Okay so here's the deal: It's not like I'm some grammar-obsessed language Nazi. I'm not. In fact, I get pretty liberal with a lot of punctuation and slang terms because I think tone of voice is absolutely superior to traditional language rules.
But some things just make me giggle (and piss me off).
Last night on the ferry ride home I had to go to the bathroom. I noticed while in there that, on the inside of the stall door, there was this sign:
Girl 1: "I'm the only girl he's never cheated on. He cheated on every girl before me." Girl 2: "So. Wait. He's never been faithful until you?" Girl 1: "Right. But with me he's totally dedicated. I really trust him." Girl 2: "What about when he goes to sea and you're not there?" Girl 1: "He wouldn't even look at another girl. I mean, other guys do. I guess there's this thing where, if they're at sea, it's not cheating." Girl 2: "How is that not cheating?!?" Girl 1: "I don't know. It's just not. But he would never do that. He loves me."
...Sure honey. You just keep living that fantasy. Let us all know when he brings you back a unicorn...or the hiv.
You know what sucks about living in Seattle? Well, nothing...except sometimes you forget what the effects of the sun are because you don't see it very often. So, for example, I spent some time outside this weekend and forgot that the sun burns.
I don't normally post silly, girly, lovey-dovey things but I'm wholly obsessed with this song and just really want to share it. I know. Crazy. Especially coming from a girl who's been told on multiple occasions that she's her own island. In fact, my sisters and I joke about how you shouldn't hurt my feeling...because I only have one.
Firstly, I ADORE the Civil Wars. I was raised in a very country family and have a great appreciation for it. I love me some southern music. For rlz.
My mother and sister and I are recording this together:
Effing rad. I come from a long family of musicians and we're all doing an album together. It's important. I want my grandparents to have that. Family is important and mine is pretty damn amazing. Also, I'm not sure if you know this, but my Grandpa is the coolest man who ever walked the earth. He was this awesome 50s greaser with a Jerry curl and love/hate tattoos on his knuckles. He's a musician and a damn good singer and he reminds me (and everyone I know) of the perfect mix of Johnny Cash and Elvis. He can be tough as nails or the biggest heart in the world. By that I mean, he's tough as nails except with us girls. He loves us.
A few years back he was on the news in our hometown because this guy in a grocery store parking lot did something bad. I can't remember what (hit his girlfriend...stole something...jacked a car...) Anyway, My Grampy cold clocked him and then held him there until the cops showed up. That's right. He's the man. I'm pretty sure he's either bionic or immortal. Either way, he's going to live forever. The man is in his 70s, looks like he's 45, is still fit as a fiddle and spends his time building shit, hunting, and makin' music. Nothing holds that guy down.
I'm super stoked to sing with him. Both my sister and I have a duet with him.
I'll start posting our finished tracks as they are completed.
In an era saturated with some of the most ridiculous forms of entertainment (Jersey Shore, Tori & Dean, and those stupid effing Facebook games) as well as some of the most outrageous policy I've seen our government try to pass in a LONG time (like penalizing women in Arizona for using birth control and don't even get me started on the state of our national security) it shouldn't come as a shock that the United States Secret Service is interviewing celebrities about their potential threats against our president.
"Do you see spots? Do you hear voices? Does Elvis talk to you?"
Feel my forehead. Does it feel hot to you? I must be either sick or out of my goddamned mind because I'm going to miss the Friday Staff Meeting this week. On purpose.
Writing is a muscle. Smaller than a hamstring and slightly bigger than a bicep, and it needs to be exercised to get stronger. Think of your words as reps, your paragraphs as sets, your pages as daily workouts. Think of your laptop as a machine like the one at the gym where you open and close your inner thighs in front of everyone, exposing both your insecurities and your genitals. Because that is what writing is all about.
DON’T PROCRASTINATE
Procrastination is an alluring siren taunting you to Google the country where Balki from Perfect Strangers was from, and to arrange sticky notes on your dog in the shape of hilarious dog shorts. A wicked temptress beckoning you to watch your children, and take showers. Well, it’s time to look procrastination in the eye and tell that seafaring wench, “Sorry not today. Today I write.”
When I was 5 my parents bought a new refrigerator. It came in this huge box that my step dad put on the back porch with the intention of breaking it down and disposing of it. Of course, to me and my sister, it was a vehicle for an endless supply of games and imagination.
We begged for that box. Our parents caved and let us have it. We put it in our room next to the bunk beds. We cut out a door and windows that opened and closed. We colored the windows with "curtains." We put our tea sets and blankets and favorite books on the inside. We pretended we were the Boxcar Children. At night, after our mother put us to bed, we'd sneak out of our bunk-bed and into the box, pretending we were in a train car and travelling to somewhere exotic; where we could find an abandoned house and raise up our orphan brothers and sisters and catch our own food and sew our own clothes. We were VERY responsible siblings in that box.
We played in that box until it fell apart. We cried when our parents took the crumpled remains away.
Today's "Friday meeting" really wasn't what it usually is. Everyone is either out of office or super broke so, at first, it was just me and a girlfriend. I drank wine and ate yummy spinach/feta pizza while she talked about her son. We scheduled a night to hang out and work on her resume.
My girlfriend is awesome and she seriously underestimates herself. She's so amazing and I love her to death and she's wonderful but she's also kinda funny because she got this kick ass degree without ever thinking about what she would do with it once she had it. The only reason she got it is because she was a single mother and wanted to show her son anything is possible and you CAN go to college and achieve your dreams no matter what.
I'm not usually one to rock a boat. I have opinions, sure. Strong ones, in fact. But I usually keep them to myself. I'm not a big confrontation person. So I think it's fair to say that, when I do pipe up, I mean it.
The weather is getting warmer in Seattle. For the past week it's been sunny out when I get home in the evenings. It's got me pretty excited about the massive gardens and vegetable beds on my property. When I lived in North Seattle, we had a huge garden and grew our own vegetables. I haven't had the chance to in the last year and half though, because Lower Capitol Hill isn't exactly swarming with lawn space.
My mother has a garden. In fact, she has such a huge garden that she could probably supply vegetables to a respectable percentage of her town. And she just built a greenhouse. I think it's wonderful. I can grow vegetables but that's about it. Flowers elude me.
I don't think I've mentioned here what, exactly, it is that I do for a living. We all know I love my job, coworkers, and company. But I don't think I've discussed what role I play in it.
I'm not sure what it is about Seattle and our trees. I know that we're super into nature (though not as obsessive as Portlanders). I'll be the first to admit that REI is a dangerous place for my paycheck. But honestly...
