to be too easy. As we descended down the stairway, I spotted a bag of soccer balls on the floor next to the piano. Those would be put to good use. When we reached the bag, we placed them next to the stairs for easy access. From there, we decided to go spy on her to see what was going on. As we turned the corner in the kitchen to make our way to the opening overlooking the family room, we were stopped in our tracks. There was the old devil, like she’d been expecting us the whole time. Graham let out a small shriek and we made a move for the stairs. Foolishly, I stopped at the bag of balls, loosened the drawstring, and heaved the bag in Mrs. McShay’s direction. The balls spilled onto the floor right at her. Success! I didn’t stick around long enough to see the result, but I can only imagine that it wasn’t pretty. I darted up the stairs and into the bedroom, forgetting to shut the door. Graham had already secured a hiding spot behind his bed. I opted for the small space behind the cabinet holding the TV. As I waited there trying to hold my breath, fighting the pain of a full bladder, I closed my eyes. When I opened them I was staring directly into the eyes of the beast. How could she have found me?! There was nowhere to run. I was stuck. Her old wrinkly arms reach down and grabbed a tuft of my shaggy brown hair. Before I had to time to think about what was happening, she drove her hand toward to the cabinet, bashing my head against the hard wood. What just happened?! She turned and made her way back down the stairs to her spot on the couch. Then I saw Graham. He was mad – madder than I’d ever seen him before. He stepped up to the banister atop the stairs. Wondering what would come next, I couldn’t have predicted what he said.

“GO F*CK YOURSELF!”

Oh boy, surely we’re doomed now. But there was no reply. Had we won? Was it over? Could this really be? What do we tell Mom? Is Dad going to break out the soap for Graham’s mouth? We must have sat in our room for two hours wondering what was going to happen.

Mom and Dad came home a few hours later and, luckily, our side of the story was heard first. Surely, Mrs. McShay had been writing down everything we had done and said (like she did years earlier when we took turn yelling obscenities into the open front door for no apparent reason). But that wouldn’t matter. She had smashed the “Porker’s” head into a cabinet, and that was all Mom and Dad needed to hear. That was Mrs. McShay’s Last Day.

the story or the poem

2010-04-03T06:25:00.001-07:00

The sunflower story: My sister and I are bored. It's summer time. My mom is taking a nap. The air is so hot I feel molested by its burn. She eats Oreos. I drink coke. I find packets of sunflower seeds on the kitchen counter. It’s littered with mail, to do lists, coupons and other knick knacks. They aren’t my seeds. They aren’t her seeds. We go outside hand in hand. We each rip open a bag of seeds. We turn the bags upside down; skipping through the garden by the fence so rotted the wood is turning gray. There are so many seeds. “Ring around the Rosie, pocket full of posies” we chirp. She asks what posies are, I laugh and say “I don’t even know”. Our small bodies float like the seeds until we are in giggles on the lawn. We look over at each other and laugh. We look away just to look back again. We laugh until the sun bores us again. Back inside. I sit on the barstool with a new glass of coke. I had poured the unfinished one down the drain. I only like it cold. She stands across from me eating Oreos. The end.

The sunflower poem:
We took a packet of sunflower seeds
Stole them from home depot
At home we scattered the ground
We knew Mom would find us out
But we didn’t care
We held hands playing ring around the rosie
wondering what posies look like
Throwing our small bodies into the seeds
laughing at our own cleverness.

movie in the park:

2010-04-01T20:58:00.000-07:00

We went on a picnic. You held a basket with wine and small cups with watermelons etched into the green plastic. I carried a pizza. It was summer. We spread out a fleece blanket on the grass. It stuck to our legs. The people around us had cotton sheets or fold out chairs. Why hadn’t we thought of that? We kicked off our shoes. My necklace was tangled in my hair; you were sweating. From our place behind the sidewalk it was hard to see the screen, even harder to hear. Kids and dogs ran around the park. The chaos made the movie cheesy not scary. We got tipsy. We were hot. After the wine and pizza were gone, we packed our blanket in the basket. We walked hand in hand through the park. We were just a girl in a white sundress and a boy with a red cap. A girl and a boy who were in love.

Happy Birthday Mom

2010-03-12T08:00:00.000-08:00

My Mom’s birthday was last Saturday, 3/06 and I was trying to remember my first memory of her as my mom. Not just my first memory of this person, but my first memory of when I realized she was my Mom and what “Mom” meant.

