In Honor of Leap Day

I have opted to stay in bed. I'm awake and all. Doing things....but you know....things you can do from bed. Like text message and write blogs and do homework. (Oh yes, I said "do homework".) I've even showered. I've put on deodorant, turned on the radio and made tea. I walked around the Frenchman's living room and kitchen naked. I think the neighbors were in their garage.

But back to bed with me!

If it were some other day, I might consider getting out of bed and going to meet friends for breakfast. I might think about going to run an errand, or maybe I might get really ambitious and clean the Frenchman's house. Because let me just say one word: BACHELOR.

Except...yeah. That's my snarl of crap. Anyway, he forbade me to clean, said there would be punishment if I did it, and so there is nothing left for me to do except dink around on the computer all day. Make some phone calls. Listen to the radio. Take a nap.

Write some papers. Read.

Why isn't February 29th a Holiday? Really. It only happens once every four years. We should celebrate! Mimosas in bed for EVERYONE!!!

Cluttered Little Shelf

With the time that I should have used to begin my annotated bibliography for my history class, I decided instead to nest. I made the usual trip to Target wherein I spent more money than I planned (because that's what you do when you go to Target), and came back with a desire to cozy up my T.V., install shelves and change the sheets.

The sheets were easy, because they were already clean and folded. It was simply a matter of tucking and nurse-corning and - Viola! My bed was inviting again.

The shelf proved me more trouble and required the help of my neighbor / dear friend / resident handyman. Here she is getting the screws into the stud.

This was after we drilled holes. But the result was quite nice.

There are no pictures of the T.V. cozy because, after I measured out the T.V. and got all Martha Stewart and shit, my amazing old Kenmore decided to eat shit. So currently the cozy is in a wad under my desk. I am trying to decide who I will ask to finish it for me, before I have some kind of OCD seizure.

Regardless, it will look like this:

You know, except I don't have nice furniture or a flat panel T.V.. Whatever.

Now my house feels lived in again. Organized and cozy and very, very nested. Except for the dishes. Because who the hell wants to do those.

When Life Gives You Lemonade, Add Vodka

Come to Jesus: A phrase meant to explain a life changing emotional experience that results in a change of action, or else.

Sometimes, you set your sites a little too high, too fast. And you need to know that there is always going to be some one or something that will bring you down to earth.

Down to Earth: To be sensible; practical.

Even though it's not your favorite combination of words, and even though you find yourself sneering at the thought of it, it's really very prudent to stay sensible, practical - realistic.

I heard once that all optimists view realists as pessimists, and all realists view optimists as foolish. I wonder if there is a balance, somewhere between living in the moment and planning carefully for the future. Somewhere between guarding your heart and giving it wholly, without shame.

And so you change your perspective. You look at it from a different angle to ensure that you will still get what you want, right now. So that you don't have to give up on your dream. Not yet. You will backtrack down the path you just took because, maybe, you saw the ocean from that other path as well. You can get there another way. Maybe you can fly to it.

The wind is whistling through my open windows, stirring the neighbors chimes and all of the dogs in the neighborhood at once. Perhaps outside Something Wicked This Way Comes. Or perhaps it is the storm that will wash away the heat of this day and bring us a fresh morning. It isn't right to feel ninety degrees in February. It screws with a persons constitution. It leaves you anticipating more, knowing full well that tomorrow might be bitter cold.

So we haven't packed our sweaters yet. Instead we layer - scarves over long sleeves over tank tops and shorts - so that we can peel away during the day as the sun beats down. Maybe in a few weeks we will box up the woolens and hide them in the closet. But it doesn't do to worry about it now. Because who really knows what tomorrow might bring.

Only time can tell.

Meet the Smorkin'

Here is where I should be doing my homework, and not thinking about going to target to buy lacquered shelving and little boy sized white-beaters. There is also the small matter of the horrible skin ripping demon dream that I cannot shake. While I should be fretting over why I am not motivated for school and processing deep personal information, I am writing this post because there are some really nice, sweet things in the world. They come in the form of tiny plastic smoking bunnies called Smorkin' Labbits.


See, aren't they sweet? On our trip to Houston this weekend, B, our Frenchie Friends and myself discovered these in the Contemporary arts museum and promptly bought all of them.

The big scary one in the front is called a Dunny. The box said "Love Me! I'm FRENCH!", and so we of course had to get a few of those.

These aren't exactly made for children.

Well, maybe they are. I'm not going to pretend I wanted to be adult in posing these. Is it absurd to wish that I could really have the whole collection???

Trim

Some growing things get trimmed. Nipped in the bud, if you will.



Even evil warlords need to make cut backs.

bu somethings need no shearing whatsoever.



