Last weekend was pretty damn fun. Discovering at 2:15am that Sonic now has fucking pickle chips alone was pretty epic, but then throw in the biking pub craw of Detroit and that's just a solid time, man. Drinking a hummer and eating fried green tomatoes on a patio with the crew? Really great vibes. And there are so many more to come before the season is over.
I am fixing to have one of those long weekends I loooooooove.
So much booze I slur and stumble and laugh at my own jokes. Glowing with sweat. Hair in a constant bun. Getting too much sun and not caring. Eating every five minutes because I have no idea if I'm full or not. More booze. Attempting to "get ready" to go out at night and realizing that just means taking off my swim suit. Fuck make up. Getting serious side-eye from the local girls. Giving zero fucks. Counting the lake as showering. Shoving each other while hiking. Trying to find Petoskey stones on the shore. Putting more lime in the guac than people prefer. Constant sandy feet. More booze. Playing Sequence until I scream at everyone. My hair blowing across my mouth, getting stuck in my chapstick. Sneaky sex. Wearing a bandana as a headband so everyone remembers I'm from a farm. Swearing I'll get a pedicure as soon as the 4th is over. Sparklers. Fireworks. More American Flag apparel than is necessary or tasteful. The rocks on my feet. Cannonballing off the pier. So much laughing my tummy starts to hurt. Never sleeping. The sound of the waves. The feel of the breeze. The pink of the sunset. Never wanting to go back home. Winery stops on the trip easing that pain.
Oh, summer, how I love you. I love you so hard.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Friday, June 27, 2014
If I Leave Now I Might Get Away
I am sitting there and being pleasant and polite and giggly and he starts arguing about talentless fucks and that art as a whole has gone downhill and it's all cheese and hacks have taken over everything, but all I'm doing is enjoying the booze in my hand. I state my case that "art truly is in the eye of the lover or buyer, and that's ok", but oh, no... that's not ok. That's wrong. I argue a little more, a little louder, a little sharper, but I realize I just want to enjoy this evening and the sun and so I relent a little, thinking about things I forgot to do today, mentally listing, and one of those is buy Banks tickets. Then I mention how it's so weird we're not at Dave right now and how, that we should be. Then it really begins. It actually began before that, but that's when my brain explodes.
"I'm so sick of Dave, you, me, us, we've seen him a hundred times and he never gets worse or better, it's just the same fucking thing..." and ....as his mouth keeps moving, his voice is trailing off, it starts. I'm staring at his perfect face and the violins of The Stone start. They start their faux classical intro. His voice is no longer there. He's smiling at me and talking and everyone at the table is joining in and I'm making corresponding facial expressions, but the classical vibe has faded and all I hear is the furious, precise, desperate, notes of guitar with violin behind it..like a bee hive. My head is becoming a bee hive. So appropriate as my name, and my monogram, are a honey bee, but still so inappropriate as now ALL I am hearing in my head is I've this creeping suspicion that things are not as they seem. And he keeps talking and joking, and his face is as handsome as ever and people are eating it all up, but all I'm thinking of is every shitty thing he's ever said to me or done to me, but then as it goes on yes I have done wrong, but what I did I thought needed be done, I swear, and I soften. And he looks at me, and he makes that face. As if he just now noticed I was actually pretty. And I know exactly what I look like right then.
I know that setting sun directly on my face, with my eyes wide open, is my very best light. My eyes look almost all white, As heavy as stone and as blue as I go, and the red in my hair is fire and the blond in my hair is gold and my happy face with stern, angry eyes is probably my very best face, according to him. And the song just gets louder and louder and I was just wondering if you'd come along to hold up my head when my head won't hold on and I'll do the same if the same's what you want, If not I'll go, I will go alone he just holds my gaze and looks at me as if that moment will last our whole lives and in the next moment he's gone, a pile of snickers at some terrible joke someone else makes and my eyes dart around wondering if I can just leave - I will run and I'll be ok. And my head swims and swirls, but then I take another drink and I check my phone to see my father has called me and I draw in a deep smiley breath and I remember I'm fine, but I was just wondering if you'd come along, hold up my head when my head won't hold on. I'll do the same if the same's what you want; If not I'll go I will go alone.
