Rainbow Pie

Do you remember gym class in elementary school when the slightly androgynous, white haired teacher who swished and swooshed with every move she made in her Adidas track outfit would pull out the oversized tarp that was sectioned to look like a flat rainbow pie? One slice of the giant cloth was dark green, the next blue, the next red, the next bright yellow. Ms. Martin would lead all of her little waddling students who would form a human chain to the blacktop on the nicest of spring days. Then she would unfold the tarp on the sparkling asphalt to reveal tiny holes at the edge of the rainbow pie for all of the tiny hands to cling to. On the count of three, knuckles turning white with anticipation, you raise the pie to the sky, hurry underneath and wait for the wind to gently carry it down around your shoulders. For the six whole seconds you're waiting for the foreign touch of the soft cotton cloth on your shoulders, you take notice of the small bursts of warm sun coming through the worn holes. All of your classmates huddled together, exploding with smiling innocence blush with blue and yellow. And then it happens. The quiet parachute lands, tiptoeing on the highest points of your exposed skin, winding all the way around. Hugging you, the rainbow pie is everything you could want. Colorful, thrilling and a gentle touch.

More then ten years later, the rainbow pie is entering my life once again, except this time I can hug him back without having the fragile tarp collapse between my squeeze. Everything is in the open with this, stretched out on the blacktop exposed. I hold his hand in mine, knuckles turning white with satisfaction. When I quick run under the tarp as its suspended high in the sky, the sun breaks through the openings. However this natural light comes to me in the form of his jokes, warm on my neck. And his energy, reflecting vibrant blue and yellow on my cheeks. As we lay, blankets guarding our legs, his hands fall to me, fingers tiptoeing through my hair and down the side of my face, winding all the way around. This is everything I could want.

Metafive

She ran swift with particular steps being careful as to not splatter mud onto her fresh whites. The cold November rain acted as a sheet, suffocating her lungs every time she inhaled. "Breathe deeper," the young woman told herself each time the faucet in the sky would open up. She had wished that which ever God controlled such things would cut her some slack and turn the hot water on for a few minutes, that way she could relax and wash away the chill. Little did she know the Plumbing God was away on vacation and the hot water heater was broken. All she could do was run, swiftly. Without messing up her shoes cause they were her last pair of whites and they kind of go good with a lot of outfits. So she ran. For three weeks. Just as the icy sheet began to form a noose around the young woman's neck that began spiraling up around her face, she was able to see a sliver of light coming from a new house off the side of the road. Overjoyed to find cover, the young woman approached the home with caution, nervous as to what might be inside. Pushing open the door, the young woman was greeted with everything familiar, starting with two tall Starbucks beverages sitting on the coffee table. One Chai Tea Latte and one seasonal Peppermint Mocha. The tiny quirks and accents of the open room seemed to set it apart from any other house she'd ever been in before. A tiny replica of a Rolls-Royce sat on a shelf next to a ripped first edition of On the Road. Although nobody else appeared to be in the house, the young woman felt like someone was sharing the space with her. She was comfortable.

Still shivering from the heavy rain, the young woman walked over to the ready fireplace, lit a match and let the chill fade away. As the orange glow lit up the entire downstairs, the young woman stripped out of her layers and settled down on the fringed rug that welcomed the heat. Stretched out on the plush carpet, she let her fingers run through the tassels at the edge until both her hands and the fringe became tangled. Holding hands with the rug, she felt sheltered.

At five in the morning, the young woman woke from her temporary slumber, fingers still knotted in the hands of the carpet. She followed the obvious luminescence from the window to the back porch. The hard rain had disappeared hours before taking the burden with it. All the young woman saw when she stepped into the air was her breath fogging up her vision and a dizzy moon. With the same hand that held onto the carpet so tight, the young woman kissed the giddy night. All was right.

Assembly Line

I've been putting off writing anything because I wanted something great to happen first. But nothing great has happened. Not even anything good. The past three weeks I haven't been able to breathe. I don't find any time to do what I want because all I have time for is class, homework, class again, homework again and dinner. At least I can eat. And nap (not the sleep kind). This shit blows. I wanna liveeeeee motherfucker. Not do homework 24/7. And I think since I constantly reject hangouts, I've started to slowly turn friends away. You know goddamn well I don't want that. About an hour ago, I entered a funk and I have no idea how to escape. On top of that, Maxey diagnosed me and I have a disorder. I've had the disorder since I can remember. Raw. I'm fucked. Stay away from me!

Things that aren't premium:
- TWO offers that I can't do anything about because I am too considerate. I am the WRONG person to do this to, assholes.
- Volcanoes on my face.
- I can't breathe.
- Remember when I used to twist wave? STOP BEING A DICKHOLE WHO CAN'T KEEP IT IN HIS PANTS!! >:o
- May is right around the corner... I can think of three reasons why I will cry. No more teenager, that time when you graduate and I will miss everything you are and how you've become one of my closest, most special friends! and that time that the other one will graduate and he won't know how great it could have been.

black slacks.

I don't feel like writing. So much has happened since I last said anything but nothing seems poetic enough to tell about. Ooohh, except the POETRY event I attended... :) That's poetic, right? That Saturday was incredible. Everything was perfect from the weather to the words to the crepes to sitting in the backseat effin' up da seatbelts. I wish I could relive that day and that night. I'm not feeling any metaphors. I'm not necessarily sleepy, I just think my head isn't in it right now. It was. And now it's not. Everytime I go on any website or even look to my left, I see a Free People magazine or ad and I'm reminded that I have no money to afford beautiful clothes like that in the magazine. But then I'm reminded again that I am unique and wear weird clothes that don't cost a lot and that puts me at ease. I want to go camping this weekend so I can at least say I did it and it didn't involve my parents. I can be an adult in the woods. I lied. I'm sleepy. I'm growing closer to friends and falling away from others.

Metafour

I gotta get over this funk. This obstacle. There are other roads out there if only I'd allow myself to follow them. I would like to think I've been on a dirt path this whole time, unaware of what might be in front of me. Woods all around with old gravel and dust kicking up under my shoes. I kinda like the idea of not knowing what old house this dirt path leads to. A house with twenty-five rooms, all waiting for me to open the doors and expose the secrets. A home with grass growing so tall, strangling the ideas from leaking out into the real world. I can't help that I feel more comfortable taking the risk. I feel obligated to take care of the overgrown grass and open every door to every room because maybe the house will understand that I'm the one who holds the right size key and the proper lawn mower. This house may be racked with termites eating away at the wooden beams keeping the structure intact, but I'd almost rather take the plunge with the support. I could choose to travel down the newly paved road because it's safe and has reflectors on the broken lines. It'll lead to a newly furnished house with a good sense of humor and a substantial library. Even though the house is secure with the thermostat set at a comfortable temperature, the bedroom doors are all open and a pile of fresh grass clippings sit clumped together by the garbage can. The mystery isn't there and neither are the butterflies.

I'm not finished.

You.

I have adjusted.
I'm not happy.
I don't do my work to the best of my ability.
I have Kanye West singing to me.
I've got bruises on my shins.
I have an empty stomach.
I developed a sense for scary dreams.
I've developed a sense for dreams with signs.
I wear more mascara.
I bit the skin around all my fingers because I'm stressed.
I have a band-aid on one finger.
I have lower abdominal cramps.
I have friends.
I know how to art.
I don't know how to speak up in class.
I do know how to hug those I love.
I have Journey singing to me.
I have a sense of humor.
I have a personality.
I have to poop.
I put twenty pounds of clay on my face yesterday.
I want to have more.
I have too much.
I, I, I.
You, You, You.
Me.

Amber Waves and Spacious Skies

Just in case.... I am slightly dizzy right now. After having re-read two very insightful and inspirational letters from a stranger and a good friend, I sat up to a wobbly, unstable world. I think maybe just a lot of blood cells swam up to my brain all at once. That might have been because I was hanging over my bed upside down, mimicking a cave dwelling mammal while I was reading said letters. But either way, I'm a bit dizzy, and really cold. I hope I haven't contracted any sicknesses since I've returned to school cause that would just be one hell of a Debbie Downer. The icy rain today managed to soak through every layer of me, and I think I can conclude that it is at least partly the reason for my permanent shiver.

Last weekend I went to a carnival with Ryan and about ten other fantastic people. That was the kind of fun I was looking for, exactly. Three hours before I departed in the back of Matt's car with Ryan riding shotgun, I had no idea what the night would hold for me. But then Ryan and Rose let me in on the happenings of the carnival/firework combo that was only about twenty minutes away from FDU. I went on a journey with Ryan to the Himalaya, ya know, the ride that goes in a circle super fast so that you end up with half of your ass on the other person's lap, all the while loud club music is bouncing off of the flashy neon lights that are bouncing off of your fixed grin. It was almost as good as challenging Elyse, Rose and Shawnsy to the Sizzler. The fireworks were the best part of the night, however. In honor of Labor Day, the overcrowded carnival placed on firm ground decided to shoot off a half hour worth of pyrotechnics. Patriotic sounds blasted over the loudspeakers as all the rides stopped turning and as colors blew up the sky. In the beginning, the worked fire was nothing impressive, but after about three minutes, a beautiful array of yellow starbursts and blue fading crackles made their way into each and everyone's reflected gaze. We made references all night to The Sandlot, especially when "America the Beautiful" came on and we all felt just as humble as Squints as he looked up at the magic booming in the sky.

So far, this second year of school is aight in my book. There are some friends who I'm disappointed in for their lack of contact. There is one person I'm disappointed in for lack of contact. But that person is doing enough to keep me hanging on. Let's just hope I don't hang for too long before something amazing happens. Other than that, classes can suck it but my lovely bunch of weird friends do not have to. Also, I absolutely LOVE meeting new people. I have been meeting and connecting with people so often and I don't think I could ask for anything better than that.

You Are Beautiful.

Sweet on Grinding?

