i seem to have transformed from a nocturnal being to a day person to crepuscular.
for the past 4 or 5 months (has it been that long!?) i have experienced what it is like to not have insomnia.
i must say, i did enjoy it quite a lot. after being a night owl my entire life, it was like this funny new and different adventure to sleep and night and to actually be active during the day. kind of like how it's this massive breakthrough for a kid to discover what 3am is like at a sleepover. the last time i ever had to be up during the day was in high school. i hated it back then, naturally. but this time the whole daytime thing was fun. interesting.
for the past week i have not been sleeping well at all. aside from the fact that by the time i finally do fall asleep at the ungodly hours of the morning, just to wake up every half hour, i find that i can no longer indulge in the wonderful act of taking naps.
there was a time when i could lie down absolutely anywhere...in a chair, on the floor, leaning against a wall, on concrete...and within minutes be out cold.
i don't know if it's something people in their mid-twenties are unable to do or if i just run myself to the point of being overtired. don't know. odd thing is that i pretty much keep quiet and mellow throughout the day as well as night, but i get these sudden bursts of energy as the sun rises, and again as it goes off to wake up Japan.
So. i'm not sure how long this will last. like i said, i really did like doing the whole 8 hours of sleep thing. even if i don't get nearly as much done as when i don't sleep. and even though i miss a lot of phone calls while i'm off dreaming of ridiculous things.
it has been a long while since i've had a wonderful dream.
not fair.
if you're feeling particularly mellow and love trent reznor's voice and love beautiful music....have a listen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahBgfQeLTuU
ignore the photo clip "video". just lean back, close your eyes, and let the music paint pictures in your mind. for best results, listen with headphones. the best part comes at 2:32 so be sure to listen to the entire thing.
enjoy.
if you have any songs that paint pretty pictures in your head or that give you awesome dreams when you listen to them as you fall asleep, please share.
more to come...
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
'roid rage! raaa!
Between taking care of my grandfather, planning my wedding, being suddenly overcome with the urge to take part in numerous home improvement projects and dealing with my annoying parental units, I haven't had much time for a creative outlet. Whether it be in writing or a drawing or anything.
I say I'm taking care of my grandfather but it's not like he's ill or frail or anything. It's like he's on vacation. He's my guest. I'm his hostess. I take care of him in providing a bed, clean sheets, towels, and delishus meals throughout the day.
That's right. Delishus! Ooh, and free shampoo and soap.
My mother doesn't realize that I like having him here. I tell her so, but she doesn't listen. She keeps telling me that he needs to go to an old folks home and that I'll get sick and become incredibly mentally ill and that I'll develop some kind of crippling physical ailment if I continue to keep him here with me.
I understand what she means. There's only so much you can do. If things were different, yeah...I probably would have other arrangements set.
But while he's still sharp and energetic, he's mine.
She doesn't quite understand coming from a large family.
I am an only child. My father is an only child. We are all my grandfather has. And he's the only grandfather I've ever known. Why on earth would we send him off when he's in good shape?!?
Normally I'm pretty laid back but lately people have been pissing me off.
And by people I mean my mom. Occasionally my dad. People in general...but wait, that's normal.
Same goes with my mother-in-law. I don't think she understands certain things. Either that or she just doesn't think before she speaks, and on top of that doesn't listen to herself as she keeps repeating the same phrases over and over and over again.
Though it's a nice break from listening about her Boston Terrier.
She started giving me this odd, borderline manic lecture on how when it's your time to die, it's your time. Started talking about the lord and such. It really freaks me out when people talk about the lord. Talk about death and cadavers and pine boxes for all I care...but the lord?!
Scary.
I didn't know whether to laugh or to yell at her. Mama-in-law is obsessed with the fact that my mother won't dye her hair. My mom has developed an allergy to hair dye, you see. If she dyes her hair, her entire head, face and neck swells up. Her throat begins to close up. She has trouble breathing. Not a pleasant experience. Sooo, adding that paranoia on top of her already existing irrational paranoia, my mom doesn't want to dye her hair ever again. I'm right there with her. She doesn't want to risk trying any of the natural stuff out there like henna or whatever.
