Life Is Better

Happy Halloween!

Kids

You're less concerned about existential questions when you have kids, well maybe you're more, wait . . . what I'm saying is this . . .

They ask "why" a lot, like why should I shampoo my hair? Or why should I always listen to police officers, why should I go to bed when Mom says . . . or why it's bad to hit people. It's harder than any philosophy class I've ever taken (fuck Global Ethics in comparison to bath time). They ask the questions we're still asking ourselves. And then, just when us single folks are questioning the meaning of life, they wake us up at 6:30 in the morning, telling us about the dream they had about elephants and unicorns, then demanding breakfast. They snuggle up next to us in bed and figure out a way to get us up, ready to face the day.

I spent several hours of my life today trying to outsmart a 3-year-old. I'm not ashamed. They're smarter than we think.

Have you hung out with a kid lately? Fuck your "hits" on youtube or statcounter. You're still not as cool as cupcakes.

Somebody told me . . .

I don't know how to explain "home." Home's not a place, rather a state of being, an existence beyond goodness.

It's the toy Tonka trunk in the tub you stub your toe on every morning in the shower and the noodle stuck on the wall behind the chair. It's okay, no one ever really sits in that chair, there's hardly ever three for Wednesday's spaghetti and meatballs. It's the shiny, silver remote you can never seem to find, the cozy bed that never seems to get made. It's the dirty laundry crawling up the wall and the mysterious odor coming from the back of the fridge. It's the hand prints (mid-thigh level) on the glass back doors where little fingers itched to get at the red three-wheeler in the shed while rain poured down. It's the second or third or fourth-hand couch with the gaudy floral pattern you sink into each night after you emerge victorious from the two-hour battle for bedtime. It's home, and you know it.

Wish the rest of the world luck on their search for fame and fortune.

<br>.

When you look in the mirror, unrecognizable, a hollow shell of the man you thought you'd be, may St. Anthony hear your prayers. And when you strike-out across the horizon in search of all the pieces of your soul you've lost, may St. Christopher keep you safe.

I thought I enjoyed TV

But yesterday while Jordan fought his Mom and I tooth and nail not to go to bed during the first AND second showing of Sons of Anarchy . . . I realized I enjoyed people (even a whining three year old) much more. I wouldn't have changed anything for the world.
Yes telling Jordan a made up story about an elephant named Super Suit Case and a mouse named Suit Case (Jordan's idea for their names, pretty great) was better than learning the fate of the "club."
And I'm happy to report that one of the few shows Jordan enjoys is Scooby-Doo. It's one of my top ten favorite cartoons too. :)

I'm already loving Illinois.

Little Sister, the sky is falling

Odetta and friends

She's such an inspiration.

So is she, Ruby Dee knows how to Do the Right Thing. The Somebodiness Of Me.
And Men Who Have Loved Me




Sweet Honey In The Rock--- Testimony

My Vacation Starts Sunday

So naturally I'm getting sick.

Codeine is my hero. Fuck the doctors. I heart the left overs in my family's medicine cabinet.




Last Saturday night I hung around home, drank a few beers, watched Independence Day and packed. I decided that THAT was the only way to pack. I tried to do the same thing on Monday night, but I had one too many and somehow decided my time would be better spent reorganizing my shoe collection. Yeah, cool, but . . . not so productive.

I love Paul Pierce. Next week my love. Next week.

I don't care if Amy Winehouse is a cracked out mess. Valerie.

And sure, maybe Michael Jackson liked little boys . . . a little too much. Doesn't change the greatness of this song.

I had dinner with a nice boy last week. I wore my gross old lady sweater (along with the inside of my quesadilla that fell all down the front of said old lady sweater). He still wanted to see me again . . . either men are seriously lowering their standards or my apparent lack of shame is somehow endearing.

I am so tired, but so nervous/excited for Illinois.

I want to take my Dad's smelly, old flannel jacket with me. It's my favorite cozy thing to wear. But I know he'll miss it too much because it's his favorite cozy thing to wear.





I'm so excited to spend a few days in Chicago. I don't care if I have strep throat, I'm dragging Nelly to a hundred things.

I feel like it's 3 in the morning.