It's my second night as a sophomore. I can get used to this. I made the transition from eighteen year old to nineteen year old not too long ago, I don't think the switch to a second year college student should be difficult. Remember when I said I was going to have a roommate that I didn't know, except she lived above me and Sam last year? Well, she's not my roommate. When I arrived, heaving and ho-ing with cargo in tow I saw that the print out on the door had the three sets of girls in our suite. Except next to my name was 'Nadine.' Hmmm.. that's weird. Kimberly & Nadine. That name sounds oddly familiar. Probably because it's my middle name and the RA who typed up the room sheet was confused and thought my middle name was my roommate. So for now, I'm livin' it up as a single gal in the middle room of our suite. I threw up (yuck!) some posters and my collages and also my small string of Christmas lights. Cause I don't sleep in the dark. Also though, if everything goes well in Residence Life, after two weeks I'm going to try to switch into the Maxey/Sam/Dana/Jess/Julie suite two buildings away. They are my friends and I think I would much rather be with friends than secluded in a suite of juniors from a sorority. Either way, I'm happy though. These rooms are cool and for the two week freeze period, I'ma enjoy this freedom. Funny thing... the same thing happened last year and then the best possible situation occurred. Sam became my roommate. So I'm going to stay positive.

I'm happy about all the hugs I've been receiving. I like all my friends a lot. Even more when they hug me. Except when Isaac hugs me and puts his sweaty arm nook on my neck. GROSS. But I think it's great that I get to see so many familiar faces once again. It's great that the new faces have arrived as well. I see girls who look confused walking through the cafeteria and instantly I'm reminded of the first week when finding who to sit with was a challenge. A lot of the time I sat alone with a book in hopes that someone would strike up a conversation with me about how wilted the lettuce is or how they hope they can switch into their friend's bio class. That usually never happened. This year, I'm going to be keeping an eye out for the girl sitting in the back of the cafeteria with a book, waiting.

I just got done reading a letter Ryan wrote me. There is this incredible she man grunting in the photograph on the cover of the card. His eyes are highlighted by black eyeliner and sparkling silver eyeshadow. His 'ferocious floozy' lipstick accentuates his three day old beard and nicotine stained rotting teeth. His natural dark sideburns poke their way through the fire engine red straw wig he has perched on his head. From the creases in his face and the crows feet developing around his eyes, I'd say he was at least forty-two. And he is beautiful. Not as beautiful as the letter Ryan wrote. It is raw and true. Did I ever tell her (you) that I'm glad I'm your (her) friend? Cause I really am. Moments like this card and me meeting her other roommate who has heard so much about me means that we are real friends. The second Ryan meets my friends, she'll find out that I have only good things to say about her adorable clothes and awesome taste in LIFE! :) Ryan, you are absolutely correct. It is an incredible feeling to know that there are people out there who can trust one another without even having the pleasure of meeting. And that is exactly why I am going to re-read the letter from on the road once again before I retire super early into dream land.

The Good:

-I was complimented on my red acid washed jeans 4 times today. Rumor has it, people thought my jeans were from American Apparel or Urban. Nope. Neither. Macy's :) Also, two girls I've never met before told me I looked ready to curb stomp someone!

-My hair was successful with all of her bobby pins and necklace as a headband lovin'.

-These peanuts that I can't stop eating.

-Hugs.

The Not-So-Good:

-The belly ache I have acquired from eating a spicy buffalo chicken wrap and the damn door to the bathroom that seems to always be propped open.

-Cuts from shaving in the tiny shower. I will never grasp the hang of the showering here. Now I have scratchy legs and band-aids.

Old beginnings and split ends

One day and fourteen hours and I'm bustin' on out of Mount Laurel. It's semi-sweet. Like the chocolate chips that I put in my homemade cookies. I'll savor it but I might drop some crumbs along the way. Why do I make such retarded comparisons? My departure for Fairleigh Dickinson University is much needed but I feel a different sort of connection to my home at this point in time. I've finally arranged my living quarters the way I want it to be. To the left to the left is an enormous mounted paper plate with it's gigantic potato chips from my eleventh grade art major assignment. Every where I turn, there are Kim drawings, paintings and posters that make my 'That 70's Color' yellow wall paint humble itself. I like this situation but I know that being back at Fairleigh, living partly on my own, will be once again a fantastic experience. Even if it's kinda hard for me to comprehend right now...

I saw Taking Woodstock last night with Jill, Jordan and Stina. It was a successful movie. I don't see myself ever growing out of the phase where I wish I spent three days in hippie splendor rolling around in mud or building human totem poles just to see Hendrix rip it or Joe Cocker convulse 'With A Little Help From My Friends.' The clothes in the movie were the shit and even though the film focused very little on the concert itself, and more on the process of assembling the festival, I was very pleased with the film. It was a super fantastic way to end the summer. Emile Hirsch and the hippie homefront <3

There isn't much else to say. I don't think I'll have time to sit down and do this tomorrow so that's why I'm doing it today. I have one more friend to say goodbye to tomorrow and then I'll be good. Last year, said friend (LEIGH-ANN!) spent a few hours on my couch with me late into the night before I left. We watched dumb youtube videos and hugged a lot. I don't think that'll happen this year since we already know that we're not leaving for good, just for a few months. AND WE HAVE SKYPE SO WE'RE DOING IT AT LEAST ONCE A WEEK! oooh la laaa :) Anywhoo, I'm pretty much packed save for my clothes being put into their orange and purple baskety thingys. But it's all set out on the table so all that needs to happen tomorrow is the folding and placing. And then I'll also have to get everything into the carSUVtruck. And Oma, my grandmama, is staying with us for the week. Rather, she's staying with Emily and my mom cause like I said, I'm scootin' in a day. She has been over generous with her checkbook and for that, HOLLA! :) She's cool too, cause she sways to Lil' Wayne when I make mixed cds and put them on in the carSUVtruck. Ladies is pimps, too. Go on and brush those shoulders off, Oma!

Things to look forward to for the first week of school:
-SEEING MY FRIENDS! HELL YESSSSS. There are a lot of people I've spoken to this summer but haven't seen in a long ass time. I'm glad I can see their bright bubbling faces again!
-Sam Party in her suite with the ladies ;) and then moving it over to Sam's castle to meet up with the boyzzz. God I'm excited. Sammy K. knows how to throw a shindig and I think I'm especially going to love this one!
-Development of Art II on Thursday. There will be better topics and hopefully a better professor. If for some reason that horrible woman haunts this art class, I'm switching majors to Accounting :/
-The cafe food.... Bahaha, just kidding. Only the Cap'n Crunch.

That's it, guys. Even though summer won't officially end until the autumnal equinox on September 22, the spirit of summer will be coming to a close for another year. Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a more secure summer. I had a good one, 2009. THANKS, BOO! :)

As the lightning bugs gradually burn out

There are only four more full days of summer left for me. This summer has been the longest I've ever experienced. May 15th to September 1st is a hell of a long time to be cut off from the learning process. Summer used to be my favorite time of year. It meant no more math or science classes and I could frequent the Larchmont Swim club as often as I wanted. All I'd have to do is walk next door and get Sarah and Ayah, and after a few years, Farris, and we'd be ready to walk half a mile to the pool. The summer was more than just no school and adequate pool, however. It was lightning bugs and rollerblades and carnival shows and soccer between our two houses and burning leaves with magnifying glasses and that crazy Mr. Softee jingle. It isn't really as special anymore but I don't think it'll ever lose it's magic.
ANYWHOO, I have four days left before I leave for school. Most of my friends from the Laurel bush have gone back to their respective colleges. Last night we bid Chrissy farewell, even though she's commuting to her Moore College of Art and Design in Fill-uh. We sipped Chai Tea lattes with a new friend outside of the Starbucks as the sun fell and the bugs came about. It's fun that she's not living on campus this year, but she'll still be 30 minutes away from us now that she moved :/ So all that's left to skeedaddle is Leigh-Ann, Jill and I. If you were curious about my packing skillz,...well I'm not very good at it. Some of the essentials I need to take with me (contact solution, shaving cream, q-tips) are chillin' on my dresser right now waiting for me to find a nice box to shove them in. They're going to have to wait a tad longer though cause I'm in the process of figuring out the clothes I would be willing to pack. I made a promise to myself a few days ago. I promised that I wouldn't bring as much shit as I had last year. I over compensated and it wasn't good. This year, I'll leave a lot home and if Mama T has to come bring me shit the next weekend, then that would make for a better situation. And good news, I organized all of my art supplies so now that's out of the way :)
In other news, I'm not bringing my television. Not right away at least. See, a few weeks ago I found out where I was living. I was placed in a suite with a roommate I've never met before but she lived in my building last year. I'm always open for new experiences and meeting new people. But I have no idea who the other 4 girls in the suite will be. They are unknown. EXCITING! Except I don't know if these girls plan on bringing stuff like a common room tv. Who knows, but I'm very much considering switching to the Maxey/Sam/Dana/Jess/Julie suite after two weeks like I had originally planned from the beginning. I'll see how it goes in this suite with new people. I like the idea that I have a room and I'm not going to have to pitch a tent under a tree.
It's the nicest weather right now. The windows are open and my swirly closet curtain is fluttering. It feels like it could be 75 degrees. I'm officially in love... with the weather. bahaha

RECAP!
-Number of times I watched Into the Wild this summer(not necessarily in its entirety): 23.
-Number of micron and sharpies to art with: 6.
-Number of beach trips: 3... fuck that. I'm not happy about it.
-Number of new bedrooms: 1.
-Collages created: 4.
-Hair in inches: I don't know, but it's getting longggg!
-Books read: 6.
-Days off from school: 109?
-Friends: Yup. I got 'em. And I love 'em!

I will write another entry before my departure on Tuesday morning. Until then, I'm going to be packing and singing/dancing/gyrating along to Girl Talk. buhhhbye.

<3 Thank you for being a friend.

