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.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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
Thursday, June 4, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
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!
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!
Sunday, May 24, 2009
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
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
Sunday, May 17, 2009
An emerald among a pile of diamonds
There is nothing more rewarding than antique shopping. Well, there are some things that are pretty damn satisfying, like building a tree house in that huge Oak in your neighborhood or suddenly realizing that you need to get off at exit 5 on the NJ Turnpike before it's too late. However, when one takes the day off to browse around and possibly purchase vintage life, it becomes hard to think of anything more worthwhile to do with your time. This morning, it was decided between Mama Trems, Sister and I to scope out antique furniture for my room. Since I've been home, I've done a bit of redecorating in the form of freeing my room from the hideous corner piece that I've had since I was about 7. I was always in love with it and refused to update my existence because I felt it was a part of me. And it's true, that corner bookshelf was a part of me especially because it had seen about 23 different coats of my favorite color paints spanning from under-the-sea turquoise to lilac to bright red with an orange undertone. I didn't get rid of it because honestly, I knew nothing better existed. After 12 years, I've realized that it's ok to grow up a little...(I won't mention how I have an attic full of stuffed animals :/ bahaha)
So this morning, we set out to find Kimmah some type of new desk or shelf or bookcase or something of the sort. I need some place to stick my laptop and my books, cause I've got a plethora of reading materials. We went to this beautiful shop on Main Street in Medford. Three floors chock full of life. I would glance through old comic books and then flip through racks of flapper inspired dresses. I saw homemade throw blankets with ugly orange embroidery neatly jumbled on top of an old sewing machine and table. I enjoyed the smell the most. It's the smell of worn out leather mixed with a little excitement lightly seasoned with salt. Walking through the old renovated house with secret stairwells and closets that reach the puffy clouds, you can just imagine life way back when. After no luck at Medford's antique shop (everything was either out of my price range or too fancy for my room) we travelled on down to the city of Burlington to a place called Emporium. Holy Moses, this place was incredible. You walk in the store and immediately, you are greeted by a Goodyear Tire sign that was probably from the 1950's. They had individual compartments that they rent to people who want to sell their "goods" so the three of us had a massive task that lay ahead of us if we wanted to glance through everything. Well we pretty much beasted the Emporium with our furniture finding strategies and we were 100% successful. You wanna hear about the new addition to my room?...well let me tell you. It's not a desk. It's a Depression era (1930's!!! WOOHOO) small kitchen table that was probably used for rolling out dough or setting up a wash station. It is incredible. The table top is porcelain enamel. It has a beautiful azure blue border that fades into the off white top but what makes this "desk" so special are the four raised roses that fall at each corner. There is a single drawer that I'm sure held a whisk or family recipes for oatmeal cookies, but will now hold my paper clips and notebook drawings. The legs of this table are solid wood that have been painted an off white color. There are paint chips missing off of the legs that reveal wood and parts of the enamel are rusting and wearing away. I cannot believe I found such a good buy. For $70, I purchased an entire life. Who's to say that my new desk wasn't once the center piece of a family. Picture this: it's the middle of a hot summer day in Oklahoma. 1935. A mother is rolling out dough for biscuits to accompany the beef stew on this table. The flour that was sprinkled down to stop the dough from sticking gets in every nook and cranny of the raised pink and green roses that keep the four corners occupied. There are children outside playing with marbles on the dry earth while their father waits patiently for any sign of rain to fall from the unforgiving sky. As everyone goes about their business, huge clouds of dirt move through the flat plains raining down on a man's only way to earn a buck. Forced to go inside and find relief from the blackened skies, the children must gather around their mother, eyes closed with their noses buried in her cotton apron, while she too is huddling except instead she is above this table in hopes that the dust will not disappoint dinner's sidekick.
When I brought this table into my room to set against my wall, I cleaned the top with soap and water, but made sure not to scrub too hard. Who's to say when I wiped the dirt off, I wasn't wiping off years of that family as well. If I look hard enough, I think I can see some flour caked into the grooves of the roses.