Well...maybe there are some exceptions to that...

New Masthead!

See? That's what I meant to do.

My Blog is Not Really An Easter Egg

It just looks like one tonight. All I wanted was to update my blog. To some kind of simple, probably white, formatted thing. Maybe I'd change the font. I drew up a new masthead and it is totally perfect, despite being quite obviously the wrong size (which is why it's not up there).

And then I hit a wall, which looked something like a scene from 28 Days Later. With less blood. So now I am going to bed and you all will have to just deal with the fact that my page is fugly today.

Thanks so much for your understanding. Seriously. It's not supposed to look like this.

Bureau de Poste

Long before the inception of the e-mail, there was this thing called parcel post. Back then, Teradacytls transported stones with little chiseled drawings over to the next cave and dropped it on Cromagnen man. Not really. But close.

The first documented occurrences of a mail system are in The Bible by King Medes, who used it to hand down decrees authorizing the death of like, everyone. And then we evolved and stopped killing each other invented the internet which meant that we were civilized.

I still love old fashioned mail, though. You know, the kind that comes in a metal box with a stamp and sometimes still smells like the sender and you can almost imagine them scratching out their love for you with a pen in cursive. All my dearest friends know I love mail. Some people I only barely know are in tune to this as well (even if I am horrible about reciprocating!). And this month has been particularly special as far as my little P.O. Box is concerned.

Amy's package containing this totally amazing array of goodies finally arrived from Munich. Only two months late.

This lovely package came by way of the Frenchman. Don't you just wish you knew what was inside?

And anonymously - in a black envelope with my name printed computer style on a label - came this treasure what completely made my life. Because it's the absolute truth.

So today I returned the favor, mailing out boxes and letters and delightful whatnots from my local post office.

How come there is always a line??

I guess that's why they invented the email or something.

YES WAY

I finally sucked it up and bought a used computer with which to make fancy blog type things happen from the comfort of my own home. It was a process that went something like this:

Should I buy a laptop?

Should I buy a laptop?

Should I buy a laptop?

Sell me your laptop.

Shhheeeet. That's only got 20 GIGs of ram dawg! You can find some other sucker to pay you two hundred dollars!

This one hur is two hundred dollars? And it's all "I'm a dell and I don't have some dude's lunch stuck all nasty like in my keyboard, yo."

And so I bought it.

And Evolving was happy.

The Ovulator

Frenchman: What's wrong bebe?
Me: I'm ovulating.
F: That's all?
M: No. I'm ovulating. That means I am having irrational and unspeakable thoughts.
F: Because you're ovulating.
M: Yes.
F: So...just tell me what you are thinking.
M: No, I can't. You'll run screaming away.
F: They're just thoughts, you can tell me. You will still be the same person to me, just...ovulating.
M: Well, okay. You should know that I kind of hate you right now, and nothing you can say or do will be right - even though you haven't really done anything.
F: Oh....Okay, good to know. Let me get you some more wine.
M: Good idea.

Domesticity

He is singing. Behind him the rain is pouring off the eaves onto the porch. The morning light is soft with clouds, and his body dances.

He's already made me the morning coffee. I banned myself from touching the espresso machine before I've had my first cup, and made him teach me the french way to say "Don't touch!" Of course I can't remember it now that we've had blackberry tart, espressos with cream and kisses at the long green table.

I know there is some danger in enjoying the simplicities of domesticity. There is always some danger in giving all of your heart. But grocery shopping a nine thirty after a long work day, coming home to empty out the fridge for fresh food, flipping the wash, letting him make me a sandwich while I check my email and then enjoying the last hour of the evening quietly on the couch...waking up at two a.m. to a soft warm body stirring beside me - these are the things I would not dream of holding back for. I give my all.

For people who feel emotion very deeply and passionately, there is always the possibility that they will be hurt by the ones they love. At some point. Even if it just in their death. But for those people - people like me (the ones they say wear their heart on their sleeve) - we wouldn't dream of feeling any less. Holding back is not something we want to do; not something we know about.

And so these moments of domestic bliss - where he flips through his junk mail and we get ready for a trip to the post office - my heart soars in. J'ai la banane, as they say. I have a smile as wide as a banana. Don't ask me to give it up, I only know how to laugh.

The Dangers of Sleeping Over

1. Waking up late. Then staying in bed just a few minutes longer. Then being really late.

2. Not having time to shower, thus rubbing your face with some kind of man scented face wash, hoping to wake up.

3. No time for coffee!

4. Then trying to fix your mess of a head with some hair product you find in his toiletry bag. After applying liberally to your hair, picking up the travel sized can to examine more closely and notice that beneath the words "Rasage de la Mousse" are the words (in ENGLISH) "SHAVING FOAM".