Wet Hot American Summer

I can't sleep. I want to sleep, but right now there is a storm a-hatchin'. Actually, the storm's been hatched. It's in it's full on chicken stage now almost to the part where the bird runs around aimlessly without a head. Loud ass lightning and bright ass thunder. I like it but I kind of want to go to sleep without being jolted awake every twenty-eight seconds. Regardless, it's beautiful. The after shock makes my tiny red townhouse feel like it's going to rumble right on off of it's foundation and slide down the forty-five degree angle that is my driveway right on into the black river of pavement. Then it'll float to the stop sign at the end of the street before signaling left onto Larchmont Boulevard. All the while, the storm will continue to scramble around headless, screaming and painting the sky white with it's electric blood.

There was a farewell Jillparty/JessHock birthday party tonight. Dancing to oldies, newsies and in-betweensies. At one point, once the partaay stopped being wicked, we popped in Wet Hot American Summer and Stina couldn't stop laughing at Paul Rudd's jerkoff acting. She actually couldn't stop laughing at all, but that might not have been from the movie and it may have just been a lot of Mango Juice. My Shannon friend was there except she couldn't drink anything cause her face was swollen from that time she had her wisdom teeth taken out like two days ago. But she was still adorable and made cake with thick sprinkles and she took lots of pictures of me looking like a hot mess. I made a card for Jess that had a magazine cutout of a woman holding a 1st place ribboned pie that I stuck on top of a magazine cutout of a salty cracker. At the top of the card, I wrote "Jessica, I hope your birthday is a winner. Love, Kimberly" She really enjoyed the message and for that, I am glad. The main reason for the party though was because Kelsey and JessHock leave for their caledges on Sunday. That's tomorrow. In a little over twenty-four hours, two of my girls will be thrown back into their other lives. Where they read for pleasure, but more for assignment. Where they begin their second year of a higher education, leaving only two more full years before life. Besides Leigh-Ann cause her school starts in the middle of September, everyone including myself will be going back to school within the next two weeks. I'm excited but now I'm going to miss home! Remember that time I wanted to stay at school forever? I kind of like home right now BUT STILL I want to be surrounded by good people at FDU and I need to start learning again. I'm happy. But nervous.

The storm has died down. Maybe the chicken has bled out and that's why the storm stopped yelling. This is a prime opportunity to sleep. My stomach doesn't feel too hot right now, what with all these "see-ya" hugs and red Solo cups. I will head to bed :) but I will definitely write more before I quit summer.

"From the Road..."

I didn't think it was possible to have my mood change so drastically in only a matter of about 15 hours. Wednesday night was not anywhere near premium for me, especially since I chose to watch an HBO documentary a mother made about her 15 year old son's suicide. I decided to watch that instead of Shark Week. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was sitting there for two hours to watch this documentary. It's just a bad idea in general to watch those types of programs because not only does it not have a happy ending, but the entire time I'm watching this vibrant boy turn his depression on and off, I'm comparing friends and over thinking way too much. So the result wasn't exactly great and after the show, the night was just a barrel of shitty shit. But then around 1 o'clock the next day, everything changed. Usually I don't receive a lot of mail. It's most often addressed to Rachael, but rarely ever Kimberly. But on Thursday, there was a bulky envelope, obviously containing something valuable, with my name tattooed in the center. However, the name in the upper left hand corner wasn't really a name that I'm familiar with. Andrew (last name not necessary). The postmark was dated August 4 from North Carolina. Even though I don't know this Andrew personally, I knew exactly what it was doing in the pile of mail.

Let me paint y'all a purty pitcher. Adam, newly graduated from Fairleigh, went on a summer road trip across America with a couple of his closest buddies. Prior to leaving school, he made this massive facebook group that detailed this trip and their planned whereabouts. Of fucking course I'm going to join because you know I'm in love with the idea of escaping. So Andrew sent out a message from the page saying that if anyone would be interested in getting a letter from the road, to send him our name and addresses and it's better if we don't know each other. PERFECT! cause that was exactly the kind of interaction I was looking for. Didn't know Andrew, barely know Adam, yet I was giving my address to him so I could be included if only through paper in this Great American Adventure. I kept my expectations at a minimum because I figured I would be last on the list for a letter, seeing as how friends and family would probably get a letter faster than some chick who doesn't even know these guys. Turns out, I was last on the list! Well when I opened the letter from Andrew, I found nine handwritten pages full of everything I would have ever wanted to hear. This letter, written from the kitchen table of a friend's apartment in the Outer Banks of North Carolina was created on day sixty-three. That was how long the trip was going to last but now it'll be a little longer. I'm the letter that was written on "the last day." (Except not really cause there will be another one to a friend on the way home. But still)

I only know Andrew through this letter and what I've been reading on their sporadic blog. I know that he is a beautiful writer and I know that drawing comparisons to Kerouac is very acceptable. I was actually thinking that Andrew might possibly be Kerouac's reincarnated soul and this letter that I received was just an extension from On the Road. Sure, it's 50 years late, but it's always possible! As beautiful as Andrew's bloated letter is, and as much as it deserves to be shared with the world, I kinda would rather focus on the point behind the letter and what I got out of it. Besides the mesmerizing detail of their trip from the previous four days, this letter confirms my prior thought that humans are an incredible reason to live and interact and squish and love and lalala and everything and anything else. Even though it's really only ma bi'ness, the letter allowed for raw, real, gentle and awesome emotions. I can't express how happy I am. When I think about him writing this letter, never having said a word to me but still feeling the urge to write what he did and how he did, I am amazed. He ran out of notebook paper, so he wrote on the back of Google Map directions. And when he ran out of that, he wrote on paper with cocker spaniels. Just thinking of that makes me smile because some might consider writing a shortened version of whatever he or she felt like saying when it has been determined that the paper supply is dwindling. Yet Andrew wrote on old directions and then narrow, grocery list paper just so he could finish his thoughts. He wasn't going to let his story go untold because of a silly thing like no paper. How fucking beautiful. This is exactly what I've been looking for. The unexpected interaction with the unexpected feel good content and smiling. I wrote him a thank you/introductory letter. I've never met someone through a letter before, but my hope is that he finds what I said and returns with more insight into his own character. Maybe on their way back from Colorado (surprise adventure trip), South Jersey or Philadelphia will be included in the journey, cause I'm totes down for meeting Andrew in person! I am absolutely in love with this letter and strangers and ideas and of course, adventure. This was the best turn around. But I'm still going to wonder, Andrew, why was I the last letter? He said he remembers flipping through the addresses and having his finger fall onto my name sixty-three days prior to writing the letter as he sat in the backseat of the car. But why me?... Why was I so special? Even if I never find out, I'll always love that this happened.

I'm going to pull a Miranda July. Along with this in depth, life questioning stuffs, I am really curious who reads my blog. I have four people who 'follow' me but I know them all (cept one). But that totally doesn't mean that lots of others haven't discovered me and use me as therapy for a bad day at work. Or when they need to take their life, compare it to mine and determine that things ain't so shitty for themselves and hopefully it's not the other way around. I just wanna know if only a few of my friends are checkin' this out or if lotz of strangers are reading this as well. After the letter from Andrew with all of his incredible thoughts and personal connections and gah!, I don't think it's that far fetched to figure this out. So I think it would be really awesome if you would leave a comment or email me at knt52990@yahoo.com and just say "Taste the Rainbow." And that's all you have to say. Cause when you do, I'll immediately know that I'm not just addressing my close friends (Sandra, You don't have to comment. bahaha!) but I'm addressing those I have yet to meet. If you want, it can be anonymous, but it doesn't have to be. Either way, it'll be comforting to know that strangers are connected to me.

I'm happy and excited that people are good.

Airport Road

Why is it that I feel everyday has to include rain? I look at the weather channel and the only two things I'm concerned about are what time the sun will rise and if rain is in the forecast. If a storm is making it's way through South Jerz, I can anticipate a royal day for myself. On Sunday, I thought fo' sho' a tornado was erupting. One minute the sky was light gray with the hint of a drizzle and the next, black and blue contused clouds were moving on in. But behind the busted clouds, there was this bizarre backdrop. It was the color of tropical waters, the submerged plant life sending waves of green pigment to the calm, blue surface. When I was younger, I heard that when a tornado threatened to rip through the earth, the sky would turn an intense shade of green. I wonder if my luminous sky had been preparing for anything besides opening it's squeaky hinges to let the rain wash away the bird poop from the windshields.

I think I'm trying to match the weather with me. Normally, I don't give a shit about matching (we're talkin' clothes here, homes) but in this case, I think I want the outside world to identify with my inside world. It's not that I'm sad or depressed or lonely or damp. It's just overbearing sunshiney goodness isn't exactly how I'm feeling right now. I'm tuckered out. How's that term for ya? I was trying to find the oldest sounding synonym for tired and I think I did. Only with the help of Laura Ingalls Wilder, of course! Now when I say tired (tuckered out) I don't mean sleepy. Just fed up with being left out in the cold. Even though it's summer and the temperature never dips below 70 degrees, I'm still being forgotten. The biggest problem?... I don't know how to tell you that I am a god damn good listener. I wanna know about your day, about your life, your experiences. But until you realize that I have two perfectly good ears, a functioning brain and a heart with an abundance of room, there ain't no way to crack your crunchy outer coating. And this shit will just keep eating away at me. Which pisses me off. Do you know I'm trying to listen or are you intentionally keeping our chats to "I'm good, and you?" Open up. Let the rain pour out of your squeaky hinges. Wash me away like bird poop. ..... too far?.... :/ Not even sure if he reads my words. I hope he does.

