Girl. I had to confess.

I don't really have anything to say for myself. I hope you enjoy. 

The Neighborhood

The current interaction taking place across the street, inside an apartment.

Dog:

yap yap, yap yap yap, yap yap yap

Man:

shut up.

Dog:

yap, yap yap yap yap, yap yap

Man:

Shut Up!

Dog:

yap yap yap, yap yap, yap

Man:

SHUT UP!

Dog:

yap, yap yap yap, yap yap

Man: 

SHUT THE HELL UP!

It seems they don't have the most ideal working relationship. I particularly enjoy that the man added 'hell' as if that was the key to changing the dog's behavior.

The Hair Cut

For all the Kenna lovers. For all those of you who don't get to see her as often as you once did. Eat your heart out. Twice a year (now) Kenna gets her all her hairs cut. Because she has a lot of them. Because I don't want vacuuming to be a permanent life hobby. Because she looks so cute, like a puppy.

She loves getting her photo taken, can't you tell... look how much she loves me - it's like she can't wait for this crap to be over. Total panic had set in by that point. She is terrified of the camera. Hates it. Runs to different rooms or parts of the house when the camera is taken out. Loathes the camera. HA! I love this photo, she's so unhappy about the situation.

Soda Crackers & Ginger Ale

It usually hits me - about this time, and I have the sinking feeling, that I may, possibly, never make it out of the semester alive. The panic of the enormous load of work ahead, coupled with the very short amount of time allotted to complete it, creates a sick feeling in my stomach. And that in turn creates procrastination, which in turn, creates the sick feeling in my stomach. 

My face fears that it may be permanently bathed in blue tinted light, because, until the second week of December, I will most likely spend every waking moment staring at this computer screen, hoping that some brilliant idea morphs itself into a coherent paper. And there will, no doubt, be more waking hours than sleeping hours before the storm that is finals passes over - the ominous dark cloud that it is. Maybe I should put some lambs blood on my door... Don't laugh. 

AND THEN. As if to play some cruel, cruel joke, they (the powers that be) require that you (the minion), during this overly horrible stressful time, pick out your classes for the following semester. Because, seeing that this is possibly the point in your semester that you would NOT like to think about ever coming back to this institution ever again - they (the powers) have decided that it is the opportune moment to suck you in for another round. Why? Because-you-have-no-choice. They, have the carrot. You, fool that you are, are carrot-less. Damn carrot. And then you (minion), think about taking 18 credit hours. Which causes the panic to flow more fluidly. And then, you (the minion, least you forget), thinks about the fact that you will be taking summer classes. It's never-going-to-end. 

Better be one hell of a carrot is all I have to say. One HELL of a carrot.

"That rug really tied the room together."

So much sarcasm, you say. Well. I've got nothing for you. Some days are up days and some days are not. This is of the not. School has been far better this year than ever before. But there are still days that I feel like I'm on the hamster wheel of life. Me. Hamster wheel. Life. I still question why I'm doing this. I still question the point. I question my questioning. I question my direction, or lack of direction. I question if this is simply to fulfill the requirements of American bourgeois society - to fit in. And it is. And it's not. Gray. That's my life, unclear. Still. At some point I think I believed that my life would eventually, out of a pure freak accident, line itself up, and tow some sort of line. Thus far, I've encountered lots of freak accidents (most of which caused by yours truly) and am still awaiting the towing of any line, even a broken line - dotted, Hey, I'm not picky. 

It has been a depressing week of films, which may account for my less than jovial attitude. Requiem For A Dream, The Swimmer, and Raising Arizona. All of which were preceded by 4 months, 3 weeks, 2 days, and Ghost World. Also, I am in an intensive course dealing with African American Literature - and sometimes it just all piles up on me. Not the course work, although it's hefty, but the complete and total shit that goes on, and has gone on, and will continue to go on. I don't feel hopeless or even helpless, just it-is-so-much sometimes.