That nice boy that didn't seem to mind that I'm a little rough around the edges (and late, no matter what I seem to do) has never seen The Goonies OR The Karate Kid. Nor had he ever played hang man. But we bonded over The Mighty Ducks which is the only hockey I can stand to watch.



ahhhh, the in betweens

That's It, I quit, I'm Movin' On

Now THAT's depressing.
You've got the love . . .


People are idiots. So are cats . . .
It's the risk that I'm taking.


Amen.
Kooky


And I'm saving all my secrets for a deaf man.
S.O.S.










Bonus: Adele doing Sam Cooke

Run Fast

Fact: About a month ago I heard this song on the radio . . . I didn't know the artist/song name.
Fact: It made me so happy while listening to it spent a better chunk of my life that night surfing the internet for it (my audio pick up/absorption has radically decreased since I've stopped going to school and attending lectures).
Fact: A few weeks ago Alison Wonderland brought up Florence And The Machine
Fact: Dog Days must have been one of the few songs I didn't listen to . . .
Fact: Today the twains met. Hoorah.

Florence And The Machine - Dog Days Are Over (HQ)
Uploaded by Henrietta-Aime-Fumer_Tv. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

Please, Have a Heart

Saturday Night Lullaby

What comes is better . . .






Sometimes I smile and laugh when I think of all the great things you're gonna do. I hope you live forever.

KW Loveliness

I love you so much, I'll eat you up!

I Put A Spell On You

This is a favorite in my house this time of year. Go Bette. Go Screamin Jay.

Whatev

So I don't have much patience for people who are miserable in their own life and who HAVE to make others miserable by cutting them down. This includes my baby bro. I'm a fan of good snark . . . making fun of Chuck Norris and Steven Seagal because they don't know how ridiculous they are (that being said, I'm so exited for Lawman on A&E). But cutting people down who love you, maybe not the way to go, no matter how miserable you are with yourself. When playing the new Batman video game with my brother he made fun of me the whole time and how bad I was at it, and all I could think was, "Well I didn't spend 56 hours of my life perfecting my technique with the game, I've only been playing for 40 minutes and I'll probably only play for another hour if that then move on with my life. Maybe play a bit tomorrow if you're not around. Seriously." What the fuck.

Trivia Night vs. Line Dancing

I'm not friends with my friends because they know all the answers. I'm friends with some pretty intelligent, wonderful people. I'm friends with my friends because of all the things they know, they also know how to make me smile (just by being themselves). Let's be completely honest with each other folks. What's the funnest part of a game like Cranium, the trivia part . . . or the charades? I'd rather watch a friend act out being on a roller coaster than have them shout out who the 16th president of the United States was, because even if I didn't know it was good old Honest Abe, I'd know about a million ways to go looking for THAT answer. But I could never find the image embedded in my mind now of my friend Emily doing "roller coaster." The best ever.

I like going line dancing because I love dancing. But I don't enjoy going to clubs and having gross men grind up on me. When line dancing, there is NO grinding. Score. Now it's true, until you get the hang of a dance, you may look a little foolish up on the dance floor, but the cool thing about everyone there, they're willing to help you learn it, 8 count by 8 count. No judgment, just support. It's fantastic. You don't have to have any sense of rhythm, just know how to count to 8 and not take yourself so seriously, and you'll do great. Promise.

Worst dream ever . . .

Last week I had this horrible dream that one of my friends was having a seizure. Let me be more specific, in each "scene" of my dream I was doing something different, at first I was at work, then I was at a restaurant with friends, then I was at the movies. In each scene, he was in the background with some friends of his own, he would start to seize, and his friends would run up to me and tell me I had to find his medicine. At first I questioned them, saying can someone even take medicine when they're having a seizure, shouldn't we call an ambulance instead . . . etc. Each time everyone would just yell at me that he needed his medicine and that I was supposed to know where it was. When he stopped seizing he would yell at me telling me he almost died and it was all my fault. I pleaded with him each time to just tell me where his medicine was so that I would know the next time, but he'd just get up and leave with his friends, shaking his head in disappointment. By the third time in the movies I woke up from my dream mid-seizure in a cold sweat, crying. It was by far one of the worst dreams ever. And I don't need Freud to tell me what it means . . .

I'm no Florence Nightingale, nope, it ain't me babe.