best parts

The best parts of this past week and a half....

I took a train to Seattle. It's probably the best way to travel. You can read, write, sleep, watch a movie provided by amtrak, and even go to the cafe to swig on some beer or coffee. What even? Can it be better?

I took a two hour nap at Green Lake Park. A family of ducks sat and napped under the tree about 4 feet from me. We didn't talk, but we had a mutual respect for each others slumber.

I learned a new high-five.

I have sexy man voice from being sick.

I haven't had coffee in four days!

I've found some new amazing music. Frightened Rabbits...thanks Marc. Bon Iver....or boning Iver. (thanks again), Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and Okkervil River. (and also the new T.I. album. Oh no, so good.)

I've been training in Boxing. Boxing as in gloves and punching. My trainer is Paul. He looks like one of those giant stuffed bears you win at the county fair. He's building my guns and working my ass.


Life is good. You know?

i don't even like marshmellows

I had a vision when I was sitting in church. I looked around the room at all the people around me and I was noticing their lit flames shining in their chests, right next to their hearts. Some were large and some were bright. But then I noticed mine. It was barely alive. Just a small flicker, like a campfire dying on black coals after a long night of roasting marshmellows.

Last week someone told me that I was mysterious. At first I was so happy, because I've always wanted to be that girl. The one you look at and can never figure out, because of all the layers upon layers of life she has built up in her thick skin. But I don't want to be that girl. I want to be the girl that you look at and can see her flame big and bright, and you don't have to squint your eyes to try to see the glowing coals.

I've never been able to start a fire with just two sticks; to be someone who is so "boy-scout savy" that they can pitch a tent in one minute and have the fire going without having to resort to newspaper and a lighter. But I've always wanted to be that girl.

can't we all just get along?

I never knew of it in any other way, until I moved to Idaho to go to school. It happened in an everyday-normal-conversation. Someone must have been giving directions.........

"Go down 12th, the street that runs near the school. After you go a few blocks, you'll see the building on the left, it's kittycorner from the bank."

KITTYCORNER. What?! I think I actually said that outloud at the time; I freaked out. I wouldn't doubt that I probably tried to make that person feel stupid for saying it that way, and probably looked them dead in the eyes and slowly pronounced "Kattycorner". It must be a Colorado thing, or a mid-western thing, because everyone at that table who was from Colorado, (ie: Ric) agreed with me, but everyone else, (ie: five other people) argued with us. This arguement lasted for four years off and on.

UNTIL

Yesterday, a great and wise guy named Rick, (different Rick, different spelling), said this....

"kittycorner is what you say when it's a small street, and kattycorner is what you say if it's a big or busy street," he said with a calm voice and steady eyes.

"what!? What do you mean?!" I yelled with wide eyes and a slight laugh.

"well, kitty's are small, and cats are big. So naturally kattycorner is for large streets."

"I think I love you," I said, "I'm going to blog about this, because I just got a blog, and I'm not sure what to say in it. This is perfect"

CASE CLOSED.

all I got for you is an excerpt

I wish we could rent a nice boat for the evening. We could sail for miles and let the Adriatic introduce herself to us. With the neopolatean sky above us and the blueberry waves below us, we would be surrounded by water on all sides with no sight of land. We would take turns jumping into the dark blue abyss, one up-ing each other with back flips and cannon balls. Our hands could gently slip off all our clothes, allowing them to float freely beside our tangerine bodies. ---- don’t be taken aback that it, in fact, was not the water that took my breath away.



Now I'm still trying to get used to this whole blog thing...still trying to figure it out. I never really did blog before because I always associated blogging to 14 year old girls whining about boys and bitches. Either that, or emo kids sapping about how bad their lives are and trying to relay the darkest words they can into a morbid poem.

But it seems like it is the new cool thing to do, so here I am, trying to be cool too. All I got for you is an excerpt.

marc or whatever

he made me do this. right now.