Last night, Stina, Popie, Sam and I decided at 8:30 to drive more than an hour to Seaside and sit on tablecloths in the sand. On our way down the long, winding roads we belted out every song you can think of. Mixtures of Queen, Guns & Roses, Celine, Snoop, Hanson and so many more. It was so beautiful. All in all, we spent about 2.5 hours just singing/screaming with the windows open and the moonlight shining in the car windows. But the beach. It was probably the best idea we could have had last night in the midst of our boredom. It was spontaneity to the max and a bitchin' time. We layed with our bellies to the moon all like little kids and made animals out of wispy cloud formations. We connected the three stars we could see in the sky only because the other 4 billion were being drowned by boardwalk light pollution. We dipped our feet in the ocean water and found out that the sand was extra soggy. I didn't even take three steps once I reached the foaming sea before the sand swallowed my legs and the water reached halfway up my thigh. I don't care if it reached up to my neck, I was enjoying myself thoroughly. This is the kind of summer adventure I want to surround myself with. Yes.

And Dat's All I Know!

Whoa! 2 weeks is a long time not to be on da blah-guh. But alas, lots of good times and bitchin' memories, yo. I think the only thing worth seriously talking about is my trip to visit the Statue of Ryan (Liberty). All of Friday and a good chunk of Saturday was spent in New York City with Ryan and I'm so god damn happy it was able to happen. There were definitely at least 6 variables in the mix (i.e. lack of the dough, lack of the car, getting around other plans, etc.) but in the end, I was able to hop on the 9:21 train by myself, which happens to be the first time I'd been on a train without others, and arrive at NY's Penn Station at approximately 10:28 a.m. EST. We had the best reunion in the friggin' world. When I spotted her, I did this childish hop thing. Twas silly, but very appropriate for not having seen her since the middle of May. After exchanging proper greetings and "How have YOU been?!"s, we were off to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. What an incredible place. Arriving there, I was told about the exquisite Francis Bacon exhibit that was currently on display. Jesus Christ, that man was awesome with his art straight from a horror film. It's just everytime I say his name out loud, I can't help but to pretend he is the much, much older brother of Kevin. Ya know... Kevin Bacon. Perhaps he was the founder of the Bacon Brothers! (What a silly bunch of musician brothers) Anyway, we scooted around the museum from time period to time period. My favorite section is probably anything with the word Caravaggio in it. And all the effed up feet! That was disgusting. Next time you find yourself in a museum with fancy statues of people, glance at the feet cause in most cases, the toes are hideous :/

After more than 3 hours at the Met, Ryan and I made our way to get sandwiches. We both got Zorbas. While eating, we people watched. It got slightly creepy when some man who was smoking 2 cigarettes and seemed high on "life" started to stare at random women. At the Hungarian bakery next door, we both decided that peeing would be premium. In the tiny little one toilet bafroom, there were about 3,000 writings, quotes, and life stories. It was beautiful reading all of them. I'm glad Ryan wrote her Joe Strummer quote but I'm slightly unhappy that I didn't throw a quote up there. Oh well. I know the exact quote I would have used, too. So after peeing and Zorba-ing, we went across the street to the most beautiful piece of architecture on the planet Earth. St. John's Cathedral. What the hell?! And I was overwhelmed just looking at the insane carving and intricate handiwork on the outside of the structure. But after entering and immediately breaking my neck to glance up at the barrel vaults and beautiful stained glass, I was on a whole other level of impressed. Being surrounded by such a brilliantly tall and divine cathedral is one hell of a way to make one feel defeated. In my 19 years of existence, what is it that I've done that could possibly measure up to the umpf of building something so staggering? The sense of accomplishment that the people who helped create this structure must have been astounding. Even though I don't identify with religion, it was an incredible way to spend part of my afternoon. Floating from room to room with Ryan, touching the glittering stone, getting down on the cushiony knee rest to send a "What Up? Create any miracles lately?" to Gawd, and reading birthday cards to the deceased was a fantastic and humbling experience. I'm excited to go to the Winter Solstice celebration and listen for dawn.

We went to Ryan's neck of the woods, Teh Village, after all the other godly and arty stoof. Washington Square Park was necessary. Saw young children playing in the fountain, witnessed a starving magician insult an 8 year old boy, tripped over dogs and heard guitars all in a very short period of time. We went to Urban only to have 12 year olds insult Ryan's outfit. The little bitches!...Who the hell do they think they are? They don't even have their grown up teeth yet! We did a lot of cute stuff too. Like heard the strangest dog bark from an infant canine. We also talked in Ukrainian accents for a while. How awesome. Then we went back to her house. SWEET BABY JESUS. Ryan, I love your house. It's awesome and eclectic and it smells cute. We listened to She & Him over again while washing dishes. Then we ate dinner and talked about our day. THIS WAS THE BEST PART OF MY LIFE. The entire time we ate our dinner, we pretended to be Loretta and Loreta, two of Staten Island's finest. We immediately became our creative selves and beefed up our best accents to fit with our acts. "Three ex husbands... I wanted to push him unda a bus"..."I like the sound my finga'nails make on the keybawd"..."She killed an ant with her thumb. Disgusting" :) And that's really all I know.

Later that night we went out on a dock to overlook some body of water. It was choppy and Ghostbusters was playing on some big screen. But we had better things to do. Alright, we had some of the best conversation. Honestly, I love how open we were with each other Friday night. I'm super happy that you (Ryan.. you're reading this probably!) felt comfy enough to let me in on life and I'm WAY SUPER HAPPY that you were able to get ma back and provide adequate life advice. You are one awesome chick! And we noticed that as our discussion got more heated, the lightning in the distance would work up more heat as well. And as soon as we would hit a lull until the next point was to be made about unsatisfactory situations, the lightning would put on the brakes too. It was awesome cool. The rest of the night went smoothly. Ate some frozen yogurt, went back to the Ryan house, drew for each other and watched Miranda July's Me and You and Everyone We Know. I think she fell in love with the film which makes me so happy. Macaroni. We fell asleep, woke up at 11 the next morning and were back on the town about 20 minutes later! We found out that even the smallest portion of Belgian waffle with fresh fruit and melted chocolate is filling enough. We also found out that Saturday was super sweaty and gross. But we managed and found relief going into cute stores with funny cards or under awnings that would provide shade if only for 3 or 4 minutes. Saturday wasn't too eventful, but only because we had walked about 347 miles the previous day. So we took the train together back to Hamilton so Douglas could pick us up and the two of them could go camping! It was awesome and sweet that he did that, even if his new car sounds similar to an airplane taking off. :)

OVERALL, I am 112% elated that Friday and Saturday happened for us. It had been about 2 months since we'd seen each other and it was much needed. It's funny that we both thought each other was super cool before even meeting. She liked my Flight of the Conchords bag and I was in love with how she read her poetry at the open mic and how awesome she dressed! It's even funnier that we have become this close and we didn't even start hanging out until the beginning of May. Not even 3 weeks before we left for summer! If I were an outsider and was giving an award for two friends who bonded super quickly due to their AWESOMENESS, I would probably have to give it to Ryan and I. Only cause Simon & Garfunkel would be busy making albums and such. But anyway, yes. I can't wait to see you again, Ryan cause I gots dat ticket fo' free cause-a dat dumb ass who left the ticket in da machine. SWEET!

Points of Interest:
- I consumed more fruit products in the form of juices and frozen yogurt than I expected!
- On the subway, it was determined that Ryan and I would go Goodwill.....hunting one of these days. HAHA RYAN, YOU ARE PREMIUM.
- It is perfectly acceptable to severely cut your hair based on a hat. ABSOLUTELY.
- Massage your leather products with lotion. Your wallet and purse will thank you!
- "And Dat's All I Know"

"Oh, so you were the one who let the dogs out?"

Big Time Stuff. Punk Rock, Birthday Party, Bonding, Fun. It seems as if I've just made everything into a proper noun. SWEET! So I will try and recap just about everything that occurred on Saturday. So I gots maself up pretty dang early... like 7:15 I believe. I had to get all pretty and smelling fresh with my summer lotion. I had a date with the Punk Rock Flea Market and I wasn't about to go without staying classy. So I was lookin' good and feelin' fine when Kelsey got me so we could ride the train together with Chrissy. Well, when I hopped in Kelsuh's sweet ride, we noticed that our outfits were pretty much the same. A high waisted patterned skirt with a flimsy black tank. But it was all good. And the ride to Woodcrest was fabulous, we both filled one another in on hopeful situations and goals. But we had to wait like forever for Chrissuh to get her ass to the train station cause her car kept stalling :/ But she eventually arrived and all was good. OHhh except for the fact that Chrissy was wearing a high waisted skirt and a small top.... BAHAHA! We were triplets, a blond, a red head and a brunette! It was slightly embarrassing only cause Kelsey was prepared to change into purple acid washed jeans prior to knowing the three of us would look just about the exact same! But still, it was cute. So the train happened and the walking to the flea market happened after as well. It took like 20ish minutes from the train to arrive at our destination, the Starlight Ballroom. We had to walk through gunk and goop and stop for Chrissuh to get some cash monaaays. But we arrived around 10, so we made pretty good time. Chrissy's cousin Brittany met up with us too. She is such a cute girl and I absolutely adored hearing her stories about telling different boys off! She's my kinda lady :)

So anyway, the flea market. Well, as per usual, it was hot as balls. The venue that it's held at isn't exceptionally tiny. But when you cram tables upon tables and leave about 5 feet in between each aisle and then stuff about 300 people in, the hot just seems to explode from every which way. You got loud tattoos and sweaty mohawks bouncing off of poorly dressed mannequins and clothes racks. I noticed that after being in the flea market for about 20 minutes, the people didn't really tend to "bump" into each other anymore, ya know? Everyone was so summer loved (sweattttttyy) that you would kinda just slide off of the guy standing next to you to make your way to the next table set up. Gross. But anyway. My first order of business at the flea market?... the dresses! Last summer, I found my favorite dress at the flea market for $8. It's handmade and beautiful and blue and white and it feels like a paper napkin so it's also a dress that comes in handy when I spill things! But I couldn't find a dress that was cheap like my Bounty Dress :) or one with a print that I would consider putting on! So the Womyn (that's what we're called...women with a y. We're also art kidz, but that's besides the point) split up and went our separate ways in search of good buys. I looked through the shoes, found nuffin. I looked through the necklaces and earrings, found a hell of a lot but decided that $25 for fancy, unique jewelry was too much out of my wallet for the day. POOP. So I skipped that part and went looking elsewhere in the flea market. Looked through cds, records and films. My favorite part was the street art tables that were set up. I really appreciate anyone who feels it is necessary to sell their creations to others, but I didn't buy any. As much as I loved the artwork of pen and ink antelope and cityscapes, I couldn't dish out 35 bucks to buy it. Almost two hours later, the Womyn were ready to leave the sweaty goodness of the market. I ended up with a copy of Franny and Zooey by Salinger that is vintage out the ass! as well as this small over the shoulder navajo inspired woven bag. And I got about 10 free posters that are soooo well worth it. I've already cut them up and put them around my room. sooo great. So even though I thought we were done punking and fleaing, we weren't. You'll see.

