On being born in between holidays.

It's a bit tedious; having your birthday, Christmas, and the end of the year fall in so closely to one another. No matter how cliche, you cannot help but reminisce, picking apart and dissecting your year as it played out. The bad, the good; old habits die hard. Among all of the self criticizing comes the pressing realization that i’ve yet another year to add- another decade to conquer; another building block on my [somehow] faithfully sturdy structure. I’d like to think that i’ve learned some things this year, that i’ve grown from what i’ve done. No regrets, no takebacks. I can’t pretend to have an idea of what my life is going to hold, or anticipate what mess i’ll make of this seeming “blank slate” everyone hopes to start out with on January 1st. I don’t know much about what impact i’ll make on this next year, or what it will mold me into. I’m not sure what tastes i’ll acquire, or what lives I will change. Not knowing is so humbling and exciting at the same time. Right now, I guess it doesn’t really matter if I know the answers. 

I do know this,

There are still people out there who love me.

I still love avocado & tomato sandwiches and reading fiction.

Last night I fell asleep watching James and the Giant Peach,

and tomorrow is my twentieth birthday.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Bring it on, 2009. 

On attempting to not be a scrooge.

Lately, i've really had some difficulties getting into the holiday spirit. It's been hot outside, which has made my frantic Christmas shopping experiences all but enjoyable. I felt like I needed a little somethin'-somethin' to cure me of my slowly-turning-scrooge syndrome. My mother suggested we have a day full of baking; we each picked a cookie and took turns in the kitchen. I got right onto the Food Network's website, naturally and picked out yummy pumpkin cookies with cream cheese frosting. After all was said and done, and after somehow getting pumpkin on my face only twice, my grumpiness toned down and the cookies turned out sooo tasty! David, (who for some reason, despite my mood volunteered to be my assistant in the kitchen for the day) helpfully offered to help clean up my mess.

Post-Script:  I have way, way too many! Open invitation to anyone who would like to help me finish 'em off :)

On spending an afternoon at the park.

It's good to have days off. They have been seeming so few and far between these days. Today I woke up early, went to the park with my sister and nephew and read in the beautiful "Florida winter" weather. Did I mention I love reading? Well, I do. A lot.

On being a reader of [good] books most of the time

These past two weeks have been times in which I was in dire need for distraction from my life. Naturally, when my sisters recommended a book series, I was all ears. Four books could keep me busy all month! [Perhaps more, I thought] Little did I know how amazingly similar to a heroin addiction they would turn out to be for my brain, and how fast it would devour them. 

The Twilight series started as my really great guilty pleasure. I was hesitant to tell people I was reading the first book, seeing how I pride myself in being an avid reader of great books. I didn’t want my impressive taste to appear as any less. I couldn’t help myself, after about the fifth chapter- I was hooked. I read whenever I could fit time in to read, and when I wasn’t reading; I was anxiously watching the clock and counting down the hours until I could. I was helplessly addicted. [Forgive my understatement, those who had any contact with me in the past two weeks.] The characters and scenarios were all I could think about, all I wanted to talk about- and I am ever so grateful that I wasn’t alone in this obsession. 

My older sister Kimberley [who’s book taste is even better than mine] and I talked about it whenever we could- our every three day sleepover turned into Twilight talking sessions. When I was at work, she would call to tell me she had reached the part I was up to, and it made me anxious and upset that I couldn’t answer her every phone call- ( though sometimes I made frequent trips to the “bathroom” to quickly discuss it with her and get my fill of the eerily drug-like addiction.) We had many laughs and shed many tears over the story we continued to read. It was clear that this was so much more than a guilty pleasure to me. These were really, really good books. 

After two weeks (after finishing the first two books in two days or less, I stretched the last two out as much as I could) of being completely and hopelessly involved in every character and every aspect of the story, I am not ashamed to say that was the most enthralling book series i’ve ever read. (Even after countless eye-rolls and negative comments thrown my way when I struggled to find words to describe what the books were about) After reading all of the books (and seeing the movie, twice- for which I am also not ashamed to say) I can definitely and proudly say I am- in all aspects of the word- a “twilighter.” I will not hide that fact, or be shamed by it, and I suggest you go read them! Now! Guaranteed- you, too will regress into pre-teen obsession, and it’s not so bad of a feeling. :)

Life's too short for the wrong job...

....so I'm quitting mine. Hoorah!

I'm worth my weight in potting soil.

I was tagged (finally!) by my sister Kimberley to give 7 random facts about myself. After a long excruciating (nearly ten hour!) work day, I thought i'd lay down in my warm comfy bed and comply. 

So, enjoy:

1. I'm named (in part) after my aunt Rose, my grandmother's sister- who cursed like a sailor and had severe road rage. My mother loved her, she died of cancer young.

2. In regards to toasting, [bread, bagels, etc] I prefer it to be extra toasted and crunchy - almost burnt. I refuse to bother with any of that "lightly toasted" business.

3. I live for awkward moments. Sometimes I make them occur accidentally on purpose just so I can soak it all in.

4. If my mind is not busy, often I subconsciously imagine myself biting into random materials. Mostly styrofoam or silverwear. I'm getting the chills just thinking about it.