In the beginning of this post, I mentioned how there was nothing more rewarding than antique shopping. I still believe it. It is one hell of a way to connect yourself to the past. Run your hand over a baby blanket and imagine how warm it kept an infant when the heat from the fireplace just wasn't enough. Hold a postcard in your hand that has been signed and dated, and read what it says. You will instantly feel like you're right there with "Buddy" at Niagara Falls when he tells "Dotty" that he'll be seeing her back in Sacramento in a few months. Look up at the painting of a vase of daffodils and try to picture it in the parlor of a Victorian style home. Was it above the china tea set or did it grace the walls next to the grand piano? The result of imagining life eighty years ago is so satisfying in the realm of your own existence. I know that there is a story behind this table, and now I can make my own story. I am so inspired to create my own memories with everything I own, but I'm more excited to know that others will be imagining down the road. Hopefully this kitchen table turned desk serves a completely different purpose in a century for some girl and her family. And hopefully she can imagine the stories about this blue and white, flower printed, rusting table prior to her own tale.
Can you see my table? I can.
So this morning, we set out to find Kimmah some type of new desk or shelf or bookcase or something of the sort. I need some place to stick my laptop and my books, cause I've got a plethora of reading materials. We went to this beautiful shop on Main Street in Medford. Three floors chock full of life. I would glance through old comic books and then flip through racks of flapper inspired dresses. I saw homemade throw blankets with ugly orange embroidery neatly jumbled on top of an old sewing machine and table. I enjoyed the smell the most. It's the smell of worn out leather mixed with a little excitement lightly seasoned with salt. Walking through the old renovated house with secret stairwells and closets that reach the puffy clouds, you can just imagine life way back when. After no luck at Medford's antique shop (everything was either out of my price range or too fancy for my room) we travelled on down to the city of Burlington to a place called Emporium. Holy Moses, this place was incredible. You walk in the store and immediately, you are greeted by a Goodyear Tire sign that was probably from the 1950's. They had individual compartments that they rent to people who want to sell their "goods" so the three of us had a massive task that lay ahead of us if we wanted to glance through everything. Well we pretty much beasted the Emporium with our furniture finding strategies and we were 100% successful. You wanna hear about the new addition to my room?...well let me tell you. It's not a desk. It's a Depression era (1930's!!! WOOHOO) small kitchen table that was probably used for rolling out dough or setting up a wash station. It is incredible. The table top is porcelain enamel. It has a beautiful azure blue border that fades into the off white top but what makes this "desk" so special are the four raised roses that fall at each corner. There is a single drawer that I'm sure held a whisk or family recipes for oatmeal cookies, but will now hold my paper clips and notebook drawings. The legs of this table are solid wood that have been painted an off white color. There are paint chips missing off of the legs that reveal wood and parts of the enamel are rusting and wearing away. I cannot believe I found such a good buy. For $70, I purchased an entire life. Who's to say that my new desk wasn't once the center piece of a family. Picture this: it's the middle of a hot summer day in Oklahoma. 1935. A mother is rolling out dough for biscuits to accompany the beef stew on this table. The flour that was sprinkled down to stop the dough from sticking gets in every nook and cranny of the raised pink and green roses that keep the four corners occupied. There are children outside playing with marbles on the dry earth while their father waits patiently for any sign of rain to fall from the unforgiving sky. As everyone goes about their business, huge clouds of dirt move through the flat plains raining down on a man's only way to earn a buck. Forced to go inside and find relief from the blackened skies, the children must gather around their mother, eyes closed with their noses buried in her cotton apron, while she too is huddling except instead she is above this table in hopes that the dust will not disappoint dinner's sidekick.
When I brought this table into my room to set against my wall, I cleaned the top with soap and water, but made sure not to scrub too hard. Who's to say when I wiped the dirt off, I wasn't wiping off years of that family as well. If I look hard enough, I think I can see some flour caked into the grooves of the roses.
In the beginning of this post, I mentioned how there was nothing more rewarding than antique shopping. I still believe it. It is one hell of a way to connect yourself to the past. Run your hand over a baby blanket and imagine how warm it kept an infant when the heat from the fireplace just wasn't enough. Hold a postcard in your hand that has been signed and dated, and read what it says. You will instantly feel like you're right there with "Buddy" at Niagara Falls when he tells "Dotty" that he'll be seeing her back in Sacramento in a few months. Look up at the painting of a vase of daffodils and try to picture it in the parlor of a Victorian style home. Was it above the china tea set or did it grace the walls next to the grand piano? The result of imagining life eighty years ago is so satisfying in the realm of your own existence. I know that there is a story behind this table, and now I can make my own story. I am so inspired to create my own memories with everything I own, but I'm more excited to know that others will be imagining down the road. Hopefully this kitchen table turned desk serves a completely different purpose in a century for some girl and her family. And hopefully she can imagine the stories about this blue and white, flower printed, rusting table prior to her own tale.
Can you see my table? I can.
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