August 28, 2013

The Lyric Essay.

"The self is central to literature but [the] self is made up of all the literature it has taken in." 

Joey Franklin

I'm taking this advanced non-fiction class where all we do is strip our writing down to its bones with what's called a lyric essay. It is terrifying stuff, but oh, it is stunning. 

Here's an example of a lyric essay I read today, about a man's experience in Paris as he stepped off the metro. He said he saw beautiful face after beautiful face and literally could not find words worthy enough or as lovely as the sudden emotion he felt, so he wrote this: 

"The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough." 

And that's it.
That's a lyric essay. 
Doesn't it just make you feel?

August 27, 2013

So much good going on.

My life these days is freezer burned pizza bites, Breakfast At Tiffany's, Moon River, and booty shorts when I can't fall asleep. Today, someone on FB was hating on booty shorts and I just wanted to comment, "Don't knock 'em til you try 'em." I believe in the power booty shorts. They just make you feel better about your life. Also, wearing no pants does this, too. 

There is another thing... Life these days often consists of deep-set dimples, too. And crepes and door opening and sweet little dates and plans and dimples and dimples and dimples. My long-running favorite pair since 2011, so you know they're good. Maybe I'll write my Master's Thesis on them. I am THAT obsessed. A long time ago, I wrote about the first time I met him in my journal. I read that entry the other day and in it, I called him Golden Boy because he was everything wonderful and good in the world. Some things never change. 

Cryptic blog post? #sorrynotsorry 
Aaaaaaaand I love my life. Forgot to mention that. 

August 24, 2013

Life lessons & Mexican-i-don't-care.

There was this conversation tonight, as I stood in a field while it rained.

I was there with my face all dolled, the way you do your face before a date, regardless of what you think of the person who's to pick you up, and anyway, I stood there, in the rain, with my face like that, and I played Mexican Horse Shoes with a person.

He asked me if I knew of any fields close and there was one up the road, just past the canal, I said. When we got there, I paused before taking my seatbelt off to examine raindrops on the windshield. I didn't want to get out of the car and I didn't want him to talk to me. I didn't want anything to do with anything but Grey's Anatomy and a tall order of curly fries, but, I digress. I was there, and I got out of the car.

There was talking and some form of laughter, I guess. It wasn't the deep, hearty laugh that you feel the next morning in your abdominals, but he looked like he was trying too hard when he threw those golf balls at the target, so it made me laugh a little. And if you have no idea what any of that means or what the premise of Mexican Horse Shoe playing even is, I commend you for being normal. Also, you should know that he asked me about art and when I mentioned Michelangelo, he went off on the orange ninja turtle and whenever something like this happens, it's been said that somewhere in the world, an art historian draws their last breath. I believe that with my whole soul.

The point is, we endure first dates to learn more about ourselves and not to have a good time.

He criticized me for my bad aim and the way I wasn't even trying to win. That was when I stood firm in the mud, my body misted in rain dew, and told him that I wasn't much of a game player, that in fact, I hated games and that my mind worked in words and that sometimes I read the dictionary for fun.

And after that, I went silent.
I didn't care what he thought of that because I wasn't interested in anything he thought about me, anyway.

So, he took me home and it went down in history as, perhaps, the most uncomfortable date I've ever been on. But I learned something new about myself and that made the horse-shoe thing worth my time.

I don't like games, but my brain works in words, and that's useful in dating.

August 22, 2013

You make my world funny.

My best days, nights, weekends, pity parties, and dance-dares involve you.

I love you no matter how many times you interrupt my sentences, 
no matter how many times you make me drive out to The District, 
no matter how many times you get after me for not being able to multitask...
I. Love. You. 
And if you ever forget that, Austin [Wyatt (haha)] Daw,
I'll force it into your head some more. 
With a knife (jk).
I love you for so many reasons, 
but mostly, I love you because you're pretty...
okay, no.
You are pretty, but I love you the most because you are you, the best friend I've ever had.
I couldn't bear to walk this scary earth without you, so thanks for sticking around for me. 