5. I am a firm believer in the fact that if you can't be a good example- you have an obligation to be a horrible warning.

6. I worry sometimes that I won't get to live up to my full potential, and that my future english degree will only come in handy when smart-asses try to correct my grammar at parties. I don't want my brain to go to waste like it has been in retail the past few years.

7. The thing I remember most about my grandmother is the way she made her eggs in the morning, and the way she used to chew. I hope I never forget her entirely.

I'm going to tag Steven, David, and Sarah. They may not do it- but they haven't posted anything in a while and they should. So there.

Yes We Can!

We did this. We really did this. You and I, we made history together. I've never been so proud of us. I've never been so proud to be an American. I don't care how cheesy that sounds. Now is when we start reaching our greatness potential! I'm so excited for our bright future with such an amazing, intellectual, and charismatic man leading us. We did good. :)

Empty stations

I know all good things must come to an end, 

but I really wish that they wouldn't....

just some words to kill off one more unheard statement

of another dying afternoon.

Hold ground down

I really love Jordan Crane.


"I want to run all my life, screaming at the top of my lungs. Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Like the crowd greeting the gladiator. Don't stop to think, don't interrupt the scream, exhale, release life's rapture. Everything is blooming. Everything is flying. Everything is screaming, choking on it's screams. Laughter. Running. Let-down hair. That is all there is to life".
-Nobokov

You could even try 20% less hard.

My mother came home from New York and brought me a really cute "Obama 2008" pin that she insisted I attach to my purse immediately. She loves that I am so into politics and she would like to encourage my choice 100%. It was really cute seeing her so excited about her find.

I know a lot of kids my age are not the political firecrackers i'd hope for them to be, but it doesn't matter. I won't try to appeal to you and make you love politics, but I do ask one thing of you. Vote. Please?
We deserve something better than what we've had the last eight years.
You deserve something better.

"Here’s why you should vote:"

You are going to really love it, the whole strange procedure. You get to walk right into a building that you would never normally be allowed in, often an elementary school. You can pause in the hallway to look at all the weird school-art and feel the eerie vibe of hundreds of kids living their endless kid lives right nearby. Then you follow the arrows to the voting room and look at the faces of the volunteers - who are these people? There is a hush of secrecy, the voting booth is clunky, the whole thing seems fake somehow. You consider filling in all the bubbles, like you did on the SATs. But you don’t. You vote. You walk back outside feeling like you just gave blood or something, lightheaded from citizenry. You are wearing a sticker that says “I Voted” and you wish you could continue to get stickers like this throughout the day:
"I Ate Dinner," "I Went To Sleep," "I Got Out Of Bed," "I Went To Work."

But alas, it is just this one thing that we all do together, savor it.

Overqualified Fever.

I used to say I never want children. But I do. And I want grandchildren. I want them to have lovers and I want them to know how good it feels to embarrass yourself so totally in front of someone you care about. I want the world to last forever just for moments like that. How sappy can you get? But I do.

I don’t know when I started believing that the world was going to end no matter what, and there was nothing I could do about it but accept it. I don’t know when I started teasing the people who care, or when I started thinking that caring meant you were a flake. I think everyone around me seemed so convinced, so certain, that I let myself get carried away.

Brown paper packages tied up with string....

Things I currently love:

1. The wrinkles by his eyes when he smiles.
2. Playing hide & seek with my nephew (& the entire family!) struggling for places to hide in my small abode.
3. Tropical smoothie cafe (pomegranate plunge!)
4. Waking up without an alarm because i've had enough sleep to last me through the day.
5. Words like peregrine
6. Syntax. (surprised?)
7. Writing again.
8. Being alive.
9. Reading about politics (who would've thought?)
10. Hope

Dear Adulthood,

Some mornings I awake to find you blooming faster than I had hoped or anticipated. I know you're tired of the games i've been playing. [Adulthood, I know you know the one.] I act as if I'm shocked to see you at my doorstep, and you tell me I know better. You remind me of how i've been nurturing you and taking extra care of you [and feeding you miracle grow, it seems!] to make sure you came swiftly. Oh, I was successful, though success has never made me feel so despondent. There you are, holding steady through my excuses, bright eyed and welcoming me; and I want to come with you! Anxiety seeps out of every pore and you read the fear on my face like a familiar dusty book you found holding stories you listened to as a child. [I'm out of excuses, adulthood, I don't know how to keep you away any longer] I try to compose myself, telling you I knew you were coming, I just didn't prepare myself for your arrival! [Oh, I am the worst hostess, I know] Sit down, stay a while. Don't look so impatient.
I promise I'm coming with you, adulthood, I just don't know if I am ready to face you alone yet.

I always include a picture.

On Being Drunk Enough to Drive You Home Now

The windows were rolled down and her head hung lifelessly out the passenger’s side. It was raining, but she didn’t notice. Her dark red hair lay pasted to the side of her face as the raindrops ran through it. Her neck didn’t look comfortable, but I could swear I’ve read somewhere that you can’t feel pain when you’ve ingested an entire handle of rum in a three hour time span. I don’t feel sorry for her, anyway; all I can think about is that if she throws up on my leather seats, I’ll roll the window up with her neck in it.