Well...with the wedding coming up, my uber image-conscious mother-in-law to be keeps insisting that my mom dye her hair. I keep explaining over and over again that my mom doesn't want to, and why. That's when my fiance's mom starts about how, "When it's your time to die...it's your time. Whether you're on your way to church or you're sitting on the toilet or you have an allergic reaction to hair dye. If it's your time to join the lord, then it's your time."
I froze, horrified. Major WTF moment. Let me remind you that this woman is not normally like this. Maybe she hasn't been taking her happy pills and was feeling particularly imbalanced that day. Who knows. The only thing I managed to spit out was, "Uh, have you ever heard of PREVENTATIVE ACTION?!?!??
I say I'm taking care of my grandfather but it's not like he's ill or frail or anything. It's like he's on vacation. He's my guest. I'm his hostess. I take care of him in providing a bed, clean sheets, towels, and delishus meals throughout the day.
That's right. Delishus! Ooh, and free shampoo and soap.
My mother doesn't realize that I like having him here. I tell her so, but she doesn't listen. She keeps telling me that he needs to go to an old folks home and that I'll get sick and become incredibly mentally ill and that I'll develop some kind of crippling physical ailment if I continue to keep him here with me.
I understand what she means. There's only so much you can do. If things were different, yeah...I probably would have other arrangements set.
But while he's still sharp and energetic, he's mine.
She doesn't quite understand coming from a large family.
I am an only child. My father is an only child. We are all my grandfather has. And he's the only grandfather I've ever known. Why on earth would we send him off when he's in good shape?!?
Normally I'm pretty laid back but lately people have been pissing me off.
And by people I mean my mom. Occasionally my dad. People in general...but wait, that's normal.
Same goes with my mother-in-law. I don't think she understands certain things. Either that or she just doesn't think before she speaks, and on top of that doesn't listen to herself as she keeps repeating the same phrases over and over and over again.
Though it's a nice break from listening about her Boston Terrier.
She started giving me this odd, borderline manic lecture on how when it's your time to die, it's your time. Started talking about the lord and such. It really freaks me out when people talk about the lord. Talk about death and cadavers and pine boxes for all I care...but the lord?!
Scary.
I didn't know whether to laugh or to yell at her. Mama-in-law is obsessed with the fact that my mother won't dye her hair. My mom has developed an allergy to hair dye, you see. If she dyes her hair, her entire head, face and neck swells up. Her throat begins to close up. She has trouble breathing. Not a pleasant experience. Sooo, adding that paranoia on top of her already existing irrational paranoia, my mom doesn't want to dye her hair ever again. I'm right there with her. She doesn't want to risk trying any of the natural stuff out there like henna or whatever.
Well...with the wedding coming up, my uber image-conscious mother-in-law to be keeps insisting that my mom dye her hair. I keep explaining over and over again that my mom doesn't want to, and why. That's when my fiance's mom starts about how, "When it's your time to die...it's your time. Whether you're on your way to church or you're sitting on the toilet or you have an allergic reaction to hair dye. If it's your time to join the lord, then it's your time."
I froze, horrified. Major WTF moment. Let me remind you that this woman is not normally like this. Maybe she hasn't been taking her happy pills and was feeling particularly imbalanced that day. Who knows. The only thing I managed to spit out was, "Uh, have you ever heard of PREVENTATIVE ACTION?!?!??
Friday, June 5, 2009
Wheee! <-- (me slipping off the edge of the earth)
Is it mere coincidence that the time I stop updating my blogs, everyone (with 2 or 3 exceptions) I'm stalking following seems to have also vanished.
And for the record: I miss Twisted Ellen's hilarious blog. *Cries* Come baaaaaack!!!
Soooo. I am currently sipping on my free sample of Teechino's herbal coffee.
Yeeeaaaah.
You have to tell yourself "This isn't coffee. It's just a warm, brown beverage," before you brew up a cup of this stuff. Otherwise you're in for a huuuuuge disappointment. It's not bad. Well okay, it kind of is. It smells like dates and mock coffee flavoring (awful!) and tastes like water. Warm water. Warm sugar water if you add come evaporated cane juice in there.