The song plays on, I hear nothing else, I look over at the sunset and I feel his hand creep to my back, comforting, claiming, but my eyes stay on the sunset and the breeze pushes my hair, and the song pounds on and I hate not being there live and I want to bust out of my skin, or be figure skating and it all crescendos in my head and I need so to stay in your arms, see you smile, hold you close, and it weighs on me, as heavy as stone and a bone chilling cold and I look back to him. Lock his eyes again.
Everything I love and hate about him swirls and I wonder if this is what things are just supposed to feel like. If this is what it means to be committed to someone and a life. But, mostly, I wonder how the fuck I got here and get the feeling that I'm on the fucking moon and feel as though I wasn't meant for this, I was meant to be somewhere else, someone else, who lets things fly out of them onto paper or canvas or ice or the ballet studio, or the pitch, or the bed or all of the above. One thing I know is that I was not meant to be right here, at this time, sipping champagne on a patio with people I do not love, and how, most of all I was just wondering if you'd come along ..tell me you will.... and my eyes close, cutting his lock on them and I dip my head as a sea of guitar and violin take me away ....
I will wake up tomorrow pleasant and giggly all over again. Before my hangover sets in.
"I'm so sick of Dave, you, me, us, we've seen him a hundred times and he never gets worse or better, it's just the same fucking thing..." and ....as his mouth keeps moving, his voice is trailing off, it starts. I'm staring at his perfect face and the violins of The Stone start. They start their faux classical intro. His voice is no longer there. He's smiling at me and talking and everyone at the table is joining in and I'm making corresponding facial expressions, but the classical vibe has faded and all I hear is the furious, precise, desperate, notes of guitar with violin behind it..like a bee hive. My head is becoming a bee hive. So appropriate as my name, and my monogram, are a honey bee, but still so inappropriate as now ALL I am hearing in my head is I've this creeping suspicion that things are not as they seem. And he keeps talking and joking, and his face is as handsome as ever and people are eating it all up, but all I'm thinking of is every shitty thing he's ever said to me or done to me, but then as it goes on yes I have done wrong, but what I did I thought needed be done, I swear, and I soften. And he looks at me, and he makes that face. As if he just now noticed I was actually pretty. And I know exactly what I look like right then.
I know that setting sun directly on my face, with my eyes wide open, is my very best light. My eyes look almost all white, As heavy as stone and as blue as I go, and the red in my hair is fire and the blond in my hair is gold and my happy face with stern, angry eyes is probably my very best face, according to him. And the song just gets louder and louder and I was just wondering if you'd come along to hold up my head when my head won't hold on and I'll do the same if the same's what you want, If not I'll go, I will go alone he just holds my gaze and looks at me as if that moment will last our whole lives and in the next moment he's gone, a pile of snickers at some terrible joke someone else makes and my eyes dart around wondering if I can just leave - I will run and I'll be ok. And my head swims and swirls, but then I take another drink and I check my phone to see my father has called me and I draw in a deep smiley breath and I remember I'm fine, but I was just wondering if you'd come along, hold up my head when my head won't hold on. I'll do the same if the same's what you want; If not I'll go I will go alone.
The song plays on, I hear nothing else, I look over at the sunset and I feel his hand creep to my back, comforting, claiming, but my eyes stay on the sunset and the breeze pushes my hair, and the song pounds on and I hate not being there live and I want to bust out of my skin, or be figure skating and it all crescendos in my head and I need so to stay in your arms, see you smile, hold you close, and it weighs on me, as heavy as stone and a bone chilling cold and I look back to him. Lock his eyes again.
Everything I love and hate about him swirls and I wonder if this is what things are just supposed to feel like. If this is what it means to be committed to someone and a life. But, mostly, I wonder how the fuck I got here and get the feeling that I'm on the fucking moon and feel as though I wasn't meant for this, I was meant to be somewhere else, someone else, who lets things fly out of them onto paper or canvas or ice or the ballet studio, or the pitch, or the bed or all of the above. One thing I know is that I was not meant to be right here, at this time, sipping champagne on a patio with people I do not love, and how, most of all I was just wondering if you'd come along ..tell me you will.... and my eyes close, cutting his lock on them and I dip my head as a sea of guitar and violin take me away ....