So the four of us left to walk around Chinatown for a little bit. Chrissuh and Brittany wanted bubble tea and Kelsey and I were dehydrated. All the while, I was waiting for Brandon and his friends to meet me some place in Phila (preferably the flea market and preferably like 30 minutes before this point when I was telling him to come so we could reunite) So us girls stayed in China for a good while drinking bubble tea and talking about life and then B-dawg told me his location was proximal to the flea. SOO long story short, we walked back. And after becoming sweaty and frizzy again, we found each other. I had no idea that when Brandon was telling me he was with friends, that one of the friends was Doug from school! Well his old school now, cause he's not a college man anymore! BUT STILL! That was a pleasant surprise but I wish Ryan had come (I mishhh you gurl!) So I stayed around those boys for a good while to catch up and talk and mingle and lalala. Points of interest: Brandon, you have an unhealthy obsession with Will Smith. But I am glad you bought one of his movies in case you were in a pickle getting out of the ghetto and were forced to whip out the movie and show the locals you come in peace! Also, good job on the recognition of the many hip hipsters as well as the concrete definition that you displayed to Kelsey and I. So after more introductions and fun words being exchanged, I think we all decided to see each other again, which I can support 103%. I am always down for super reunions especially with people like Brandon and Doug and Ryan (you're hanging out with me soon, Ryan. NO CHOICE! also, I think you're reading this cause you told me you stalk me. I stalk you too. <3)

So that's pretty much it. For the flea market at least. We left afterwards, met up with Noam the Great and rode back with him, Stina, Katie and Sam. I forget how amazing Noam is until we actually hang out. I know he's only 15, almost 16, but he is seriously one of the coolest people in the world. Last time I was with him was over winter break when I was being Miss Trembla (the y got cut off my last name for 4 of the 5 field experience teaching name tag days!) and the entire time we talked about stupid things. This time on the train, he and I spoke about how people confuse him for Rick Moranis, probably because now that Noam's hair is blond and blue and super short, they're very similar. We also talked about art teacher Rocky and how he looks when exiting a pool. Noam thinks he looks like a wet deer. I probably agree. I loved the train ride back because I noticed a lot of people were smiling at what we were saying to each other. Guess strangers think we're funny. The after train was great...like 5 hours after. I went with Stina and Kelsey to this boy's house that went to Lenape with us. It was a joint birthday party for Katie and him. Kels, Stina and I were the only white kids there and Stina isn't even white...she's greek! Everyone else was Asian and way smarter than I'll ever be. At one point Kelsey made a remark to Stina and I that Brian the birthday boy's sister was in her math class senior year. The girl is a junior in high school. What the hell does that tell you? That we're not that smart! bahaha :) Anyway, it was a lot of fun even without knowing people. The Womyn kinda separated ourselves from the party to bring our blue drinks outside and talk about life situations again. We had a lot of blue drinks. That was the plus to being there, everything was paid for and real! And then later I basically hated life. Let me paint you a pretty picture. So it's like midnight and it's starting to rain. No biggie...but then it starts to pour. And lightning. And the three of us have to get home. So we leave around 1 regardless of the mess outside. And we're running through puddles, I'm sloshing through rivers of rain water in my porous jellies :/ at least the water goes right through. And it was interesting to hyrdroplane while my feet were in my shoes! But anyway, all is good, just soggy when Stina and I are driving back to my house. We're cranking up the Aerosmith, belting out how we don't wanna miss a thing. Then as I'm home and I get out of her car, my phone falls on the seat. I pick it up to return it to my bag but I realize that my wallet and chapstick are both missing. NOT GOOD. I look on the floor of the car, I look in the backseat, Stina searches her side. And we get nothing. At this point I'm not interested in the fact that it's raining and that I could be struck by lightning. I really didn't give a shit. I get out of the car, get down on my hands and knees in the pouring rain to search under the steats. At this point my white dress is completely drenched (haha, hey boys!) I found loads of old wrappers and pennies and gross car junk, but NO WALLET! So soaking wet from head to toe, I go inside my house and call every asian kid that I don't know to search the house for my wallet. Nobody finds it and I was about 3 inches from bawling. Anyway, I decide to look out the window just for the hell of it. I see a sliver of white and figure that I'm already drenched and pissed, who the hell cares, I wanna see what is in the street. Good news, I found my wallet and my burt's bees submerged in a puddle at the bottom of my driveway :) hahahaha woops. Moral of the story, no more blue drinks for me and I'm going to try not to tip my bag upside down anymore! Now, I'm just giving it time so my social security card can flatten out once again! That was not good, but as soon as I found it, Christina and I spent about 10 minutes just flat out laughing over the phone at how in the morning, we can call each other just to laugh at this stupid, soggy situation!

So that's pretty much it. I did say that the weekend would be pretty epic, didn't I? I am so pleased with how everything turned out. I had hopes of getting a lot more from the flea market that involved possibly a dress and sunglasses, but that didn't happen. I still had one hell of a good time and I'm really glad I went. It was worth it. And now I have an old, beat up Franny and Zooey and this itchy bag that I'll wear more in the winter. And I have great bonding experiences with friends from here that I wasn't sure I'd feel comfortable with as much anymore. But boy was I wrong. My art kidz were there to advise me, drag me, pick me up, stay by my side, comfort me and hold my hand. So tanks gurls! And I got to see Brandon and surprisingly Doug, which was bitchin'. I hadn't seen them since May 15 and it was beginning to get a little unsatisfactory. Now we have sort of made plans and I am a happy gopher. Also, while waiting for the train, I found out that Sam, this really awesome chick that was with us, let the dogs out. After all these years of wondering, tossing and turning in my sleep. I'm gonna call up the Baha Men and let them know that Sam indeed did let the dogs out!

This flier does not coorespond with the Philadelphia flea market, but I thought it was incredible and too good to pass up! It is beautiful.

One flew over the mockingbird's cradle and into the heart of a nation

The most creative task I've done in the past two weeks? Paint and then repaint my nails. Well that was before yesterday of course. I've been lacking the inspiration I need to think outside of the box. It's not like I haven't picked up my sharpie or my 2B pencil, it's just every time I do that, I end up drawing nothing worth my time and I just feel like throwing it away. I'm not interested in drawing still life anymore. Goodbye fruit and flower arrangements....hello everything else! But about the inspiration, yeah. The Philadelphia trip was more or less a concrete way to get me in that artsy mood once again. Yesterday, the Sandra, the Miguel, the Miguel's friend Wendell and I all found ourselves in the hustle and bustle of Philly. I was not expecting to go into the day meeting so many new people. I'd have to say everything about yesterday (besides almost getting hit by a car on multiple occasions and the $36 parking ticket) was premium. Remember when I said a longggg time ago that what I was most excited for in the coming years was human interaction? Well I sure as hell got what I wanted :)

So after introducing myself to Wendell, the four of us cruised up and down South Street bopping from thrift store to outlandish thrift store. While bopping, we found some pretty satisfactory bumper stickers that related mostly to the lack of Jesus' approval in certain situations as well as Girl Power! We saw lots of good stuff, like bikes (I NEED A BANANA SEAT BIKE ASAP) and $3 shoes that were probably clogged with athlete's foot....I'm just sayin'. And on our travels, there were too many (is that possible?) dreadlocked men. I'm not complaining though...just sayin'. Wanna know the best part? Miguel and Wendell were hit on by two lovely ladies working the street. BAHAHA! Just kidding. The 18 year olds weren't working the street, but they were named Barbie and Caramel and they definitely wanted the two boys, fo sho. But for about 15 minutes, the six of us exchanged everything save for our social security numbers! I'm happy that the Barbie/Caramel interaction happened, but I'm more happy that they thought Miguel was 23! hahahahaha, oh man.

We went into stupid places to get tattoos and then the "boy shop." Nothing was purchased from the squishy store besides a ridiculously unnecessary bumper sticker. And no body art was performed though Sandra wanted her lip tattooed. After we were done there, or maybe before, we had another super sonic meeting. Two really cool guys came up to us to tell us that if Outkast and TV on the Radio produced an offspring, that the man standing in front of us would be the result! They describe themselves as folk-hop and are strongly influenced by Biggie and Bob Dylan. wth...that's awesome! It was more awesome when the blondish guy thought Sandra's name was Zelda and he then proceeded to grab her shoulders and yell "I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU ALL MY LIFE!" :) it was the greatest moment in a long time. The singers are called Lee G & Delon. It's like rappy but there are sweet ass beats in the background, and sweet baby jesus, they included Joanna Newsom on three different tracks. Normally rap isn't my cup o' tea, but it isn't purely rap. It's like happy rap that I can understand! So after Joanna's weird voice appeared in the background, they had us sold at that point plus Lee G (who reminds me sooo much of someone, just can't fuckin place it!) is very familiar with Sandra's Buddy Wakefield. We bought the cd and listened to it for a while. They were very awesome people and I TOTES wouldn't mind attending a show of Lee G & Delon's. Plus, they're pretty local and that's greattttt.