It looks exactly like coffee if you pour it into a mug, black. It could be the perfect coffee impostor if you're ever in a situation that requires such a thing. Like in a spy mission. Or you could use it as "prop coffee" on a movie set. It could certainly serve well as an April Fool's joke.
Or if you're in that in-between state of deciding "do I want coffee or do I want tea?" then maybe this Teechino stuff will do the trick.
I'm glad this was a free sample.
In case any of you are curious, my absence was due to "Operation Kidnap Grandpa".
My parents and I have joint custody of my grandfather. He's been spending the week with me, weekends with the 'rents. We've had enough of his "living alone 300 miles away" business.
More to come later. I'm going to dump this herbal stuff down the drain and make some real coffee. From Brazil. Mmmmm....
Ta-ta.
And for the record: I miss Twisted Ellen's hilarious blog. *Cries* Come baaaaaack!!!
Soooo. I am currently sipping on my free sample of Teechino's herbal coffee.
Yeeeaaaah.
You have to tell yourself "This isn't coffee. It's just a warm, brown beverage," before you brew up a cup of this stuff. Otherwise you're in for a huuuuuge disappointment. It's not bad. Well okay, it kind of is. It smells like dates and mock coffee flavoring (awful!) and tastes like water. Warm water. Warm sugar water if you add come evaporated cane juice in there.
It looks exactly like coffee if you pour it into a mug, black. It could be the perfect coffee impostor if you're ever in a situation that requires such a thing. Like in a spy mission. Or you could use it as "prop coffee" on a movie set. It could certainly serve well as an April Fool's joke.
Or if you're in that in-between state of deciding "do I want coffee or do I want tea?" then maybe this Teechino stuff will do the trick.
I'm glad this was a free sample.
In case any of you are curious, my absence was due to "Operation Kidnap Grandpa".
My parents and I have joint custody of my grandfather. He's been spending the week with me, weekends with the 'rents. We've had enough of his "living alone 300 miles away" business.
More to come later. I'm going to dump this herbal stuff down the drain and make some real coffee. From Brazil. Mmmmm....
Ta-ta.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
SIG and Moth Ball Lady
On my latest train-ride adventure, I became fascinated with a complete stranger.
I stepped onto the train expecting to have a row to myself. Standing in the aisle, awkwardly, I surveyed the car and realized that I was either going to have to sit with someone, or wander aimlessly about the cars until I found a less populated area. With the contents of my orange backpack poking me and my dad's old, brown suitcase (that has been around the world and back) tugging at my arm (begging to be dropped) I decided against the search option and sat next to the least hostile person I could find.
I looked to my left and without saying a word, a kind-looking gentleman and I had a silent conversation. I pointed to the seat, fixing my face in a questioning expression. He smiled briefly and gave me a slight nod before returning to The Washington Post.
It took me a few minutes to get myself situated. I noticed the gentleman was surveying me - or perhaps he was just looking. I locked eyes with him again because his mouth had opened slightly. I was under the impression that he wanted to say something. But, no. He said nothing. Turned back to his newspaper articles. I put my bags away and plopped down in what was now my seat. Glanced around, checked out the people around me, and pulled out my copy of The Thirteenth Tale.
It wasn't long until I became completely absorbed in the story, almost forgetting where I was. Every once in a while a glint of light would catch my eye and I'd gaze out the window, enjoying the view of....er...some body of water.
I wish I could be more like my father - he can identify any body of water just by knowing what state he's in and what direction he's traveling. I would need a map. And he just knows.
Every time I looked out the window, the gentleman would look at me. He didn't glance quickly just to see if I was looking at him. He'd look up and just continue for a few moments before looking out the window or going back to whatever it was he was doing.
I'm not quite sure why, but this guy was interesting. Maybe because he didn't make small talk. I hate small talk. Maybe it was because he hadn't said a word at all. Or maybe it was because I had a 6-hour journey ahead of me and I needed something, other than the book, to entertain me for a while.
It was then I decided to play a game. I was going to find out as much as I could about this guy without asking him a single question.