I will wake up tomorrow pleasant and giggly all over again. Before my hangover sets in.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
"Who's For Eva Braun Here; Who Wants To Burn Books?!?"
I have absolutely no time to write a blog. That's exactly why I'm going to do it. Being in charge of things sucks, y'all. I need to write.
I was just watching Field of Dreams last night, because of course I was, and I was thinking it's the perfect summer movie.
All that dusty sunlight, the crickets in the background, the relaxed, loose cotton wardrobe that was the norm on farms in the late 80's, everything. I absolutely love everything about that movie. The authenticity of what a small farm town mill looks like (the scene when Ray goes to pick up supplies and ask other farmers if they've heard voices) right down to Patsy Cline playing in the background while the old farmers socialize and talk shop. Ray's perfectly work jeans that appear to be his uniform. Annie pouring a baking pan full of Tater Tots to cook for dinner's side dish. The small-minded PTA meeting that Annie revolutionizes. (Annie is my idol, if you didn't get that)
This art directer outdid himself. That farmhouse is perfection. You can tell that its residents are forward-thinking individuals that really just wanted to live on a farm. The rich colors and art placed around the house, they loved it there. It's more than functional, it's aesthetically pleasing as well and that's not incredibly common in midwest farm houses unless you're talking paintings of other farms and fake flowers.
I just love it. I love the light they captured. Watching this movie literally makes me feel 9 years old again, out in the middle of nowhere, when putting on overalls and eating a hot dog in your side yard while watching random men play baseball would have been absolutely thrilling. I could have been Karen. Our yard and the fields around our house and the woods next door - that was my scene and I really didn't ever feel like leaving it back then. I didn't want to go to Kalamazoo, I didn't want to go shopping, I needed nothing except snacks and outdoor adventures.
When I watch that movie, I can almost smell the late August corn. The way it smells very earthy and rich, especially after it rains. The smell of fresh cut grass and the sound of hog feeders clanking shut off in the distance. I miss it. I miss that simplicity.
"Is this heaven?"
"No...it's Michigan."
I was just watching Field of Dreams last night, because of course I was, and I was thinking it's the perfect summer movie.
All that dusty sunlight, the crickets in the background, the relaxed, loose cotton wardrobe that was the norm on farms in the late 80's, everything. I absolutely love everything about that movie. The authenticity of what a small farm town mill looks like (the scene when Ray goes to pick up supplies and ask other farmers if they've heard voices) right down to Patsy Cline playing in the background while the old farmers socialize and talk shop. Ray's perfectly work jeans that appear to be his uniform. Annie pouring a baking pan full of Tater Tots to cook for dinner's side dish. The small-minded PTA meeting that Annie revolutionizes. (Annie is my idol, if you didn't get that)
This art directer outdid himself. That farmhouse is perfection. You can tell that its residents are forward-thinking individuals that really just wanted to live on a farm. The rich colors and art placed around the house, they loved it there. It's more than functional, it's aesthetically pleasing as well and that's not incredibly common in midwest farm houses unless you're talking paintings of other farms and fake flowers.
I just love it. I love the light they captured. Watching this movie literally makes me feel 9 years old again, out in the middle of nowhere, when putting on overalls and eating a hot dog in your side yard while watching random men play baseball would have been absolutely thrilling. I could have been Karen. Our yard and the fields around our house and the woods next door - that was my scene and I really didn't ever feel like leaving it back then. I didn't want to go to Kalamazoo, I didn't want to go shopping, I needed nothing except snacks and outdoor adventures.
When I watch that movie, I can almost smell the late August corn. The way it smells very earthy and rich, especially after it rains. The smell of fresh cut grass and the sound of hog feeders clanking shut off in the distance. I miss it. I miss that simplicity.
"Is this heaven?"
"No...it's Michigan."
Friday, June 20, 2014
I Can't Stop
Watching the Sia "Chandelier" video. CAN NOT STOP.