I remember when I was stung by bees on my back patio in Arlington. My Mom sat on a couch right inside the door with its back to the kitchen holding something cold on my arm. This is so hazy if I didn’t know from stories that I was actually stung by bees I would have thought it was a dream.

I remember sitting in the Arlington living room watching a small TV on a small stand against the wall closest to the entryway. This happened on nights my Dad had meetings. We ate Kid Cuisine TV dinners while we watched Inspector Gadget.

I remember preparing for spelling tests. My Mom wrote one of the words skipped 5 lines and wrote the next one. I had to write each word 5 times. Then I took a practice spelling test. The words I missed I had to write 20 more times. Then I took another practice spelling test. She had the same strategy when I was in trouble. If I hit my sister, I had to write 100 times “I will not hit my sister”. Not sure what this was meant to accomplish; I think the goal was my hand was supposed to cramp so bad I was physically incapable of hitting my sister.

Those are a few of the first memories I can pick out about my Mom. I don’t know when I realized my Mom was my Mom. I wish I did. I wish I could pinpoint that moment when it all clicked in my head as a child. Honestly, I’m not sure it all clicked in my head until recently when my Mom and I started to become friends. She’s not just a Mom, but a great person. For some reason she still listens to things I say. After listening to me scream in high school and crying over everything from dorm roommates to heartbreak in college I would have stopped listening to me a long time ago. It was easy to see what my Dad sacrificed for our family; it was a lot harder to understand what my Mom had sacrificed. She put her dreams on hold, so we could dream, whether that meant supervising us when we played in blanket forts or helping with school projects. Her sacrifices didn’t stop when I became an adult. When I was interviewing for jobs, she used a gift card to buy me a straight iron and a paycheck to buy me interview clothes. She wanted me to be confident about the way I looked when I went to job interviews. If I had the time and the space I would type every single memory I have of her. She’s told me before she’s my biggest fan and I want her to know what a fan of her I am.

Happy Birthday Mom, I love you!

In my Mom’s birth year…
Population: 177, 830, 00
Minimum Wage: $1
Average salary: $4,743
A new house cost $12,700
Average rent: $98 (I wish)
A new car cost $2,500
A gallon of gas cost $0.25
A loaf of bread cost $0.20
Popular TV shows: The Andy Griffith Show, The Twilight Zone, Lassie
Cartoons: The Flintstones, Rocky & his Friends.
Movies: Ben-Hur, Psycho
Toys: Barbies, GI Joes, Trolls
Inventions: The heart pacemaker, weather satellite, laser
Technology: Xerox introduced its first document reproduction machine.
Politics: JFK won the presidential election
Fashion: crew cuts, bouffant hair, knee length dresses
Music: Elvis, Bobby Darin, The Drifters

The Billboard 100 Top Song – On Her Birth Date
- The Theme From A Summer Place – Percy Faith & his Orchestra
The Billboard 100 Top 5 Songs– 3/6/2010
- Imma Be- Black Eyed Peas
- Tik Tok – Ke$ha
- Bedrock – Young Money feat. Lloyd
- Bad Romance – Lady Gaga
- Need you Now – Lady Antebellum

and in this park.

2010-03-07T18:53:00.000-08:00

and in this park, grass still grows
scratches my bare legs
the blades i carelessly yank
to toss in the easten currents
my dress swirls with my body
as the wind carries us all away

and in this park, mud prints from our sandals
weave back behind the trees
to our old summer forts
overgrown with thorns and dandelions
the seeds we blow float away
to the lands only our imagination knows

and in this park, the sun still sets
dripping away from the drying pond
where the black tadpoles try to drink
with the birds that come from the oak tree
the one with language fingered into its grain
a.b. + r.d.

Journal excerpt

2010-03-02T16:40:00.000-08:00

My blog is my happy place. Most posts on my blog are as light as a fresh vanilla cupcake on the first day of spring. Lately I’ve been thinking about getting into my demons here. Right now they only exist in word documents appropriately named so I open with caution.

Here is an excerpt from my journal early 2008 let’s see how it goes:
Even in the darkest hour I search for salvation, for a canvas on which to paint my life, prodding at the night to release me from my own cabin of seclusion. Asking for meaning and purpose. Asking for forgiveness. I claw for answers and swallow regurgitated questions. I step over those unable to keep up and downplay those so far ahead. I blame their fortune on luck and circumstance not raw talent. I am the only raw talent. I’m plagued by being a sellout, by being poor. When the question is no longer how to live but should I live. Although the world propels me the world hinders me bound into modern slavery. And to horror I find the image of a gun to my temple more satisfying than slinking into mediocrity just to scrape up rent. I am above this life.