More meetings! YES. Well, we went to Art Museum to pay tribute to Rocky's steps and take photographs. Wendell and Miguel showed off in front of the ladies to see who could climb to the top of the huge fountain across the street. Wendell can, and he can also make a fool of himself pretending to blow the statue. :/ There were some skateboarding boys and some foreign ladies in green jeans who thought when we asked them to take a picture of how cute we all are together, that they could take ten minutes to find the right angle and background for us! It was adorable, however. And then after that, we went to these bitchin' sculpture thingers that were massive monopoly pieces and falling dominos! THIS WAS THE BEST INTERACTION!.... okay so there were a gaggle of young children near our picture taking extravaganza. About six miniature people all under the age of 5 I would say. A precious little girl, I'm sure she's just learning to walk, smiled and gave me the cutest googly eyes. Her brother, or friend, a very young one was playing with little army men. When I was squatting down (number 1 mistake) he let the army men cascade down from my shoulder to my arm to my hand to my kneecap to the pavement. So I would take the army men and do the same to him, just to be friendly, ya know? That was all fine. Until he started staring at my shirt, and what happened to be filling my shirt at the moment. He began stuffing the little plastic men with automatic guns down his shirt, still while keeping one hell of a gaze at my goods. Guess what he tried to get me to do next? Ohhh, that's right, stuff the army men down my shirt too. :/ So his mom told him he was "fresh" and I reassured her that it should be comforting that he acts this way, in about 15 years, the kid'll be set! She didn't really care for that...but it's not like I really give a shit...I mean her kid was trying to feel me up! And he couldn't have been more than 2 and a half. But the precious young thang who is just learning how to take steps makes an appearance again in this whole interaction deal. She had a fork wrapped in plastic, probably from some fast food joint and she was chewing on the plastic. And as she did this she started waddling on over to me. So I held out my hand in an attempt to free her from her plastic restraint. Instead, the penguin found it's way over to my outstretched hand and licked my palm. So basically in a matter of about 10 minutes, a 2 year old tried to touch my boobs and a 10 month old licked me. And as they were all departing, the frisky boy shook my hand, but didn't really care to look me in the eyes....I think you probably know where he was looking.

That pretty much was the day. All of the interactions that I had with new people, even if I didn't get their names. I met peers, artists, babies, the homeless, the wealthy, the bronze (shout out to you Rockyyy). It was great and not even thirty minutes from home. I'm excited to meet more people! This weekend coming up should be premium for multiple reasons, but mostly because it's the Punk Rock Flea Market. That means Philadelphia again, and cool things to buy and friends and love and sunglasses and earrings and love and friends and fun and fleas. Can't wait. I'll update about the goodness probs on Monday. And there better be something good worth blaaging about. If you get ma drift :)

ooh, I never told y'all what I did with my inspiration. Well when the four of us were boppin and hoppin through weird stores, I picked up some awesome fliers/postcard/advertisements and such. And they're above my door frame. There is a cow that I cut out from the tattoo place, a kid that looks like his face was made into a rug, flowery things and stupid things all above my door. No biggie, but it's something new in my room. And that's what counts.

Celibacy is like celery. They sound alike and they're both uneventful.

Lately I've been sitting outside on my back porch. I used to try to avoid the sun at all costs. Or just the tan part. I went through a phase for a few years where I didn't feel it was necessary to heighten the pigment in my skin. I used to run around all the time, footloose with my tank tops and shorts on. But that was when I was a young one. Practically a baby. Maybe 11. But then I thought about it, and I realized that girls without suntans can be pretty, too. I still think that, but I kinda miss the rich color the sun brings out in my shoulders, and the tops of my feet. As I've been lounging in the privacy of my own backyard, odd tan lines have taken their form. One day I'll wear a ribbed top that is missing the sleeves and the sun beats down around the hemmed edges. The next day, I'll wear a shirt with straps as thin as angel hair. It's fun to look at though. I have my own scale of colors from my collarbone to the edge of my shoulder. The best part about my newfound sun fun? My freckles have reappeared. I forgot how much I missed the dots that decorate my cheeks after a lengthy day in the sun. When I was a baby (eleven years old) my cheeks and nose, and a bit of my forehead would be taken over by tiny, light brown freckles all summer long, only to disappear once the leaves would begin to fall. I love the freckles that are on my face again. Just as much as I like the freckles that are beginning to line my arms and the tops of my shoulders. Once, I found the Big Dipper on my back....

" 'Take your clothes off and join in, Smith!' But on top of all that, the feelings about Princess, I'd also gone through an entire year of celibacy based on my feeling that lust was the direct cause of birth which was the direct cause of suffering and death and I had really no lie come to a point where I regarded lust as offensive and even cruel." - Ray Smith, Dharma Bums.
HAHAHA! That is incredible. When I was earning my freckles on the deck outside, I read this quote and made sure to remember it. What a great connection that Ray Smith has made here! I don't necessarily think it's right, but how great. A man quitting sex cold turkey just cause he's under the impression that feelings for an attractive woman will eventually lead to suffering and death. It's so depressing. Some would argue without sex and lust, one's life is meaningless. No meaning in your life causes a lot of alone time. Which causes unavoidable thinking. Which causes insanity. Which causes suffering and death. Hmmm... celibacy. Nah. But good job, Ray Smith/Jack Kerouac.

A mausoleum full of half empty hairspray bottles and frayed glitter gloves.

This isn't really my idea of a good time. First Farrah and then Michael? I usually try not to pay too much attention to celebrity gossip. Sometimes it's fun to see pictures of those silly celebs running around acting all high and mighty. But most of the time, I'd rather be captivated by the way these men and women portray characters on the big screen. Or hear their poetry set to the strum of a guitar, the kick of a drum. But this is different. The only other time I can remember in recent years, that I felt this strongly about a celebrity death, was January 22, 2008. Heath Ledger. I remember it was senior year and there were midterms to be taken. Essays to write, math problems to solve. But instead of focusing on those words and numbers, I was focused on the motivation behind this man's death. Pretty much caught in the scandal of the media. This time, a man and a woman have died...all in the same day. One was "supposed" to happen and the other one was as sudden as a blizzard in the middle of July. And the entire time I'm watching coverage on both Farrah Fawcett's tragic battle with cancer and Michael Jackson's weakened heart, I can't help but to think of everyone who has been touched by both of these legacies. (No pedophile jokes, yo!) These two, Farrah and Michael, are completely opposite in character; one a beautiful and iconic woman with hair for miles and a smile to match it, the other a King in his own sense with dance moves that shake the world. But they're both symbols of the world. It's tragic. It's not cool when someone is so consumed by their cancer that they practically melt away. Just like it's not cool when someone is overtaken by an unexpected massive heart attack. She was 62. He was 50. What the hell? Fucked up, man.

The important thing to remember while all of this media attention continues, is that the careers of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett cannot be the only defining factor. She was a mother, a daughter, a friend, a sister. He was a father, a son, a friend, a brother. Two normal people in the loosest of terms. I'm a daughter, a sister, a friend, maybe one day a mother. Not so different.... Putting aside any unintentional rumors about molesting children, I'm pretty sure 50 years old is too young to die. There are a lot of people already who have fired out "good riddance, he was trash anyway" or "he may have had some good hits, but he still touched little boys." Wow...that's cool, guys. So did the little boy tell you this himself, or are you going off of what Wikipedia might have to say about the ruling of MJ's court trials? All I'm saying is what defines a person is not the media. Unfortunately, the truth may never be revealed now, but it's not like the public eye really had any business sticking their greedy noses into his business anyway. Before you start bashing Michael's affection for children, try taking a gander into the church around the corner...ya know, the one that's so deeply cherished for it's generosity? ... ya got any stories about the Priest? Or is there a justification cause he's in the Lord's house? I'm not a church goer myself, nor have I been diddled (it's a word) by Priests, so what truly gives me any say in the matter of faulty clergy? Point is, I don't know bout yo' Father Figures, just like you don't know bout the King of Pop. So instead of pointing a finger at rumored pedophilia in the pew or some squishy activity at Neverland Ranch, let's try to consider other qualities. Like the fact that Michael Jackson is probably the best dancer to ever grace a stage. Damn.

I think listening to the sounds of the Jackson 5 while Charlie's Angels plays on the tv in the background is the correct way to handle this. What do you think?

Eyes are like champagne. They sparkle, bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain.

Right now, my hands are veiny. I think it's cause I was doing a lot of strenuous work. Like opening and closing my dresser drawers multiple times. Yeah, that's probably what created the veiny appearance of my hands. Sometimes veins are gross when they bulge out like underground roadways. Hondas and Mini Coopers poking through your skin, riding down I-95. Yuck. But right now, my hands aren't sick nasty. The street under my skin is merely just a one way. Narrow and discrete. I wonder why I'm talking about my veins. Have I seriously run out of topics to blaguh about? Pssh, hail NO.

Wanna know the reason I've been opening and closing my drawers? Ok. It's cause I'm interested in the clothes that I own. Especially a new dress that was purchased today. Twelve dollahs. Cha-ching. I'm playing dress up. And then dress down. And then dress up again. My face is being painted with purples and greens that accent my hazelnut eyeballs. The sort of hourglass that is my hips and my torso is being wrapped in soft cloth. I'm heating my hair with a ceramic iron until it's forced to stand straight just so I can pin half of it up and pretend I'm some kind of greek goddess. All the while, Josh Ritter is singing me tunes about his girl in the war (see: alcoholic title) and a thin blue flame. I'm glad I listen to his music, but especially his words. He is a brilliant poet. Having a secret love affair with every meaning of every word. Mister Ritter is having a major impact on me...so much that I had a crazy weird dream involving him turning into Rob Schneider (of SNL, Big Daddy and all those other Sandler flicks). But besides the silly metamorphosis, Joshua is superb as ever.