I feel like Maddie represents my deep inner brain. And the song is just perfection. I love everything about it. My extension and flexibility certainly are not on Maddie's level, but now I think of her every time I'm stretching and push it as far as possible. Between that video and So You Think You Can Dance, I basically never stop spinning and stretching. It's too hot for my normal stretchies so I can very often be found standing around in a sundress attempting those upright splits. I know I'm dancing in my sleep because I'll wake up with a foot cramp from pointing my toes. JD asked if I've been wearing pointe shoes in Pure Barre because I was standing on my toes and I had to inform him we don't do that. I think he thinks it's an actual ballet class. I now have a membership to a regular gym as well and it feels INSANE to work out in shoes. I roamed around until I found 2 pipes along the wall in the abs/stretching room, removed my shoes, put on my Barre socks and had my own little class right there.
I took a brief break today to watch the Coldplay "Sky Full of Stars" video because that song is also excellent for stretching aaaaand Chris Martin's smiley face makes my heart go pitter patter, but then "Chandelier" came on the radio and my head was right back in that little blonde wig, twirling and twirling.
I feel like Maddie represents my deep inner brain. And the song is just perfection. I love everything about it. My extension and flexibility certainly are not on Maddie's level, but now I think of her every time I'm stretching and push it as far as possible. Between that video and So You Think You Can Dance, I basically never stop spinning and stretching. It's too hot for my normal stretchies so I can very often be found standing around in a sundress attempting those upright splits. I know I'm dancing in my sleep because I'll wake up with a foot cramp from pointing my toes. JD asked if I've been wearing pointe shoes in Pure Barre because I was standing on my toes and I had to inform him we don't do that. I think he thinks it's an actual ballet class. I now have a membership to a regular gym as well and it feels INSANE to work out in shoes. I roamed around until I found 2 pipes along the wall in the abs/stretching room, removed my shoes, put on my Barre socks and had my own little class right there.
I took a brief break today to watch the Coldplay "Sky Full of Stars" video because that song is also excellent for stretching aaaaand Chris Martin's smiley face makes my heart go pitter patter, but then "Chandelier" came on the radio and my head was right back in that little blonde wig, twirling and twirling.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
World Cup.... A Time To Get Turned On.
Reasons World Cup Soccer is the tits:
1. You never feel as patriotic as when you're cheering your very young, inexperienced Team USA as they enter an essentially unbeatable 3 team group. Bonus points if you're me and you're wearing a t-shirt with kittens on an American Flag while doing this.
2. You also get to feel as though you've just won World War III when USA beats Ghana in their opening game. Bonus points as Ghana has been the USA's nemesis in the last 2 World Cups. Seriously, they're our Hitler. (just go with it.)
3. Man on Man foreign PDA like CRAAAAAAZY. Other nations are touchy feely like whoa and I'm all about that.
4. Lets face it: It's porn for women. These are the sexiest athletes on the planet, all rounded up, running for 90 solid minutes, sweating, beating their chests, sliding on their knees, hugging the shit out of each other, ripping their shirts off....just turn on World Cup and if you don't like who's playing, mute the TV, put on some Banks or Sam Smith in the background for sound and get your sex on. BEST SEX OF YOUR LIFE.
5. The fans are just fucking insane. Can't get motivated to do your laundry? Can't stop procrastinating about the dishes? Watch the dedication of some World Cup fans screaming their faces off and you'll inexplicably feel the need to clean your entire house. I don't know why, but that shit works.
6. Avoiding work in search of TVs and day drinking with patriotic purpose.
7. When you're partying your ass off in Detroit and you inevitably end up at Lafayette Coney in the middle of the night, there are always a ton of people from different countries in there and they're ALWAYS ready for World Cup chants. If you don't like playfully chanting USA!! USA!! USA!! against the similar yells of people of other nations, while bombed, in the middle of Detroit, while eating a Coney Dog and drinking a mini carton of milk, then why don't you get the fuck out of America, you know? Just get out. Canada is right there. Go. Go then.
8. Landon Donovan. Even though he's not on the team, he's everywhere else and the sight of his face makes my heart and ovaries smile.
1. You never feel as patriotic as when you're cheering your very young, inexperienced Team USA as they enter an essentially unbeatable 3 team group. Bonus points if you're me and you're wearing a t-shirt with kittens on an American Flag while doing this.