Love you, boiiiiii.

Love, love

WHAT is that picture, right?

August 21, 2013


I just stumbled across this video on YouTube (don't ask questions), and, no lie, it's so beautiful that I almost maybe cried a little bit. 
I get Christmas antsy, okay? Like, today, I mapped out my Christmas tree plans for this year. 

Also, I promise I won't leave you hanging. Wild stuff went down today. Can't wait to tell you all about it. 

August 20, 2013

The second weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. Part I.

The first weirdest thing that has ever happened to me involves the mascot of my high school football team, the crush I had on him in the seventh grade, and the fact that tonight, even after never having a conversation with him in all my life, he called to ask me out on a date. Also, I said yes. Did I hook you with that one? More to come if you just stay tuned.

This story isn't about the first weirdest thing that has ever happened to me.
This story is about the second.

The first time Daniel Taylor and I ever kissed, I wanted to take back my lips. I wasn't a fan of lip-to-lip anything. Because homegirl doesn't even like to share soda pop. It was germy. And tongue-y (is that a thing?). And I wanted to take it all back. Instead, I proceeded without caution and dove, head first, into the biggest heart break I've experienced thus far in my life.

It wasn't always heart break, though.
Usually, it was gerber daisies and making out in the movie theater. You know how you always wonder if that's possible? I am living proof that it is. I can't say I'm proud of it, but sometimes I think about how we did that and I am impressed with myself. Because, how? Okay, I'm a little proud.

He got me with everything he did. 

But, the shame of it all is that it's stuff I can't quite recall anymore. I can't put my finger on the good things. There was a lot of door opening when I went to get into his car. I think there was hand holding. Actually, no, I remember that. There was a lot of it. There was ice cream, too. And study sessions. And one time, in the parking lot after a dance where were dressed like Wendy and Peter Pan, he tripped, scuffing his knees up really bad. There was an obscene amount of blood, like way too much for me to handle, but I brought him back to my house and nursed his knees, anyway. I soaked them in hydrogen peroxide, wrapped them in bandages, and kissed them each twice. When I looked up at him, his eyes were wide on me like he'd never been so well taken care of and I made a mental note of that look. It's one I save away for the days I don't feel beautiful and I remember that in my life, I've been looked at like I was someone's safety, like I mattered to someone. I told him I loved him that night, and he said it, too.
Fine, I can recall all of it.
And oh, I wanted the world for him.

A week later, his parents made us break up.
I was the kind of sad a person shouldn't ever be and he was, too. The kind of sad that flared on both ends, triggered by an outside party. Real Capulet/Montague stuff. When he told me, I cried in the hallway at school. I cried in his arms and knew they could do nothing to protect me from the next few months of pain. He said goodbye and I did, too. And then, two months later, he had another girlfriend. And, understatement: ouch.

I toilet papered her house a few times. And then, I probably called her mean names (I FOR SURE called her mean names). And then, I was "The Other Woman" for a summer and it turns out, you feel worse about yourself when your ex-boyfriend is cheating on his girlfriend with you. It turns out that that's never good for anyone. So after that, we stopped making out at parks, he stopped visiting me at work, and then, God punished me and I got Mononucleosis. I watched Grey's Anatomy every single day and there was the episode that's like "Pick me, choose me, LOVE ME" and I cried a lot.

And then, I'm not trying to be dramatic, but we never spoke again.
Until July 27, 2013 where I stepped out of the car in his driveway and heard him whisper, "Wow."

Did I hook you again?

August 16, 2013

#fussyry, @captainnatsparrow, KortKnee, California Cam, & KT. Party in the USA.

So... This is over. I want to kill myself. 

I really don't. But I'm jonesing for a Mint Julep from the French Quarter right now. I had three yesterday. Thanks for that, Alicia. 