I need to take away some of the yellow on my walls. By that, I mean I need to find adequate wall hangings. I might just have to start drawing more. And that's fine. But I want things that I don't do. All I've been drawing are old women that turn into popcorn boxes. And I don't know how much I want to see a saggy woman on my wall everyday. So I think what needs to happen is I need to go dumpster diving (or you could just give me anything you don't want anymore. Fabric, posters, orange peels....anything). Also, if you have old time books that you aren't interested in anymore, send them my way, por favor. Tanks a bunch.

I'm going to build an ark. I figure with all this rain, I'm sure this is like Noah part II, right? Except this time, I want the ark to be a petting zoo. And the main attraction will be alpacas. Gots ta make a livin' :)

The fringes on the rug broke your vacuum cleaner, sir.

I'm not feeling extremely wordy as of right now. But I can't think of anything else to do that won't put me to sleep. I could continue on reading Dharma Bums to enlighten me spiritually and Kerouac-y. But once I do, my eyes will get heavy and I will have no other choice but to doze off into dreamland. If I wanted, I could sketch my face. I attempted that two nights ago because I was feeling particularly self confident as well as radiant in my appearance. But soon after my 3B (I work dark) pencil was set down on the paper, and my soft curls bounced around the egg shape that is my head, I grew drowsy again. What is making me so goddamn tired? It's not like I'm working my ass off at jobs. I'm not raising a bunch of kids, trying to make them successful products of the world. I'm pretty much sitting on my ass waiting for opportunities to arise. And some have. Like today. I ripped down (unscrewed) my fan blades and painted them. Seven years ago when I moved to this house, my mom painted my fan a precious shade of puke orange. It was too much and didn't really go with my new room at all. So today I fixed it. If you had to compare the end product of what I did to an organ in your body, it would most closely resemble the heart. The colors of the fan are blood red and aorta blue. Just kidding....cardinal red and turquoise. Same thing though, right?

It's 10:29. What am I going to do to stay awake? Can you please start a conversation with me. Tell me how 85% of your day is spent thinking about me, so I can tell you that 86% of my day is spent thinking of you. Hop through these hours with me like a cricket in flight. But don't hop too high, cause I want to savor this time.

What's the "N" stand for? North.

Today I watched Into the Wild for the third time this summer. From June to August last year, I watched the movie 12 times. I honestly can say that I could watch that film over and over again and never reach the point where I want to turn it off. In life, there are some things that can re-route your existence. Some may be rewarding like witnessing that lottery drawing between Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune that includes those same numbers that you've etched so delicately on a piece of paper for the last 15 years. Or seeing that pink plus sign on a plastic stick that screams out "Welcome Aboard the Mommy Train." It's possible the re-route may just be a simple change in scenery that paints the new landscape of retired life. Well Christopher McCandless and his story will never be considered simple, but they definitely have figured out a way to make me more aware of myself. I plan on watching Sean Penn's brilliance at least 17 more times this summer, mostly because my tv has decided on dishin' out Showtime and it's been playing frequently, but also because there is nothing more refreshing than opening a can of wanderlust. Who can deny that feeling to live, to escape? There may be two of three handfuls of people out there who think the sole purpose of living is to surround yourself by humanity. That can be part of it, but don't reject the part where you grow as a result of seclusion. Part of finding out who you are is based on the interactions...completely. I am a strong believer in that. (I wrote about everyone having a story. it's true.) But there's another part of yourself, the part that relies on being alone with your thoughts to gain a deeper understanding of strength. But who am I to tell you what not to reject...live your life the way you see fit, even if that means being surrounded by the chattering non-stop of the world. But I'm pretty sure you'll always have that desire to be footloose, just like good ol' Supertramp :) ...expect another entry about this before the summer ends. it's inevitable!

A year and 4 days ago I graduated from high school. About an hour ago, close to five hundred fresh faces were introduced to their diplomas as well. Now all that's left is a graduation celebration tonight, about 52 parties and two summer months before a gaggle of new kids on the block can finally rid themselves of their 13 year old public school titles. Once these kids move on to their higher education, the football player that everyone in school knew only by a single name, just like Aristotle, Jesus and Beck, might have to settle on being called "that kid in my Psych class" from now on. The girl who was notorious for having a bird nest of frizz perched on her head can forget the way she used to style her hair and buy a flat iron. No more name calling or misunderstood personality traits. The dork can finally date the suave intellectual. A year ago, I hated the fact that I was leaving behind the comfort of public schools and I'm sure there are a lot of others in that same boat as I sit here and type. But they don't know how good it is. How good it will be.

Would you see then, what I see now?

I woke up from a nap an hour and 32 minutes ago. My body still hasn't adjusted to being awake from the 45 minute slumber that consumed me. Sure, my right arm has stopped tingling from being shoved under my body without room to breathe, but that's only because I haven't stopped moving it since I woke up. Either way, I have a feeling I'm becoming dependent on the semi unconscious world of sleep. Last night, it took an hour and a half after I layed down to actually fall into sleep, until there was some yelling in the house that shook me awake for another 2 hours. I was three inches from pretending I had back pain so I could take some p.m. medicine and call it a day. Or night, rather. There were many things that created an unpleasant atmosphere for me last night, but the only thing that matters is my brain activity. Putting aside the humidity of my room and the mattress pad that won't stop spilling me off the edge of the bed along with it's down feathered innards, I was completely racked with ideas. I like it, but only during the day, please. Not when I'm trying to rest. That's why I've been frequenting the napping scenario so much this summer. My brain tells me that it's better to consider the happenings of that day rather than who to meet in my dreams.

As the sun was setting last night, the sky turned magical. All day, we were stuck with the drab gray sky. Maybe a slight hint of dark gray came about every once and a while when a storm threatened to explode. It wasn't until about eight thirty that the gray went away and the sky worked up the most intense orange I'd ever seen. A bright orange that turned the green grass into an illuminated brown. It turned the red car across the street into a fire engine. The newly paved road separating my townhouse from the ones across the way glittered with the orange lava burst. Even the kids running around in sandals throwing hula hoops into the air glowed as the surreal light made it's way onto their tiny cheeks. But as time continued and the sun was making room for the moon, there had still been some dark blue and gray storm clouds that forgot to vanish. So as this synthetic orange color blew up the sky and mixed with the blue clouds, I couldn't help but to compare what I was seeing to a bruise. I was looking up at the world's largest kneecap with the biggest Oowwiiee known to man! Maybe the kneecap hit into one of those damn corners of the table, and what I was seeing in the sky was the result. A tie dyed contusion of the healing process every great bruise endures. And as I looked up from my bedroom window, I got to see first hand. It was pure and beautiful. For the 12 minutes it stayed, anyway.

I miss my roomie. It's been 26 days since I've seen her. I wish we were rooming together next year. She'll pretty much no matter what happens, always be my roomie. Even in 30 years when we meet up in her trailer park neighborhood, with Gretta and Babs for our monthly book discussion, I'll still refer to her as Roomie. And when her children get knocked up and have babies, I'll tell them how great 2008 and 2009 were when we paraded down the hallway in our bras and underwear (Oh wait..that didn't happen!) or smacked the ceiling with all our power to let our upstairs neighbors know that it's not proper etiquette to have bowling tournaments in their dorm room at 3 in the morning. (that definitely happened!). She's probably the most well rounded person I've ever known, mostly because she doesn't exercise (i keed i keed. you are jacked!) but she also knows who she is and I love that. SAMantha ya friggin dork! You smell like a turnip bulb <3

Castle Clouds in the Sky

I can't decide if I'm cold or freezing. I also can't unravel as to why my face won't stop sneezing. Is it allergies or am I coming down with some silly case of the sick? One minute I feel peachy and pretty content with being blanketed by my skin. The next minute, I'm considering if my quilted epidermis has developed some holes that I wasn't aware of, letting in a frigid breeze. I'd be glad to patch up any mishaps, but I just can't seem to locate them. I'm uncomfortable to say the least. Thinking of June 4, I expect to be clad in thin cotton shorts and an airy tee as I prepare for sleep, not my sagging winter pants and a rounded long sleeve shirt. Who am I kidding? It's about to be summer...I need to get over this sniffly goop and get back into my June frame of mind.

Last Monday, I became a productive part of my own personal society. I applied for jobs. Only two in real life and half of one over the interwebs. I took my time gazing through the mall in search of places I felt would best suit my needs. Out of probably about 50 stores, I only felt two would suffice. I don't care what you or anyone else has to say, but I can't find it in me to throw down with the old folks who shop at Boscovs. And I definitely can't wear a fake referee shirt and fit people's feet all day for the right size shoe at one of the Foot Lockers. Hell noooo...a girl's gotta have standards, right? Prior to my application process, however, I browsed in some of the stores in hopes to find some new attire that would provide adequate relief in the blistering summer months. (apparently I don't need anything summery at this moment in time...dumb goosebumps and head clog!) The browsing helped ease the tension of the scary job hunting. I'm a newcomer in a lot of ways, especially when it comes to making the money. I'm pretty damn good at saving my cash $ so it wasn't too much of an issue before. I never felt it was necessary to have a job. I didn't really need the things other kids had (i.e. a car or a life). Now that I'm a big time college student, with big time loans, it's probably best to be making some sort of dough. Plus, I never really intended to make a life long career out of standing on the street corner. It was more of an after school hobby.

So applications went through to Bath & Body Works and Barnes & Noble. *Note to self: Don't limit yourself to only jobs with an "&" symbol in their name* I got halfway done with FYE, which had an online application, but then I stopped temporarily until I decide who my professional references can be. Hey, do you wanna be a professional reference for me?! So basically, out of the jobs I've applied to/sort of applied to, I've got some pretty sweet ass times ahead of me if I'm hired to one of the three. I could either be a scented chick who tries to sell you loads of lotions, the crazy chick with the knowledge and good looks (bahahahaha! I meant good books!) or I could be the sassy ass chick who can provide directions to the newest release in heavy metal music. I hope I get a job. It kind of sucks that I have no prior work experience though. Not only did it make for a pretty thin application but people might think I'm lazy cause I haven't ever had a job. I'm not, though. Maybe a little. And I've already heard from some friends and zee Mudder that it shouldn't matter if I don't have prior work experience cause my charming ways and personality should win the employers over. Hmmm...true. But it wasn't that easy to dish out full frontal Kim and make a bitchin' first impression when close to the only words spoken were "What is the process for applying at fill-in-the-blank store?" and "Thank you". It'll be better if I get an interview. Keep yo' fingers crossed!