Yes, I put Lancome shaving cream in my hair this morning. I showed up to school ten minutes late with my "I've had no coffee" face on, smelling distinctly like man's perfume. But totally ready to get my head shaved.

Just in Case You Didn't Already Know

The Frenchman comes home tonight.

This morning I piddled around the house talking jibberish to the cats, bouncing up and down to girly music and grinning at myself in the mirror.

"Damn, you look happy today!" I said to my reflection. And so I was.

I feel beautiful today. As if somehow the excitement could make me beautiful. Or maybe just the smiling? It's definitely true that I am not lovely at all when I frown.

I'm so happy that I'm only a little annoyed that both the people who said they wanted to rent from me for South by Southwest flaked out. This should be a lesson in me not counting my chickens before they hatch (or at least not buying new jeans before the money hits my account[but they were only ten dollars and so cute]).

Whatever. Who cares? Not I, said the cat.

But, you know, as a side note: If you say you are going to buy something from someone and they are holding it for you, you should, like, buy it. Because that's what nice people do.

I have one more class, of which I am decidedly unprepared for due in part to the meeting I had for my new job yesterday. I don't know if I am allowed to use the words "Round of Tequila Shots" and "Bought by My Boss" in the same sentence, but there you go. Compared to the last two and a half hour meeting I had at a coffee shop, this one was the polar opposite. Corporate speak and absurd employee handbooks be gone! Powerpoint presentations? Pfffffttt!!! Dudes, I have to just say this: She is giving us a bullhorn and encouraging us to use it.

What could be more right with my life these days? I swear, I'm being smiled on fiercely. I wish more people could feel the way I feel.

Come down for a cup of coffee and I promise to make sure some of this rubs off. And I'll even add whipped cream!

In Which I am Recovering from Partying Like a Rockstar

So, as you all know, my delicious french boyfriend has been gone since last Tuesday. I took this as a great opportunity to catch up with my girlfriends - i.e. get totally shitfaced over and over. In case you are wondering: YES. I most definitely drunk texted my ass off to B French. And believe it or not, he still wants to come home to me.

Between shooters of champagne and vodka (just kidding - I mostly just stayed wine drunk) I was actually quite productive in the creativity department. The school work...ahhh, not so much. But I definitely added some cuffs to another pair of pants, started and completed a lovely piece for my sweet KT and whipped up some yummy dinners for my friends and I.

On the list of things I wanted to complete but could not because I still do not have an internet connection at home:

- Finish Twitter. Remember him?? Aww...he was so cute like three months ago.

- Post about a gazillion photos so I can clear some room on my camera. I tried but I have to resize them all and I didn't have enough time to do it cause it wasn't my computer and blah blah blah, wah, wah, wah. (If you're sick of hearing me whine you should really buy me a new computer, don't you think?)

- Redesign my blog. Did we talk about this already? I think so. But did I do it? No. Of course not.

Other than that I have managed to scrape up a few dollars by renting my place out for SXSW. I personally will not be attending. It's my spring break so I'll probably spend most of the time holed up at the Frenchmans eating, drinking and making crafts. Oh yeah, and I guess I'll be working that week too. So, that will be fun.

I still have no buyers for the car. I am wondering if I should just let it get repossessed. (Just kidding. [Sort of.])

I dreamt last night that I was not awarded any money for school next year. In the dream I was upset but not all that surprised. Then I packed my bags and moved to France. I woke up wondering if I can still have my student loans deferred if I'm not going to school within the United States.

Anyone know?

Uf I Sud Lik Dis

It's because the greenish mucous in my chest is trying to fill my head and drown me. It's a good thing the Frenchman is out of town because I am not sexy right now.

Also fortuitous? It's Friday, which means I don't have any classes. And since I don't start my new coffee shop job until Tuesday I have plenty of days to rest and recouperate. ...That is...if I don't go dancing.

No! Of course I wouldn't! ...Maybe.

I decided two nights ago, while I was lying awake for no apparent reason at 3:30 a.m., that I really need to change my blog layout. It's so...so...DARK. And I am not in a dark spirit anymore! Perhaps I was when I put up this layout, but definitely not now, no definitely not. I have in my mind something sweet(ish). Maybe a little tongue in cheek. With a bit of blue and a dab of red. But no more black!!

So, keep and eye out for that, d'accord?

In other parts of my life where I am being totally over ambitious: I found a copy of "La Quatrieme Main" at B's house and stole it up, thinking what a brilliant idea it would be to learn to read in French. Then, after I bought a French-English dictionary to learn what the hell "Quatrieme Main" meant, I purchase the English version of this book:

My intention is to read a page in french then the same page in english, and so on, until (hopefully) by the end of the book I will only be reading the french version.