...Well that was pretty dark. I don't know that girl anymore. Scary to think she's still in me somewhere.

My Favorite Place

2010-02-20T09:40:00.000-08:00

My favorite place was this small apartment on Lemontree. Sometimes when I start to think about it I get this feeling like someone just punched a hole in my stomach. I like to look at my belongings when this happens especially my clothes. I try on my favorite dresses and swirl in whatever half or full mirror I currently have. I find peace in these dresses. As if materials were in some way overtaking the value of place. But those apartment walls were barely paper thin and nothing particulary beautiful happened there, just my life.
I also miss my childhood home. I miss growing up. I had barbies, dreams of love, and cloud shapes. I would lay in my front yard, indifferently tearing the blades of grass along their seams like string cheese. The string cheese my mom would bring out from the kitchen as if dairy was ever good for you on a summer day. The heat of those lazy afternoons threatened to dissipate me. So I dreamed of leaving sleepy heat for the cool of Maine or whatever place life took me.
I never made it to Maine. Now I look back and remember a childhood home with a girl curled in the space between a wall and a dresser. On the left there was this air vent on the floor. I would sit next to this air vent and write and I would slip my dreams through its cracks. Sometimes I even crumbled up the paper first to give it the facade of being old instead of freshly ripped from my journal. I would force the best parts of my journal through the small cracks of the vent. I did this in hopes that one day another young girl would find them. In my head I imagined that she would wonder about my life and lay out all these crumbled and surely by then yellowed papers hoping to piece together the mystery. This girl would be fascinated by me and my subsequent tragic death. I sat in my room alternating between this daydream and laying on the bed watching the fan spin. The bulbs would leave three little circles of light in my eyes even after I looked away.
My family never moved and those papers, all those childhood desires were casually discarded. Years of papers shoved in there were pushed one after the other into the trash can; my parents found the crumpled papers another example of my messy style. I wonder what all those papers said. I wonder who I was then, maybe the same. I feel like I've been wanting the same things my whole life. I still want Maine and dresses and I still have air vents. But what I don't have is the apartment on Lemontree or the white brick house with blue gutters. It all belongs to a family I no longer know. For now all I have is this piece of paper, a few leases and a lot of boxes.

dandelion poem

2010-02-15T19:26:00.001-08:00

I wish I was a dandelion seed.
As breath hits me I float on away
Leave behind a child with eyes shut tight
Willing the wish so hard to come true
I land into a green summer yard
And I wait to be a dandelion.

A Child's Imagination:

2010-02-11T14:59:00.000-08:00

At five it never crossed my mind that I couldn't be a movie star and at twelve I thought for sure I was destined to be the great american novelist. I just had to wait to grow up. It was that easy. In the meantime, I drew pictures of my future house, my future cat, and my wedding dress. I imagined my husband, the knight who would rescue me from the monotony that was growing up in Coppell, Texas and I even made up names for our hypothetical children. All I had to do was show up on the right day of school and make sure i signed up for the perfect cookie cutter life.

Of course I also thought teddy bears had feelings and insisted on sleeping with all of them at once. So obviously I wasn't right about a lot of things. But it really was quite delicious laying in bed dreaming of all the wonderful things that life would bring.

Now I'm off to throw snowballs! Snow missed my house for every year of childhood, so I think I have a lot of making up to do.

drizzly day

2010-02-10T15:47:00.000-08:00

Grey clouds loom over the skeletons of trees, dipping in and out of their branches. Dark air follows me down the cemented path that winds to my doorstep. Flurries of snow bruise the clouds as they fall to earth. I can feel them tap, tap on my head but I cannot see them on the ground. As predicted they disappear into the earth as I disappear inside.

let's play pretend.

2010-01-29T18:47:00.000-08:00

Today I was trying on outfits for work, when there was an impromptu episode of Courtney’s Corner; otherwise know as my talk show. Courtney’s Corner took place in my bedroom and was on from about age 7 to 15ish. (Age 9 was a hard year because my parents took my full length mirror away as punishment and put it in the dining room. I couldn’t be a star without being able to see myself.) Each episode gave an assortment of fashion, craft, and decorating tips. Often there was a made-up celebrity guest (also me). This was difficult because I had to interview myself. The fashion segment was also difficult as I was the fashion model and critic. I pulled it off for the wonderful audience of honey bear and my creepy porcelain dolls. During the many hours long show, I wouldn’t leave my room and talked aloud. I wonder what my parents thought I was doing in there.

