What about a sexy Harriet Tubman?
Now that's a hot piece of ass.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
sexy 1900s steel conglomerate tycoon
This is exactly why I'm sick of dressing up for Halloween.
What about a sexy Harriet Tubman?
Now that's a hot piece of ass.
What about a sexy Harriet Tubman?
Now that's a hot piece of ass.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
reason #8872 to despise the male species
They merely THINK of losing weight and the pounds start melting away.
Monday, October 23, 2006
yet somehow still happy, but not creatively motivated.
- hate, HATE my job
- my mema died last week
- in the midst of moving for the sixth time in three years
- my mema died last week
- in the midst of moving for the sixth time in three years
Monday, October 16, 2006
like rain on your wedding day
Overheard during breakfast in Atlanta, GA:
"Oh dear. The peaches. Not so good."
"Oh dear. The peaches. Not so good."
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Thursday, October 05, 2006
first love. part two (of five): romeo + juliet.
(might want to read part one first.)
The year following our initial meeting we kept it relatively low key; emails exchanged regularly, monthly phone calls, numerous instant-messager conversations. We lived our normal high school lives; went to dances, had crushes on people, etc., but knew deep down that we were meant for each other. And we'd be together forever eventually. All the little adolescent crushes and dates were nothing compared to the true love that we shared.
God we were ridiculous.
The following spring, as the time came for our families to plan the return trips to Siesta Key, the gods shone down upon our love and the trips overlapped. Clearly we were meant to be together for forever and ever amen.
I was a nervous WRECK the day we got to see each other. A year had elapsed, who knows how he'd changed. Or, fuck, would he freak out because I now had a mouth full of metal? Had I gained weight? Would he like my longer hair? Or my newly shaped eyebrows? Forty-one ulcers later, we were reunited.
And how sweet it was.
We were inseparable. For the entirety of five days there were no two happier people on this earth. Hanging out at the beach, the pool, the rec room, going on walks and talking talking talking. And falling even more in innocent, unencumbered, naive love. (collective sigh) Our parents met. The parents, people.
The last night of that second summer we found ourselves alone on the beach. We both had curfews and we were down to our last few precious moments (no, not the lame cherub-faced statuettes). Our last hug lasted forever. We were both teary-eyed. The wind was blowing at gale-force levels. It was all very dramatic.
When we finally pulled away he kept his hands on my waist. He gave me a little smile. And then we kissed for the first time. It was awkward, neither of us were terribly experienced with such things, but wonderful nonetheless.
Afterwards, he took the bracelet off of his wrist and gave it to me. To remember him by. (I still have it in my jewelry box). I gave him a ring of mine. It fit on his pinky. As seriously as we took it, we may as well have been exchanging wedding rings. Seriously.
My family was flying out at nine the next morning and he just had to see me again before then. So, he had his ass at the door of our condo at six. In the morning. To see me just one last time by the light of the dawn. I swear to god we were THAT into each other.
And then we went our separate ways.
After that we kept in virtually constant contact. Oh the emailing and the instant messaging! Every day and night. Mind you, this was back in the day when there was no such thing as unlimited access to the internet. For a monthly fee you only had a certain amount of minutes online. And when that time was up, you paid a pretty penny for the overage time. This made it all the more exciting/excruciating/dramatic for us. The pining and the rationing, the rationing and the pining. We pissed our parents off regularly.
I just remembered. We sent letters. Like, actual pen ink on paper mailed in envelopes with a stamp and all. And pictures. The old fashioned kind. That you picked up at the drug store.
Romeo + Juliet came out in November (1996). The one with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. Baz Luhrmann directed. And oh if we weren't star-crossed lovers just like Romeo and Juliet. We met at the wrong time in our lives. The world, it was forcing us to be apart. I told you we were ridiculous.
We both saw this movie at least five times in the theater. We bought it as soon as it was on video. The soundtracks? (yes, both of them) They were the only thing either of us listened to. It was the soundtrack of our love. He even sent me these. Every single one.
Then came the devastating news. His family would not be returning to Siesta Key the following summer. I cried. And cried. There had to be something we could do.
After much devising and talking and pleading and convincing and parental conferences, I was set to head to Miami. By myself. For a week. To be with him.
To this day, that week is still considered one of the best times of my life.
The year following our initial meeting we kept it relatively low key; emails exchanged regularly, monthly phone calls, numerous instant-messager conversations. We lived our normal high school lives; went to dances, had crushes on people, etc., but knew deep down that we were meant for each other. And we'd be together forever eventually. All the little adolescent crushes and dates were nothing compared to the true love that we shared.
God we were ridiculous.
The following spring, as the time came for our families to plan the return trips to Siesta Key, the gods shone down upon our love and the trips overlapped. Clearly we were meant to be together for forever and ever amen.
I was a nervous WRECK the day we got to see each other. A year had elapsed, who knows how he'd changed. Or, fuck, would he freak out because I now had a mouth full of metal? Had I gained weight? Would he like my longer hair? Or my newly shaped eyebrows? Forty-one ulcers later, we were reunited.
And how sweet it was.
We were inseparable. For the entirety of five days there were no two happier people on this earth. Hanging out at the beach, the pool, the rec room, going on walks and talking talking talking. And falling even more in innocent, unencumbered, naive love. (collective sigh) Our parents met. The parents, people.