2. You also get to feel as though you've just won World War III when USA beats Ghana in their opening game. Bonus points as Ghana has been the USA's nemesis in the last 2 World Cups. Seriously, they're our Hitler. (just go with it.)
3. Man on Man foreign PDA like CRAAAAAAZY. Other nations are touchy feely like whoa and I'm all about that.
4. Lets face it: It's porn for women. These are the sexiest athletes on the planet, all rounded up, running for 90 solid minutes, sweating, beating their chests, sliding on their knees, hugging the shit out of each other, ripping their shirts off....just turn on World Cup and if you don't like who's playing, mute the TV, put on some Banks or Sam Smith in the background for sound and get your sex on. BEST SEX OF YOUR LIFE.
5. The fans are just fucking insane. Can't get motivated to do your laundry? Can't stop procrastinating about the dishes? Watch the dedication of some World Cup fans screaming their faces off and you'll inexplicably feel the need to clean your entire house. I don't know why, but that shit works.
6. Avoiding work in search of TVs and day drinking with patriotic purpose.
7. When you're partying your ass off in Detroit and you inevitably end up at Lafayette Coney in the middle of the night, there are always a ton of people from different countries in there and they're ALWAYS ready for World Cup chants. If you don't like playfully chanting USA!! USA!! USA!! against the similar yells of people of other nations, while bombed, in the middle of Detroit, while eating a Coney Dog and drinking a mini carton of milk, then why don't you get the fuck out of America, you know? Just get out. Canada is right there. Go. Go then.
8. Landon Donovan. Even though he's not on the team, he's everywhere else and the sight of his face makes my heart and ovaries smile.
Friday, June 6, 2014
My Dad.
My father had to have surgery on his kidney.
The messed up thing is, I didn't even know. My Dad would mention an upcoming surgery the same way he would mention an upcoming trip to the grocery store, so I had little warning. I didn't even know he was scheduled until my stepmother left me a message saying he made it through ok.
He had a mass removed from his kidney and a little something removed from his bladder as well. Both were sent away for testing and he has a follow up on the 13th or 20th. The doctor said "it doesn't seem to be something to worry about". Thanks, doc. That helps about 0%.
I spoke with my dad today and he was as cheery as ever, which he would be whether he was completely fine or in level 7 pain. He let me know he had already been outside to work on his lawn tractor and he was returning to work on Monday. He also said he was going to Kalamazoo today to pick up his paycheck. So old school.
I asked him why he didn't just finally get direct deposit so he doesn't have to make that trip and without missing a beat he responded "I like to cash it and roll around in it".
Legit. Roll on, Dad. Roll on.
The messed up thing is, I didn't even know. My Dad would mention an upcoming surgery the same way he would mention an upcoming trip to the grocery store, so I had little warning. I didn't even know he was scheduled until my stepmother left me a message saying he made it through ok.
He had a mass removed from his kidney and a little something removed from his bladder as well. Both were sent away for testing and he has a follow up on the 13th or 20th. The doctor said "it doesn't seem to be something to worry about". Thanks, doc. That helps about 0%.
I spoke with my dad today and he was as cheery as ever, which he would be whether he was completely fine or in level 7 pain. He let me know he had already been outside to work on his lawn tractor and he was returning to work on Monday. He also said he was going to Kalamazoo today to pick up his paycheck. So old school.
I asked him why he didn't just finally get direct deposit so he doesn't have to make that trip and without missing a beat he responded "I like to cash it and roll around in it".
Legit. Roll on, Dad. Roll on.
Monday, June 2, 2014
People.com Is On My Shit List
I almost got all the way through today without knowing a damn thing that happened on Game of Thrones last night.
Most websites are really great about spoilers and put nothing telling at all in the title of their posts and they definitely let you know if there are indeed spoilers ahead. But noooooo, People.com has to have a headline reading "An Obituary for the Game of Thrones Character That Died Sunday Night".
What the actual fuck, People. You couldn't wait until around 8pm to post something like that? Maybe give the good people who had to watch their beloved hockey teams battle it out in a vicious Game 7 a chance to get home from work and watch the episode???!
RUDE
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