I've got more to say, but I'm not in the mood. So I'll be back later. Deuces to my HATERZ. 

August 13, 2013

Feeling like a Jackson Polluck when I really just want to feel like a Mondrian.

When words fail me, art doesn't.
When art fails me, words don't.

I am in Anaheim and I'm going to Disneyland tomorrow.

My dreams were crushed this afternoon when I didn't get to go to Jimmy Kimmel Live, and I don't want to talk about it.

I wear short shorts and I don't give a damn what you think about that. Also, I wear sports bras and sometimes you can see them through my shirt. Whores of Babylon unite.

I think I am starting that slow descent into the isolation that fall semester often puts me in. I want to do nothing but sit in a dark room with a cozy fire, curl up on the couch by myself with some wassail, read one hundred million blogs, and watch You've Got Mail while it rains buckets outside.

I'm done with the summer. Like, completely over it. I'm finished with the neverendingly hectic schedule, finished with meeting new people, and I'm done traveling. Does that sound ungrateful? Yeah, but I'm not. I'm so incredibly thankful for these experiences, I'm just ready for some structure.

August 9, 2013

I go hard.

I don't know what to write about, so I'll probably just write about EFY since that's all I've known for the past three months of my life.

And here's what I have to say about EFY today: 

It is my last yellow polo day. Ever. #yellowpoloYOLO

One of my girls had a guitar playing/singing act in the Variety Show and it rocked the world. For real. I am a proud mom. 

I'm debating hard on whether to go to Jackson Hole, white-water rafting with my team tomorrow or just to go back and see my people. My life is hard.

I got paid today. 

I'm going to California on Sunday for an entire week. Disneyland. For three days straight. With my E-F-B-F, Ry Chollet. Remembering that is the what's gotten me through this week. That's real. 

I'm going to Jimmy Kimmel on Monday afternoon. I'm not kidding you when I say this... MY LIFE LONG DREAM IS COMING TRUE. Did I mention Liam Hemsworth is going to be his guest? [Insert one million adoring Hunger Games fans screaming here]

Also, I can eat cafeteria food no more. 

August 6, 2013

I think it would be nice to slow dance to a sad Beatles song in the woods in the poring rain. In rain boots and a baggy t-shirt. 

I daydream about that all too often. 

August 5, 2013

YOLO. But for real. This is me saying YOLO.

I'm reluctant to say these things because there are so many people who I am close to and people who I'm not so close to who know me from high school, who read this blog, but I'm just going to say it anyway. And I'm going to own it. Because I've decided that's what I'm good at. I'm good at owning things. The other day, after I wrote that thing about being single and how bizarre it is, I felt a little bit about it. Like I should further explain myself.

Is being single bizarre? Do I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be getting married to the man of my dreams? Do I think about babies all around me and long to be the mother of such precious tiny humans? Of course.

But, I also remember how much fun it is to have no responsibilities. To die your hair porn-star blonde (okay, this one makes me sort of nervous, but it happened and like I said, I'm OWNING it) flirt shamelessly with everyone in the whole world, and to seek out ways to casually throw into the conversation "Remember that time you told me that I'm the only girl you've kissed in the Mustang and maybe we should do it again sometime."

I mean, I'm not married,
have never been married,
have nothing against being married,
married people,
or responsibility...

But I'm just saying,
I think I'll enjoy life a little bit longer if that's okay with everyone else.

Screw that.
Regardless of whether it's okay with anyone, I'm going to enjoy this little life of mine before it gets all serious and I have to be a grown up.
Because it's fun to wear short shorts, put on tacky perfume and make out with boys you have no intention of marrying.
Isn't that the elephant in the room? The one that our culture never really celebrates? Can we all just admit it right now?

And on that note, this.

August 3, 2013

On being single and why is this part of life so bizarre?

Who. The hell. Knows.

The point is, I am probably a baller at having babies.