And....here's what I got:
He was wearing a business suit. Ironed shirt, sharp tie, polished shoes. He was in his mid to late 40s. Maybe even in his 50s. He had dark hair that was just starting to evenly sprout little white hairs. He looked good for his age. He was fit - not muscular. Not scrawny. He wore rectangular glasses that didn't have frames.
He carried an attache.
Total business man.
He read all of the sections of The Washington Post (including the comics! how cute is that?) except for the front page, metro, auto, real estate, and sports. He sighed, deeply and loudly, in between each section. I had to keep myself from laughing. He did it every single time.
I couldn't decide if he was deaf or not. He had a blackberry...but both deaf and hearing people use them. Hmm.
He was Italian! Or, at least he could read Italian. From the looks of it he either taught Italian and was grading a students' paper or he had written the paper and was correcting his own work. For a second I thought that maybe he didn't speak English...but then I remembered he had been reading The Post. OK.
Silent Italian Guy kept pulling out all of these papers and booklets from his attache, most of them in Italian. Every now and then he pulled out a map or driving directions. Aha! His stop was in Philadelphia. As soon as he got off the train he was going to rent a car and drive 30 minutes to his destination.
SIG was kind of anxious. He kept checking his watch.
This guy entertained me for a solid 2 hours. After he left I took his seat by the window and hoped no one weird would sit with me. No such luck. A creepy owl-eyed lady that smelled like moth balls practically threw herself in the seat, coming dangerously close to my personal bubble. She sat there huffing and puffing for about 20 minutes. I guess she ran? I don't know. She glared at me through her thick lenses. Internally I rolled my eyes and hoped she'd get off at the next stop. Every time she shifted around I got a whiff of that awful moth ball smell. She wiggled around a lot. Wrinkling my nose I turned slightly away from her and kept myself in my fantasy world for the rest of the trip.
She ended up being there until I got off the train.
Oooh! We passed through The Hell Gate Bridge in New York. Hell's Gate! How cool is that?!
I stepped onto the train expecting to have a row to myself. Standing in the aisle, awkwardly, I surveyed the car and realized that I was either going to have to sit with someone, or wander aimlessly about the cars until I found a less populated area. With the contents of my orange backpack poking me and my dad's old, brown suitcase (that has been around the world and back) tugging at my arm (begging to be dropped) I decided against the search option and sat next to the least hostile person I could find.
I looked to my left and without saying a word, a kind-looking gentleman and I had a silent conversation. I pointed to the seat, fixing my face in a questioning expression. He smiled briefly and gave me a slight nod before returning to The Washington Post.
It took me a few minutes to get myself situated. I noticed the gentleman was surveying me - or perhaps he was just looking. I locked eyes with him again because his mouth had opened slightly. I was under the impression that he wanted to say something. But, no. He said nothing. Turned back to his newspaper articles. I put my bags away and plopped down in what was now my seat. Glanced around, checked out the people around me, and pulled out my copy of The Thirteenth Tale.
It wasn't long until I became completely absorbed in the story, almost forgetting where I was. Every once in a while a glint of light would catch my eye and I'd gaze out the window, enjoying the view of....er...some body of water.
I wish I could be more like my father - he can identify any body of water just by knowing what state he's in and what direction he's traveling. I would need a map. And he just knows.
Every time I looked out the window, the gentleman would look at me. He didn't glance quickly just to see if I was looking at him. He'd look up and just continue for a few moments before looking out the window or going back to whatever it was he was doing.
I'm not quite sure why, but this guy was interesting. Maybe because he didn't make small talk. I hate small talk. Maybe it was because he hadn't said a word at all. Or maybe it was because I had a 6-hour journey ahead of me and I needed something, other than the book, to entertain me for a while.
It was then I decided to play a game. I was going to find out as much as I could about this guy without asking him a single question.
And....here's what I got:
He was wearing a business suit. Ironed shirt, sharp tie, polished shoes. He was in his mid to late 40s. Maybe even in his 50s. He had dark hair that was just starting to evenly sprout little white hairs. He looked good for his age. He was fit - not muscular. Not scrawny. He wore rectangular glasses that didn't have frames.
He carried an attache.
Total business man.