Tuesday was beautiful. Indifferent to who you voted for, you can't deny the beauty of the evening. I sat with a friend and watched as the votes rolled in. Afterwards, people on the street were honking their horns, and whooping, and hollerin' and setting off firecrackers. I've never experienced so many people, so many Americans, excited and moved by politics. It was awe-inspiring. I also got to hear the voice of our friend who is over in Kenya - who I was missing, and wishing she could be here with us. Watching and listening to Americans celebrate their President-Elect was redeeming, as was watching people all-over-the-freakin'-world celebrate with us. 

It is nice, at least for a moment, to not feel hate bearing down on us from all sides of the globe. 

pictured: Our bedcover, not a rug. 

Miss Scarlet, In the Dining Room, With The Knife.

Fall In The City

I love this photograph. 

Today is full of projects: hanging lights, carving pumpkins, roasting seeds, making cupcakes & brownies, popcorn needs to be popped (in a pot), not in a futuristic steel box that shoots waves at it, spiderwebs need to be hung, candy put into bowls, champagne glasses cleaned, wine mulled, cards & clues printed, music cued, candles lit and costumes gathered. 

Halloween is my favorite holiday and tonight six friends are gathering - or should I say six strangers: Mr. Green (Ross), Miss Scarlet (Amanda), Colonel Mustard (Giovanni), Mrs. White (Deanna), Professor Plum (Sean) and Mrs. Peacock (Jules). Should be a murderous evening.

While I prepare for the festivities, Ghost Busters will be on the tele, like it is every Halloween in my house. I have watched this film every Halloween for twenty-four straight years, yes that's right, crunch those numbers, my parents took their nine month old to see Ghost Busters in the theaters in 1984. I'm told I enjoyed the film, and was pleasant the whole way through. Scandalous parents...well played.

Like A Popsicle In Summer

When Sean and I decide to make a meal together, to cook together - It's good. 

Myself, and a giant empty soup pot: twelve different kinds of beans (dried), garlic, yellow onion, sweet red pepper, hot pepper (unknown type, came from a friend's garden), celery, carrots, tomatoes, ham, salami, homemade chicken stock, salt, pepper. I simply used whatever we had in our fridge, whatever was on hand. Yes, fresh homemade chicken stock was "whatever we had in our fridge".

Sean, apart from making the chicken stock the day before, crafted some hand made bread. I would say "homemade" but that might imply that we own a bread maker, which we don't. Our home has, what do they call those... right, a baker.

We hadn't cooked together in a while. It was redemptive. Our house - the smell alone was enough.

There are always friends we think of when we cook. Good friends. Close friends. Friends who love food, who love to eat, who love to laugh, who desire to live life with dirty hands, and drippy beards. My friends, you were missed, but thought of fondly - as always. 

It's Not That I Forgot About You

Here is a photograph from our walk last weekend. October has been hard. There is something ticking away inside my head, itching to get itself out, but it's waiting for something. Maybe it's waiting for tomorrow. We shall see. 

However, if your curious what I've been doing with all my time, you can consult the list of films on the right. That, and writing a paper every day for the past, what.. twenty-three days straight? I've lost count. I'm starting to feel as if my writing skills are being whored out to the masses. I realize that's some unapologetically horrible thing to say - but it is sucking the soul out of me to write this much. That, combined with October apparently being fart-brain month, has created a real hum-dinger of a hoedown. 

Seasons

I realize it's been a quiet month. It's been quiet in my head as well. There is always hope for tomorrow. Perhaps when tomorrow comes it will bring with it thoughtful insights and creative wording. Or maybe not. Perhaps tomorrow holds more silence also. So I wait. That's how it is sometimes - quiet. 

For Geoff

I would like to mention the fact that this video has 2,192,771 fewer views than a video of my niece. Now who's hot, who's not?

Not Exactly Clutter

The space under the antique couch has become the new resting place for the overflow of books in our home. Perhaps a bit ridiculous, sure - but we both enjoy the fact that you could now actually stick out your little hand and grab a book - from practically anywhere you plant yourself in our home. You'll find them stacked in bookshelves, and on bookshelves, in baskets, and on chairs, piled upon bedside tables, stuffed into kitchen cabinets and under furniture. Little pieces of stories that wander through our minds, and curl themselves up, under our couch. 