Since I’m all aboard the reminiscing train here’s an old school book recommendation… Emily’s Run Away Imagination by Beverly Cleary.

mac & cheese

2010-01-28T15:39:00.001-08:00

Growing up we always ate dinner as a family. During these meals my parents would often think back on when they were first married. All they could afford was a box of kraft mac & cheese. They could eat a whole box in minutes. It sounded awful (I personally do not like kraft mac & cheese) or like a lesson we needed to learn about being thankful. Mac & cheese as I knew it was a side at dinner that tasted better cold and was really only on the table for variety. They genuinely seemed to miss the days when kraft mac & cheese was all they had and all they wanted. I didn't understand it. Although the idea of being poor with someone and rising up together is very romantic; I never found it appealing. I wanted my mac & cheese to stay a side dish. The only kind of romance I wanted came in the form of roses and jewelry.

Fast forward to 2010 and there is nothing better than watching tv with my boyfriend while sharing a pot of velveeta shells & cheese (way better than kraft, albeit 50 cents more). Lesson I learned is that my parents really do know about everything even romance. Maybe one day when shells & cheese is my side, I'll be looking back on now with the same fondness.

Halloween

2009-10-31T19:05:00.000-07:00

So here is a true story about the time I woke up next to Legos. Last Halloween Lara (my roommate) and I put a lot of effort into making our costumes. She spent days searching for fabric and sewing a Rainbow Brite costume. I bought a yard of clearance fabric at Wal-Mart on my way home from work for a toga. We put on lots of eye shadow and used body crayons to draw pictures on our bodies. Her pictures were relevant to Rainbow Brite; mine not so much. The night started off innocently. We drove to Addison where we parked our car for the night (thanks Geckos). Lara’s boy toy at the time “Steve” I shall call him was in Geckos waiting for us. His costume was either a batman mask or a blond wig (apparently together was the choice he went with). Lara & I took some drinks & hopped in Steve’s car. Off to uptown we went. We valeted at Lotus (you have to show a Lotus receipt to get your car for free, or else $100). We went to pre-party with my old roommates first. Some vodka shots and we were feeling good. We are dancing, taking some photographs, really ready to rock Halloween. I recently stopped dating my boy toy & Lara was really using hers for a D.D. (A very much needed D.D.). On to Lotus we go to fulfill our requirement. Shots, shots, and more shots. Not sure who paid or who didn’t pay. I licked a merman’s nipples. Lara molested a transvestite. It was all good in the hood. Onto Idle Rich (if there was a stop in between Idk). At Idle Rich I spied Coppelians and Aggies. I accosted all of them. But my main target of accostation was a guy dressed as Flava Flav. He named me “Legs”. Well done sir, I do have nice legs. He got me a drink, but I didn’t take it, because on Halloween I was all about girl power. I was not taking a shot w/o my girl Lara. So we leave. Steve is correct in assuming we cannot drive. Luckily he offered us a place to sleep or we would have been sleeping in the Cav. I unfortunately do not remember this conversation. What I do remember is waking up with my toga around my waist under a blanket on the floor of a room. I looked to my left and there were Legos to the right more Legos. Where was I? Why were there Legos? What had I done? I had never been to Steve’s house before so I did not know my surroundings. I put my toga on and ventured downstairs. As I went downstairs I was met with a small ninja who attacked me. No, this is not a dream. I was attacked by a ninja at the foot of the stairs. His name was John. He was Steve’s roommate’s son and I had slept in his room. (John had been in his Dad’s room the whole night, explains why I got to sleep on his floor). He was a ninja for Halloween. He gave me candy and showed me the kitchen. The roommate got up and was surprisingly nice when I introduced myself. All of a sudden I realize I’m eating sour cream enchiladas and I don’t know where they came from. I ask the roommate. He explains “The Mom of a kid in my class made them for me”. Okay great so I am eating food made by my roommates, boy toy’s roommate’s student’s Mom. Excellent! After I’m done eating I learn some moves from the ninja who also attacks Lara when she wakes up. I’m still tipsy (yikes, around kids) and ask him what I look like. Answer: “You look mostly like a princess” (Great!). Lara then asks him what she looks like. Answer: “A mess”. Then he tells me he would mostly save me, but he would mostly let Lara die. Oh kids. I find all of this funny. Lara is hungover. Steve is MIA. The ninja’s dad drops up off at Geckos; I in my toga & Lara in her fabric bikini. The end to an interesting Halloween.