He read all of the sections of The Washington Post (including the comics! how cute is that?) except for the front page, metro, auto, real estate, and sports. He sighed, deeply and loudly, in between each section. I had to keep myself from laughing. He did it every single time.
I couldn't decide if he was deaf or not. He had a blackberry...but both deaf and hearing people use them. Hmm.
He was Italian! Or, at least he could read Italian. From the looks of it he either taught Italian and was grading a students' paper or he had written the paper and was correcting his own work. For a second I thought that maybe he didn't speak English...but then I remembered he had been reading The Post. OK.
Silent Italian Guy kept pulling out all of these papers and booklets from his attache, most of them in Italian. Every now and then he pulled out a map or driving directions. Aha! His stop was in Philadelphia. As soon as he got off the train he was going to rent a car and drive 30 minutes to his destination.
SIG was kind of anxious. He kept checking his watch.
This guy entertained me for a solid 2 hours. After he left I took his seat by the window and hoped no one weird would sit with me. No such luck. A creepy owl-eyed lady that smelled like moth balls practically threw herself in the seat, coming dangerously close to my personal bubble. She sat there huffing and puffing for about 20 minutes. I guess she ran? I don't know. She glared at me through her thick lenses. Internally I rolled my eyes and hoped she'd get off at the next stop. Every time she shifted around I got a whiff of that awful moth ball smell. She wiggled around a lot. Wrinkling my nose I turned slightly away from her and kept myself in my fantasy world for the rest of the trip.
She ended up being there until I got off the train.
Oooh! We passed through The Hell Gate Bridge in New York. Hell's Gate! How cool is that?!
Friday, April 10, 2009
I don't really look good in white....
What's with the "every woman has been planning her wedding ever since she was a little girl" nonsense?
Is that true? It certainly isn't for me. Never in my life had I ever daydreamed about getting married. I'd always imagined myself getting married someday, but I never put much thought into the details. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to get married at my church...even though I'm not terribly religious. I never thought about flowers, the dress, the decor, or anything else.
Which is probably why I'm having a bit of difficulty planning my wedding, which will take place in December.
Planning a wedding is....kind of fun. Stressful. But...fun. Kind of.
Ok. To tell you the truth, I wanted a small wedding. And by small I mean 20 people or less attending, including immediate family. If I had it my way, we'd have a small little ceremony before heading off to this uber-expensive, fancy restaurant in Baltimore I've been dying to go to.
According to my mother-in-law(to be), this was completely unacceptable. My fiancé, to begin with, was right there with me. But the more and more he thought about it (and perhaps the more and more his mom insisted), he decided that he wanted a big wedding.
Sigh.
Isn't it usually the other way around?! It's usually girl wanting something extravagant and the guy wanting the complete opposite.
Here I am all for saving money, keeping things a bit more private and personal, happily refusing to spend hundreds...or thousands...of dollars on a ball gown I will wear only once in my life... and everyone starts acting as if I'm being utterly absurd.
Well excuse me for not being a Bridezilla!
I've managed to keep the guest list to 50 people total. We don't have the money to invite everyone we want (the guest list would have included about 300 people. Why invite mere acquaintances? I don't get it) and I refuse to go into debt for this. And I won't let my future in-laws do such a thing either. My parents aren't contributing much to this because I asked them not to.
My fiancé's parents are still paying off their other son's wedding...which was 2 years ago.
Here's something that kind of made me laugh: My fiancé's mom made a comment about how it's the bride's parents that should pay for the wedding, if not most of it. She started complaining about how much money she had to put into the other son's wedding and how she didn't have to and blah blah blah. So I told her, "Well don't worry about my wedding. I can pay for exactly what I want. I have money saved up for that. I don't have money for what YOU want. This is my wedding."
Yet she insisted on paying for the bulk of it. And continues complaining about the other wedding.
What?!?!
That's her problem, I guess.
Now don't get me wrong. My future in-laws and I get along really well. Better than most people that are brought together by marriage. We're all really close. But ever since this wedding planning junk has started I've been butting heads with mama there 'cause she's the typical "I want things my way" kinda lady.