The last night of that second summer we found ourselves alone on the beach. We both had curfews and we were down to our last few precious moments (no, not the lame cherub-faced statuettes). Our last hug lasted forever. We were both teary-eyed. The wind was blowing at gale-force levels. It was all very dramatic.
When we finally pulled away he kept his hands on my waist. He gave me a little smile. And then we kissed for the first time. It was awkward, neither of us were terribly experienced with such things, but wonderful nonetheless.
Afterwards, he took the bracelet off of his wrist and gave it to me. To remember him by. (I still have it in my jewelry box). I gave him a ring of mine. It fit on his pinky. As seriously as we took it, we may as well have been exchanging wedding rings. Seriously.
My family was flying out at nine the next morning and he just had to see me again before then. So, he had his ass at the door of our condo at six. In the morning. To see me just one last time by the light of the dawn. I swear to god we were THAT into each other.
And then we went our separate ways.
After that we kept in virtually constant contact. Oh the emailing and the instant messaging! Every day and night. Mind you, this was back in the day when there was no such thing as unlimited access to the internet. For a monthly fee you only had a certain amount of minutes online. And when that time was up, you paid a pretty penny for the overage time. This made it all the more exciting/excruciating/dramatic for us. The pining and the rationing, the rationing and the pining. We pissed our parents off regularly.
I just remembered. We sent letters. Like, actual pen ink on paper mailed in envelopes with a stamp and all. And pictures. The old fashioned kind. That you picked up at the drug store.
Romeo + Juliet came out in November (1996). The one with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. Baz Luhrmann directed. And oh if we weren't star-crossed lovers just like Romeo and Juliet. We met at the wrong time in our lives. The world, it was forcing us to be apart. I told you we were ridiculous.
We both saw this movie at least five times in the theater. We bought it as soon as it was on video. The soundtracks? (yes, both of them) They were the only thing either of us listened to. It was the soundtrack of our love. He even sent me these. Every single one.
Then came the devastating news. His family would not be returning to Siesta Key the following summer. I cried. And cried. There had to be something we could do.
After much devising and talking and pleading and convincing and parental conferences, I was set to head to Miami. By myself. For a week. To be with him.
To this day, that week is still considered one of the best times of my life.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
it used to be that I never won anything.
Ah, yeah, um, so.
I was just notified that I won an all expenses paid trip for two to fly to Atlanta and see John Mayer in concert. And meet him. And do him. oh, wait.
I've been on a Mayer hiatus since the sell-out-worthy and completely craptastic "Heavier Things." Well, maybe even since "Your Body Is A Wonderland" moistened the panties of every girl between the ages of thirteen and seventeen. (oh yeah baby, I used the M and the P word in the same sentence. alert the proper authorities.)
In this time of hiatus, I've continued to listen to his music, but just the old Mayer ("Inside Wants Out" independent release, "Room For Squares" on Aware) that I love and the new Mayer who is finally getting back to business with his blues (John Mayer Trio and "Continuum").
Cousin Chris, the biggest Mayer fan I know, is the luckiest man alive on this day.
I was just notified that I won an all expenses paid trip for two to fly to Atlanta and see John Mayer in concert. And meet him. And do him. oh, wait.
I've been on a Mayer hiatus since the sell-out-worthy and completely craptastic "Heavier Things." Well, maybe even since "Your Body Is A Wonderland" moistened the panties of every girl between the ages of thirteen and seventeen. (oh yeah baby, I used the M and the P word in the same sentence. alert the proper authorities.)
In this time of hiatus, I've continued to listen to his music, but just the old Mayer ("Inside Wants Out" independent release, "Room For Squares" on Aware) that I love and the new Mayer who is finally getting back to business with his blues (John Mayer Trio and "Continuum").
Cousin Chris, the biggest Mayer fan I know, is the luckiest man alive on this day.
Monday, October 02, 2006
how to get the girl.
Guys, pay attention.
If you're pining over a lost love and desperate to get her back, look no further. I can help.
Pick up Athlete's "Tourist" and wrap it in something aesthetically pleasing. Place it in a box and ship it to her. Or, if you're feeling especially full of gusto, march yourself right up to her door. Instruct her to give it a few listens and voila! She'll be crawling back in no time and you'll live happily ever after. The End.
Wait. I watched ENTIRELY too many cheesy romantic comedy-esque films this weekend. Blech.
But. Athlete. Tourist. The ENTIRE album. It's one I-Want-You-Back-We-Can-Really-Make-It-Work-This-Time song after another. Individually, the songs aren't bad, some are quite good. Great even. Yet, listening to it in it's entirety twice in a row has me devising plans to bust through this window and take a leap.
If you're pining over a lost love and desperate to get her back, look no further. I can help.
Pick up Athlete's "Tourist" and wrap it in something aesthetically pleasing. Place it in a box and ship it to her. Or, if you're feeling especially full of gusto, march yourself right up to her door. Instruct her to give it a few listens and voila! She'll be crawling back in no time and you'll live happily ever after. The End.
Wait. I watched ENTIRELY too many cheesy romantic comedy-esque films this weekend. Blech.
But. Athlete. Tourist. The ENTIRE album. It's one I-Want-You-Back-We-Can-Really-Make-It-Work-This-Time song after another. Individually, the songs aren't bad, some are quite good. Great even. Yet, listening to it in it's entirety twice in a row has me devising plans to bust through this window and take a leap.
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