Yeah, in case you're wondering I'm still only fluent in three words of french. Whatever. I like a good challenge.

And now, off into the sun! It's seventy-five degrees here today! Why the hell am I in the library??

Seven Hour Time Difference

The Frenchman's in France for the week. So last night I hung out at my neighbor's apartment and drank wine, smoked too much (wait...didn't I quit??) and then champagne. Champagne, who brought the champagne? Woo. I think that they call that "self medicating". Because, honestly, my other plan was to lay on my couch and watch bad T.V. wondering if he was there yet.

My body sobered right around 2 a.m., just in time to receive the text message saying "I am here." Briefly I wondered how much extra I would be charged for international texts, and then I decided I didn't give a shit. I labeled the number "B French" - as it is his french cell phone. Now each time he responds to my messages my phone reads that: B French. As if it's taunting me a little.

Be French. You know you want to!

Lately I've been mulling over a long lost dream of mine to live in Paris. Severally years ago I practically had an apartment picked out there. I just couldn't figure out how to get a job for some reason. I don't know why the plan was never solidified. But it's rolling around my head lately like pebbles in a cheap plastic tumbler - you know the kind you get for kids so they can polish the rocks from the yard? I think of it as pipe dreaming. But it certainly is a pleasant pipe dream.

I don't know how I got out of bed this morning. My body felt old and a little sick. I came with the intention to go to a Psychology study group but realized that it happened yesterday and so, in effect, just ditched my History class. I feel like maybe I should just go back home to bed and start this day again. You know...less hungover.

A Sneak Peak

Just before the trip to Hamilton Pool, we got all cutesy and took some car type photos. I know you've been dying to know.

I know, gross huh?

It's Very Hard to Learn French

When your throat is swollen shut. It's that fecking "R" sound. The one that has nothing to do with your vocal cords whatsoever? It's just a sort swallowing noise, like maybe you are choking on your tongue, but then - no! No, I think she's trying to say something! What's that Lassie? Timmy's in the well? No? You want some wine? Rum? What? Seriously Lassie, I think you need to learn another french word besides "Oui".

Currently I am deciding if going to school tomorrow is such a great idea. I mean, I like spreading my sickness around, but I'm not so sure the rest of the school will. It may be prudent to sleep in.

No, I swear this has nothing to do with driving the Frenchman to the airport tomorrow. I promise.

Banana Split vs. the Superbowl

The game isn't interesting until the last forty seconds?

or

Homemade Valhrona chocolate sauce with fresh bananas and mango Hagen-daaz.

OR

...both?

If I could post the photos of the beautiful way the afternoon turned out, I most certainly would. A trip to the blue lagoon of Hamilton Pool and a lovely drive in the white corvette through the Texas Hill county softened the harsh beginning of the morning.

Always go back to bed on Sunday mornings. It proves to be the remedy for any ailment.

And Today is Dark.

For some reason I am awake. I wish that I could have stayed in bed, sleeping next to a soft warm body, dreaming randomly of things that commingle with reality. Instead I crept out of bed and onto the computer, fussing around with things that don't mean anything. Then there was the awkward messenger exchange between my stepmother and I. She expecting me to be...what I don't know. Me expecting her to be understanding that I do not, nor have I ever, loved my father. Hers is that blind love. The kind that gives only to receive pain, ultimately, in return. He will never take responsibility for his actions. Not for the way he treats her, not for the way he has treated me and my siblings. Not for the way he treated our mothers. He doesn't know how.

I am going to crawl back into bed now, hoping to start the day over. Empty my frustrations into a deep sleep and rise again with the sun in my heart and a perfect weekend ending itself effortlessly. I will not be unhinged by the dark clouds. The sun is always beneath it.

Spring Saturday

It was some kind of apocalyptically beautiful day. Even though it's February, it was eighty degrees. We strung up the hammock in the Frenchman's backyard and got sun burnt. We lay stacked on each other, wrapped in the cocoon of cotton mesh, swinging gently in the breeze. My head fit just underneath his arm, on his chest where I could hear his heart thump steadily - strong - beneath my ear. In the yards around us dogs barked and people worked on their Saturday afternoon projects. There was no where else to be.

At three o'clock we decided to have a barbecue, but it didn't make it happen until nine. It was the kind of Saturday that felt like a Sunday, with the feeling that you should be doing something but no intention to actually do it.

And now the house smells sweetly of pomegranate and onions, my face red from its time in the sun, evening waning into tomorrow. Days that make you believe it can be the weekend all year long. Bliss.