Have I mentioned that I'm absolutely horrified by the idea of being the center of attention for 6 straight hours? Some people love it. I've heard many girls say, "It's the one day that everyone's eyes will be on me". They love the attention. They crave it.
I, however, do not.
I'm no attention whore. I don't like being in the spotlight. I'm perfectly happy in the shadows. I'm debating as to whether I should pop some Valium before the ceremony...or if I should just skip the pills and go straight for the booze at the reception?
I have time to figure that one out.
Is that true? It certainly isn't for me. Never in my life had I ever daydreamed about getting married. I'd always imagined myself getting married someday, but I never put much thought into the details. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to get married at my church...even though I'm not terribly religious. I never thought about flowers, the dress, the decor, or anything else.
Which is probably why I'm having a bit of difficulty planning my wedding, which will take place in December.
Planning a wedding is....kind of fun. Stressful. But...fun. Kind of.
Ok. To tell you the truth, I wanted a small wedding. And by small I mean 20 people or less attending, including immediate family. If I had it my way, we'd have a small little ceremony before heading off to this uber-expensive, fancy restaurant in Baltimore I've been dying to go to.
According to my mother-in-law(to be), this was completely unacceptable. My fiancé, to begin with, was right there with me. But the more and more he thought about it (and perhaps the more and more his mom insisted), he decided that he wanted a big wedding.
Sigh.
Isn't it usually the other way around?! It's usually girl wanting something extravagant and the guy wanting the complete opposite.
Here I am all for saving money, keeping things a bit more private and personal, happily refusing to spend hundreds...or thousands...of dollars on a ball gown I will wear only once in my life... and everyone starts acting as if I'm being utterly absurd.
Well excuse me for not being a Bridezilla!
I've managed to keep the guest list to 50 people total. We don't have the money to invite everyone we want (the guest list would have included about 300 people. Why invite mere acquaintances? I don't get it) and I refuse to go into debt for this. And I won't let my future in-laws do such a thing either. My parents aren't contributing much to this because I asked them not to.
My fiancé's parents are still paying off their other son's wedding...which was 2 years ago.
Here's something that kind of made me laugh: My fiancé's mom made a comment about how it's the bride's parents that should pay for the wedding, if not most of it. She started complaining about how much money she had to put into the other son's wedding and how she didn't have to and blah blah blah. So I told her, "Well don't worry about my wedding. I can pay for exactly what I want. I have money saved up for that. I don't have money for what YOU want. This is my wedding."
Yet she insisted on paying for the bulk of it. And continues complaining about the other wedding.
What?!?!
That's her problem, I guess.
Now don't get me wrong. My future in-laws and I get along really well. Better than most people that are brought together by marriage. We're all really close. But ever since this wedding planning junk has started I've been butting heads with mama there 'cause she's the typical "I want things my way" kinda lady.
Have I mentioned that I'm absolutely horrified by the idea of being the center of attention for 6 straight hours? Some people love it. I've heard many girls say, "It's the one day that everyone's eyes will be on me". They love the attention. They crave it.
I, however, do not.
I'm no attention whore. I don't like being in the spotlight. I'm perfectly happy in the shadows. I'm debating as to whether I should pop some Valium before the ceremony...or if I should just skip the pills and go straight for the booze at the reception?
I have time to figure that one out.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
undapantz!
I am such a dork. I remembered to pack my laptop and my schoolbooks. I remembered to slip all my vitamins and my bottle of stevia in my bag. Didn’t leave home without my snacky foods. Books, check. Mp3 player, check. Cell phone charger (I always forget that!) Check!! Toothbrush, toothpaste, sunscreen, everything is there! Except for…
Uh. What am I missing.
Oh.
Underwear.
Underwear!!! Of all the things I could’ve forgotten, I forgot to pack my underwear?!? My goodness. And the funny thing is that as I was packing I was texting back and forth with my buddy who was also getting ready for a road trip…and I jokingly said to him, “Don’t forget to pack your undies!”
And I end up leaving them behind. Go me.