2009-02-11T19:57:00.000-08:00

things i'm into today:

koalas in l-o-v-e
Two koalas cuddling is adorable. One koala, Bob rubs Sam's back, like my Mom did when I was sick. Its amazing that simple physical contact aids the healing process.

limelife.com
This is a fun website focusing on celeb/fashion news. After being horrified that OMG! insulted Taylor Swift's gown, but thought Paris looked good in that color block tank, I was happy to read a sane blog about Grammy Fashion.

Adele
Not only did she deserve best new artist; her win kept the jonas brothers from winning.
download: chasing pavements

things I'm not into:

My neighbors who I will just assume are playing a rousing 5 hour game of body slam.

every girl's dream as seen on craigslist!

2009-02-10T15:48:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when I'm bored I like to read craiglist personal ads. Some of the ads seem like genuine attempts to connect to someone out there. Yet some are bizarre.

One was an ad asking "hot girls" to come to church to find a husband, because there are a lot of good looking single men at the church. I'm going to go ahead and say I'm not sure "hot girls" are looking for the opportunity to go to church just to find a husband. On the flip side why should a church goer be interested in a woman only there to look for a husband?

It all seemed at odds with church, but maybe its a new technique to get them in the door.

please rethink your pick up line.

2009-02-08T22:47:00.000-08:00

Here is my personal least favorite pick up line:

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

First of all what kind of pick up line is this? The implication is that something must be wrong with me. It’s more of an insult with the guise of a compliment. How does one expect you to answer this question? Would the answer be, “Well sir I am completely insane, I could cry/become jealous/angry at any moment and I have full intentions of stalking you later?”

Obviously that’s not really true. But why do guys assume that if you don’t have a boyfriend I must want one.

Why isn’t the truth good enough?

Truth: I don’t have a boyfriend because I haven’t met someone I can’t not have in my life

marriage.news.

2009-02-02T18:06:00.000-08:00

lisa loeb got married!

In other marriage news, cbs has proposed a new show to arrange marriages. Genius. I’m glad that the folks at cbs value marriage as much as the rest of America. Gosh, it is not okay for committed same sex couples to get married but we are going to revert back to arranged marriages. Its one thing to go on the Bachelor, its another to marry a stranger for what I can only guess is an experiment. Is CBS trying to raise the divorce rate?

beauty.

2009-01-13T21:23:00.000-08:00

Beautiful is a silly word. It describes something, yet its completely arbitrary. I took a Philosophy of Art class in college. A better part of the semester was spent trying to decide what beauty meant. I'm most drawn to Kant. Its not even because I agree with him, mainly because he had 4 rules/conditions for beauty. The idea that beauty could be found through a list of 4 qualities is funny to me. The feeling I have when I see tree in the middle of fall, with the leaves tinted red in the sunset, is my reaction to beauty. I don't even have time to think about a list of 4 before I react to its beauty.

Beauty is a form of genius-is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation. It is one of the great facts in the world like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark water of that silver shell we call the moon. -Oscar Wilde

singled.out.

2009-01-13T21:19:00.000-08:00

Article to Read: Singled Out

The author of the above article Bella DePaulo makes single feel good.
I’ve been asked why I’m single before. My sister thinks I’m not mature enough to handle the kind of love she has with her boyfriend. (Gag.) Why can't it be possible that I have not met someone? And despite the fact that I’ve committed to a job, a home, I hear my ex roommate now a Mrs. give her assessment of my singledom as inability to choose and commit.

Before I just rolled my eyes and punched my pillow like it was a sport. Now I’m reading Bella’s book: Singled Out.

At least she gets me.

unity

2009-01-13T20:45:00.000-08:00

Article to read: Religion Blog

The article is an interview with evangelical pastor Rick Warren, who will be speaking at Barack’s inauguration. In spite of my personal pro-choice, pro gay marriage at odds with his beliefs, I found I respected Rick Warren. This stems from one comment, (I paraphrase) Rick's goal/Barack’s goal is to create a civil nation that can disagree without being disagreeable. The idyllic thought is lovely, it makes me warm and gooey inside, it reminds me of a young optimistic college student who believed in peace, because those words sound like peace.

I hope...

Not just hope the Barack can bring change, but hope that Barack can bring unity.