October

... apple pie, scarves, chai, movies, slippers, pumpkins, leaves, coats, candy, walks, costumes, ghost stories, fires, autumn, butternut squash, cinnamon and nutmeg, blankets, colors, candied apples, wind, popcorn, candles, pumpkin beer, pink noses and boots. I love October.

Home.

The cookie jar sits between the jars that hold the popping corn, and the breakfast cereal. Three jars away from the flour, and two down from the coffee. It's not the easiest jar to get to on the counter, being too far back, and obstructed by the dish rack, but somehow, everyone manages. The sound of the glass jar getting dragged against the tile counter, the click of the latch and you know, no matter where you are in the apartment, that some one's hand is digging for a cookie. The cookie jar - always kept full. Full cookie jars, that's how life should be. Full, not for a lack of eating, of taking in, of enjoying, but full because it's constantly being refilled. Maybe not always with the same kind of cookie - but how can you fault the chocolate chip? It's simple, and classic, but that's ok. I like predictability and I like cookie jars. That's not so bad is it? Just wanting to take in the sweetness, the joy, the familiar. The cookie jars are for children, for those who used to be children, for those who have children, and great grandchildren. It tells us stories of home, and of love, and of comfort, and of the familiar laughs with friends. The cookie - not pretentious, or pompous, it doesn't seek much attention. It is confidant and knows where it is needed. In beds with big comforters, and couches packed with blankets, and buffeted by pillows. The high heals, and the bow ties, those are for other desserts. It doesn't fault others for being fancy - it lets them take on the frills and the excitement. Sippers, lunch boxes, card games, camping, and movie watching; that's where the cookie is at home. You can dress it up, you can try and show it off - it won't stop you, but simply look at you and ask: "Why make me something I don't need to be?"  

My Niece is Cute.

Meet Lia Charlotte Oldroyd, aka Lala. She's almost a whole year old. She has actual skills now, so I think she's cool. And she makes faces - also cool. Way to go kid. 

Animals me no likey.

At about 6:00a I realized that the sleeping part of my morning was over. Cat spaz = dog spaz = me awake. So, in an attempt to be absurdly productive I made a couple of onesies for the new kid on the block. I still have some stitching to do on them - somehow in the six hours that I've been awake I haven't been able to get this done. I hope that she enjoys them, the whole five seconds she spends in them before she pukes on them. I unabashedly believe that she is going to be my favorite kid, and I've not even met her. 

City life.

I bike now. I know it was some sort of mortal sin that I didn't bike while living in Boulder - but I didn't. Now I do. I've also found a renewed love for my chacos. However, that has very little to do with living in the city, and a lot to do with the fact that all of my flip flops are darn old. They've pasted the old and wonderful stage, and headed right into the old, and old stage. Chacos, meet bike. Bike, meet chacos. Now that they're aquainted I'm sure they'll be lifers.

Thanks Grandma Jean!

Because You Can't Get Enough of this Crap.

Meet Sean. 

Sean created a photo form of himself as well from the oh so-secret-it's-killing-you-why-won't-I-tell-you-where-I-found-this place.

And here's how you play the game: 

(although I played with a bit of calvin ball rules for my own personal reasons.)

Answer the following 12 questions about yourself:

1. What is your first name?

2. What is your favorite food?

3. What high school did you attend?

4. What is your favorite color?

5. Who is your celebrity crush?

6. Favorite drink?

7. Dream vacation?

8. Favorite dessert?

9. What do you want to be when you grow up?

10. What do you love most in life?

11. One word to describe you?

12. Your Flikr account name?

- Place each of your answers into Flikr's search. 

- Using only the images that appear on the first page only, choose your favorite and copy and paste each of the URL's into the Mosaic Maker (3 columns, 4 rows)

Did I do this because those questions are awesome, and I just couldn't resist answering them? No they're horribly lame. However, the outcome is something I think is actually far more incredible than those horrible questions. I hope you enjoy yourself, and struggle through the decision making process.

Me. In Photo Form.

Thanks Ruby for this charming idea. Typically I cringe and run the other direction from these personality question things. But this one got me - couldn't resist. I have resisted, however, in including the questions that led me to pick these photos. I like it better this way, but by all means you can guess if you would like. I may not reveal the answer, but feel free to take a stab at my inner self persona.