So yeah. Greetings from Connecticut! It’s miserable here. Now that my grandmother is gone the place is drenched in sadness. Clinging onto the curtains, seeping from the walls, hanging on to anything and everything you touch or just merely look at. The love and joy that radiated from my Grammy is no longer here. The house feels like….an empty house. No longer like a home, even though my grandfather still lives here. He’s depressed, of course. He lost the love of his life. I think he needs a change of scenery which is why I’m going to kidnap him! MUA-haha!
But man, not even the sunlight flooding in through the windows can beat the gloom.
In 3 weeks my dad and I will be coming back for Easter and we're going to arrange everything and pack everything so that my grampy can live with meee!! My grandfather is awesome. He's so laid back and positive about everything. Has a great sense of humor. He's 91 years old, almost 92 and he looks like he's in his 70s. My dad is 66 and he looks like he's 45. I want THOSE genes! Whatever they have that makes them age reeeaaallly slow....I want it. Up until last year I got carded for alcohol.
Ooh and people would ask me, "So, what high school do you go to?"
I'd tell them, "I'm in my twenties" and they wouldn't believe me. I liked that! I liked being 24 and being mistaken for a seventeen-year-old. But now...at 25....I don't get that anymore. Do I look my age? Or maybe I at least look 21 now. Hmm. Maybe people are just bad at guessing my age and I've looked my age all along.
My mom is the same way. She looks absolutely amazing at 52. Very youthful looking, very beautiful. Which kind of baffles all of us because she's been smoking for over 30 years. *Shrugs*
Uh. What am I missing.
Oh.
Underwear.
Underwear!!! Of all the things I could’ve forgotten, I forgot to pack my underwear?!? My goodness. And the funny thing is that as I was packing I was texting back and forth with my buddy who was also getting ready for a road trip…and I jokingly said to him, “Don’t forget to pack your undies!”
And I end up leaving them behind. Go me.
So yeah. Greetings from Connecticut! It’s miserable here. Now that my grandmother is gone the place is drenched in sadness. Clinging onto the curtains, seeping from the walls, hanging on to anything and everything you touch or just merely look at. The love and joy that radiated from my Grammy is no longer here. The house feels like….an empty house. No longer like a home, even though my grandfather still lives here. He’s depressed, of course. He lost the love of his life. I think he needs a change of scenery which is why I’m going to kidnap him! MUA-haha!
But man, not even the sunlight flooding in through the windows can beat the gloom.
In 3 weeks my dad and I will be coming back for Easter and we're going to arrange everything and pack everything so that my grampy can live with meee!! My grandfather is awesome. He's so laid back and positive about everything. Has a great sense of humor. He's 91 years old, almost 92 and he looks like he's in his 70s. My dad is 66 and he looks like he's 45. I want THOSE genes! Whatever they have that makes them age reeeaaallly slow....I want it. Up until last year I got carded for alcohol.
Ooh and people would ask me, "So, what high school do you go to?"
I'd tell them, "I'm in my twenties" and they wouldn't believe me. I liked that! I liked being 24 and being mistaken for a seventeen-year-old. But now...at 25....I don't get that anymore. Do I look my age? Or maybe I at least look 21 now. Hmm. Maybe people are just bad at guessing my age and I've looked my age all along.
My mom is the same way. She looks absolutely amazing at 52. Very youthful looking, very beautiful. Which kind of baffles all of us because she's been smoking for over 30 years. *Shrugs*
Monday, March 9, 2009
skool and...stuff. ooh, road trip!
soooooo school has kinda been kicking my butt these past 2 weeks. Midterms and all.
i haven't much time to say anything right now.
my dad and i are going to Connecticut this weekend (road trip! woo!), so i'll be sure to tell you all about that when i get back.
until then, i leave you with this tiny little Röyksopp music video. hope you like! if anything, the flashing lights and shiny things should keep you entertained. i know it kept me mesmerized :) i like shiny things. oooh. so pretty.
ta-ta.
i haven't much time to say anything right now.
my dad and i are going to Connecticut this weekend (road trip! woo!), so i'll be sure to tell you all about that when i get back.
until then, i leave you with this tiny little Röyksopp music video. hope you like! if anything, the flashing lights and shiny things should keep you entertained. i know it kept me mesmerized :) i like shiny things. oooh. so pretty.
ta-ta.
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