I don’t usually drive drunk, but you’ve got to try everything once, right? Okay, that was not funny. You don’t have to tell me twice that those last few drinks should’ve been water, or that I should’ve designated a driver. Who are we kidding? Nobody wants to stay sober on New Years. I just need to stay focused on keeping myself awake. The soft breeze and rain drops hit the left side of my face and I grip the steering wheel with both hands, driving slowly on the slippery concrete; black, and full of muddy slush.

She peers up slightly from the window “es rainin’ allo’er my face.” she says, slurring.
I’m convinced that we’ll crash if I take my eyes off of the road, so I don’t look at her.
“Good, maybe It’ll rinse the drunk off and you can drive us home.” I say, irritated.
I’m not mad at her, I’m just concentrated on getting us home safely.
I begin to make a list of New Years resolutions and say them aloud.
Think of a better Halloween costume.
Keep better track of my socks.
Learn to play the cello.
Stop leaving my laundry in the dryer.
Learn Japanese. No, German. No, Spanish.
Yeah, Spanish is practical. I could learn Spanish, easy.

I realize my road is coming up soon, and I nudge her. She is unresponsive, but I decide to leave her alone until we pull up into my driveway. I just know that one of my neighbor’s cats is going to run out in the middle of the road when I look away. I always joke about hitting those cats, but I don’t really want to. God, my road seems so long.

I pull her out of the car. My shirt is soaked from her leaning on me, but that’s the last thing I’m worried about. It is difficult to walk for her when I can barely walk for myself. I fumble with my key in the lock and finally open my door. We drag our feet along, shushing our footsteps on the green carpet as we walk to the bathroom. I help her undress and give her some clothes to change into. I insist on wiping off of the toilet seat before she lays her head on it. Just as I’m about to leave, she peers up sleepily.
“You know what my New Years resolution is?” She asks.
“No, I don’t.”
“To get a new hobby.”
I laugh.
“But not tonight.” She mumbles. “Tonight I’m going to fall asleep by your toilet.”
“Okay” I tell her.
“Happy New Years to you, too.”

Winter dies the same way every spring

I always like to pretend I like movies that don't have happy endings. Most of the time, I prove myself wrong. If there isn't at least a tiny ray of hope shining at me at the end, I am generally displeased. (There are some exceptions, I'm not too awful all the time) Basically, my girlish- heart is so predictable. I've begun to write again, not only for my class, but for myself. It feels nice. My headaches have returned, but I am keeping myself optimistic, (with excedrin migraine in my purse, and sunglasses handy) and have made it my never ending mission to make sure that the only air that enters my lungs is saturated with hope. I like being alive. I like eating egg salad subs from publix, I like buying construction paper in the craft store for clever ideas i'll never carry out, and I will never stop yelling small stories, bad jokes and sorrows, though my voice will ache to yell many more. I like being alive.

also, I just noticed that my last two posts have had pictures of people looking upwards. Weird, huh? I must say, though, I am partial to the one in this post, with backwards binoculars and a backpack. (The cutest nephew this side of the mississippi.)

Nobody writes them like they used to

Frosted Wheats are my favorite cereal. Away from here is my favorite place. I traveled north this weekend with my lovely Rachel Lee to stay up entirely too late and take mediocre pictures. It was most certainly a nice change from doing homework and going to work. In other news... I definitely don't have a tiled picture of John Krasinski as my computer background. I'm going to do something productive during my spring break next week. Maybe.

Knock so I'll know you're still there, half listening, interpreting the air.

I made a goal a few sundays ago to wake up early enough to venture to the farmer's market with my sister and my mother. Of course, I was sleepy- but it's not often that I get to have my say in the picking out of our produce for the week. (It's the little things that do it for me, guys.) I usually just cook with it. I feel like it's cheating to take pictures of pretty produce. It's already delectable-looking, so it doesn't take much of an artistic eye to get a flattering picture of it.

In other news, I like the earth. Though I don't know if anyone realizes how difficult it is to tell grocery stores you do not want a bag. This is not an interesting post. It's all about the produce, peeps.

My war paint is sharpie ink

When I was younger, I went to a lot of summer camps. Mostly, my mother did it to keep my social life interesting during the summer instead of letting me stay inside all day reading about the civil war. She would have me fill out my own forms, and in the "race" column, she would have me check the "other" box and write human in the provided blank. My mother has never liked that question, and I loved the idea. I had all of my friends doing it. We were real activists.

It seems so much easier and more comfortable to be passionate about other people's beliefs when you are younger. My little spongy brain so hungry, so addicted to whatever people I looked up to were feeding it. It's strange when I think about the person i'm molding into. A person able to make their own decisions and follow their own belief system. I think that my sponge has turned into a pretty good head on my shoulders, and my heart is strong and gentle. My thoughts and words are powerful. I like the person i've become. That's such a good feeling.