When I was done applying/becoming sucked into a world that works for money instead of pleasure, I took a stroll to a patch of grass outside of the book store. It was sandwiched in between a parking lot and a busy road. I just sat there. At one point, I layed down. Why not, right? A year ago, if I had been in the same position on that same spot, I highly doubt I would have found comfort in the prickly grass and yellow dandelions. But I honestly felt no shame in maneuvering in between passing cars to plop myself down and just look up. Maybe people were looking at me. Maybe they were too concentrated on rushing home to grab a bite before it was time to return to the routine of working for money as well. Either way, I felt good.

Additions to my room (post 1930's kitchen desk):
- A beautiful sunburst pattern batik cloth that is nailed to the frame where my closet door used to be. The "door" almost has a tie dye feel to it. There are amazing greens, blues and yellows in it but the main color is the exact purple that contradicts the yellow of my walls perfectly.
- An assigned painting on primed, ripped kraft paper of a chair that I did first semester. Now when I say a chair, I really mean a close up of a bundle of winter trees with their boney limbs. The painting holds a great deal of significance because my professor had asked us to paint a chair on paper about six feet tall. I was the only one to not paint a portrait of my desk chair or a bar stool. Instead I chose to portray a tree, which as you know, does indeed act as a chair and for this I received a thorough pat on the back. Birds and squirrels choose to sit on a tree's branches. During a game of hide and seek, young children might climb 15 feet off the ground and sit on a dense branch hoping the seeker won't look up. Hell, you could cut down the wooden subject of my black and white painting and mold it into a normal chair that is fit to go under the cut out of a desk. It is different and it has a good message behind it. Think outside of the box.
- Insignificant drawings of pancakes, mountain ranges, parakeets from Detroit and a free vacuum courtesy of Oprah once she dies.

Sufjan Stevens. Paradise and Ypsilanti.

Dootsie Pringle says we're all just human beans

“We were once so fresh, a dazzling snowfield. Let’s promise to each other that if we ever meet again we will never plow and push our new-fallen snow. We will not become slush. We will stay like this field and melt away together only in the sun’s good time.” - Stargirl

It's true. Star people are rare. Reading Love, Stargirl was probably the best decision I could have made coming into summer. About five years ago (wow) I read Jerry Spinelli's Stargirl, not expecting any major feelings to come out of it. And to be honest, the thoughts of that non conformist girl who was unhappy with her blah name really didn't have an impact on my way of life. When I was in eighth grade, I thought it was great that the main character was cool enough to change her name unofficially and set up her own personal picnic area during each separate class. But it didn't really hit me until probably last year when I revisited the idea of Spinelli's fictional Star person. I am so relieved that I am not just like you, or you, or even you. I am me. (really, kim?) I am so happy that I don't own designer labels just to be like other girls. And I'm happy that I am creative enough to think of my own ideas. For cereal. This sequel book is so incredibly inspiring. I read it in a matter of only a couple of days. I've never done that with a book before considering how slow I read and how I feel it is necessary to digest almost every word on a page. But this book was slightly different and written so well. In a series of letters to Leo, Stargirl wrote for the duration of a year to the boy she fell in love with. She talked about her five year old best friend, Dootsie, who went as a square waffle for Halloween and won best costume in the "festibal'. Stargirl spoke of a possible new fling with Perry, the poor thief with piercing blues and a mysterious presence. For months, Stargirl's main goal was to create real time using spatulas and the sun in preparation for the Solstice to cast a tiny beam of light.

At one point, Stargirl was given some great advice from Betty Lou. She was told that "today is calling to you, trying to get your attention, but you’re stuck on tomorrow, and today trickles away like water down a drain. You wake up the next morning and that today you wasted is gone forever." If that advice doesn't apply to me 104%, then I don't know what advice does! God damn, I should really take these words and run. Run 2 hours north. I need to just go, right Betty Lou? Because if I keep considering what tomorrow might hold, I'm going to spend all my time not focusing on what today could hold. It's just that every time I think about possibly doing (I'm Hamlet, remember?) something that will kick this situation into high gear, I think about what might go wrong instead. It's the opposite of what I want. But similar to the agoraphobic Betty Lou, I'm also slightly afraid of an unfamiliar environment. I've become comfortable in this safe place of mine because it's basically all I know. So venturing out into back alleys, places I've never been before will just send me into a fit of squeals (and twist waving). Fortunately, Betty Lou took her own advice and left her house after nine long years of seclusion, so I have faith that I will grow a set very soon and spill my beans. That sounds nasty but it's not. Plus, it's very possible that he could be my Leo. My star boy :)

I wish there was a third installment of Stargirl. I'm not done reading about her eccentricities. I'm not done comparing her actions to things that I've done, or would do as well. A lot of people I run into who have read this book say how amazing it is. It's true..it's pretty damn fancy. I think as a result of this, I'm going to start a happy wagon where I put pebbles in it (I'll try not to take any out) when I'm super happy. Amen to being unique. Keep it up! here here. cheers. shalom!

IN 12 HOURS FROM NOW (8:05 a.m.) I WILL BE A NINETEEN YEAR OLD FRUIT LOOP!

Nineteen clementines on a banana boat

There is something incredibly romantic about the smell of cigarette smoke. Not necessarily in the sense that it's a sexy scent, cause I don't really know if I believe that. I think the fact that it's smoke counteracts that erotic quality. But I guess it could be a sexy scent, perhaps if it was in the form of a precious memory. Maybe you met your one true love outside on a break from work. You wanted some fresh air and he needed to feed his addiction. So now every time someone lights up, you can't help but to think of the way his caramel colored eyes shine. Unless you're too fixed on the fact that you could be allowing cancer causing agents to squeeze their way into your body, that you don't even remember how you and oh-what's-his-face met. Either way, for me, I find being around those who smoke to be extremely comforting. When I was young, I felt that people who smoked had a certain maturity to them. I don't necessarily think that anymore, but when I was 8 years old and my much older cousin would come to visit, I thought it was "cool" when she went out back to light a cigarette. It gave me an opportunity to grow up, be an adult, if only for a little while and be completely comfortable while doing so. Now when I sit outside of a freshman dorm or around a patio swing at a birthday party with my head in a cloud of smoke, the feeling of being a comfortable adult returns.

Last night was the birthday party for me. One word to describe the entire situation: soggy. Before I explain that, I'll explain the fun leading up to it as well as after it. After a long awaited reunion (one week is a long time to not see the faces of people you barely went 3 hours without seeing) I was bombarded with giant bear hugs, loud growling "ooohhh i missed you" greetings, and sloppy head kisses. I was happy to be in the company of my close friendly friends. But it didn't take long before an adventure was able to ensue. Sandra and I met Dora the wacky explorer's little brahh. Or something. We were just minding our business at the park, updating each other on life and all of a sudden a little voice peeps over top of the jungle gym. "Hi. Do you wanna explore with me?" How could I say no to a 5 year old adventurer? He brought me down to the edge of this perfect stream equipped with slippery river rocks and fallen leaves. He told me about the time he found this huge fish, longer than his arm, under that rock over there. Ohhh and then there was the time he encountered the alligator right over there...ya know, next to that rock. When it was brought to my attention that poison ivy was a possibility, Javier the Explorer showed me an alternative route but reassured me that it was okay if he got poison ivy 'cause he's already got eczema so it's not going to itch any more than it already does. :) After that, Sandra and I walked back to Sam's house in fear for our lives. I guess it's a bad idea to walk through the ghetto with your "ladies" showing off?

The fun started after Aaron and Samanthantha returned with beverages. There were loads of fun games played. Sandra and I being on team Boo + Boo (clever, I know). Lemme just say that she and I are incredibly intimidating when it comes to pong and the reason we didn't get the majority of the balls in is because we didn't want to scare anyone away with how good we truly are. About the whole soggy situation...yeah. Well I thought it was bad when clumsy Sandra spilt a bit of mango juice on my pretty dress. But I didn't wanna make a big deal about it. It's just a little spilt juice...who cares? DAMP. Not even 12 minutes later, I'm holding a pretty full beverage when Maxey one ups Sandra on the clumsy ladder. One minute my cup is full, the next it's half empty (I'm not being pessimistic). Maxey's hand whacked the cup straight onto my boobs spilling mango and other goodness all down the front of my dress and into my cleavage. SOGGY. The next account of soggy happened after Boo + Boo's laughing fit on the ground took place. Taking a large gulp of lime beeeeeeeer and me bumping into Sandra does not mix well. She couldn't hold it in after I ever so gracefully collided with her, thus spewing beer all over me! SOGGY. As gross as it was to have Sandra's mouth beer and the mango lovin' on my boobs, face and dress, it didn't bother me that much. I had way too much fun to even care. The dancing in the basement was premium, as well, even though it was a one man show on my part. I didn't so much enjoy the latter part of the partaaay when my eyes got heavy and so did my heart. But that's irrelevant considering the rest of it was bitchin'. I cannot wait to do it again. Samantha, I love you with so much umpf! and bizam! it's crazy.

Ishaq, I said I would give you a shout out. So hurr ya go, fool. Shouttttttt! You're creepy. But thanks for being funny :)

Plans for the next two weeks:
-Go to another party. Kimmah's a silly girl...
-Reunite again with friends! yesss please. I want to see you. Yes. YOU. let's hang out :3
-Grow a garden?
-Turn another year older