warm blanket sunday thoughts
February 28, 2010, 8:22 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

summer camp fire night ++:

Yours Truly Presents: The Morning Benders “Excuses” from Yours Truly on Vimeo.


February 28, 2010, 12:57 am
Filed under: gastronomy, insight

A career fair. Yes, it is awkward from the other side of the table too. I had the killer stilettos on, the ones that make me taller than most men, and my calves were strangely struggling for the first time in memory.

There were a few people I knew from school there and I realized how, in high school redux, the fallout was that much more pronounced. Friends remain close friends, acquaintences just sort of fall away and the small talk about the experience you were sharing is gone, leaving a catch up conversation at best, which is sometimes awkward when the last time you knew these people it was in a highly competitive context.

Translation. When I run into someone I graduated with in high school, either we immediately fall into talking like we used to, or we ask each other a bunch of questions about how life is and subtly compare. Because high school in itself, or at least my high school, was an oddly competitive environment. It was a place of contstant doubt, social jockeying, and meanness as social collateral. Without our best jeans to rank ourselves by, we now use numbers of children, careers, home ownership, and marriage. We can’t relate to each other as people meeting because there’s too much back story. At some point, we ranked these people in relation to ourselves, and seeing them brings up the urge to do it again.

My second degree, the professional one, was very similar. It was stressful and people were constantly assessing themselves against each other. Popularity, attractiveness, athleticism and intelligence all mattered. Everyone wondered if they were doing it right and how things would turn out. Unlike undergrad, where difference was met with acceptance and interest, here it was examined pro/con and slotted into the ranking.

The best example are two friends of mine who scored lucrative changes a year out by moving from private to public. In the long run, they may make less, but in the short run they make as much or more and get substantially better quality of life and benefits. Upon hearing about this, a table of people I went to school with first asked “did they get fired?” then sneered, “so, they couldn’t handle it, right?”

In the real world, you should celebrate the successes of others you like and have worked with even when defined differently. Unfounded commentary otherwise just belies self doubt and jealousy, questions on the road not taken and attempts to settle old scores. Advice? No. Resolve.


Today I had the sensation of becoming the person I am going to be, and how to facilitate it by experience. I can feel it in there and I want to be it already, all the time, without effort. A delightful impossibility.


Stepped out for brioche and bacon. I’ve never actually had brioche and was intending baguettes but they were sold out (I waited too long). Bacon and avo sandwiches tomorrow, along with the latest experiment in French toast. Bacon and avo, with a little cracked black pepper and sea salt, is the sandwich of my dreams.

Tomorrow I think I’m also going to attempt vegan ceasar salad dressing. One of my favorite restaurants serves this and it’s better than my mom’s real ceasar salad dressing with egg and anchovy. I have a head of nice romaine that’s just begging for it.

Maybe I would have been something you’d be good at
February 27, 2010, 4:49 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

My word, intoxication is a special thing.

Right now I miss just about everyone.

in the crowded streets
February 26, 2010, 4:24 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Someone senior to me at work asked me what I was listening to when I walked in. I didn’t have the Balls to say Bob Marley. Because who other than an abject slacker planning on quitting in six months listens to reggae on her walk to work. Am I right?

Today after work I changed into jeans and went out to pick up cupcakes. For some reason on the way I felt like hot stuff, like “who’s that girl?” which is sort of funny given that I was dressed in my after work uniform: Hey I’m Fifteen!

I periodically search people. It’s a compulsion in periods in my life where I’m bored, and I often think of being a private investigator as a backup career because I sort of enjoy being so creepy nosy. Anyways, I searched my mid undergrad crush, a journalist. He was a student when I was a student, sometimes we rode the same bus. Once he said hi to me, and then two years later I somehow ended up in his booth at a dive bar and was too weird about how much I’d followed him and his written sense of humor to do anything but smile politely for fear of giving away what a creepshow I was. Anyways, I’ve seen him lately back in town as a grown up, walking around my ‘hood. I was sure it was him and have been able to confirm it through the search tonight and some convenient pictures. He always makes eye contact with me and I think he recognizes me, though hopefully not as that girl who used to give him crazy awkward lust eyes. For how devastatingly beautiful I thought he was when we were six years younger, I don’t feel any attraction to him now. But I still feel like a creep.

Pat Lepoidvin – The Moonwolf Departure

February 25, 2010, 5:06 am
Filed under: unrelated thoughts

How can one person shed so much hair?
What’s in dish soap?
Are we heading to the gold medal game?
Will it snow again?

Is something exciting going to happen?

In the Middle of The Night
February 24, 2010, 5:28 am
Filed under: insight

He writes to me about all the plans he’s making and how hard he’s working. The problem is I’m working hard too but all my plans aren’t about him. It’s a funny position because for the first time there’s nothing wrong with him. The chemistry is good and the compatibility is high, this is it, never better.

But ready, maybe not. Part of me can throw it in, pool resources, live together. But what about throwing in freedom, does it go into the circle of sharing? Freedom to. To come home late, go off on random unplanned adventure; to throw a moment into the F*ck It You Only Live Once category, no holds barred.

I have a default, secret commitment phobic friend, who’s always on the radar when it goes sideways. Communication is sporadic but honest; there’s this strange feeling during our conversations like what’s being said has never been said before, like we’ve been saving it up to be spoken in darkness, as co-conspirator witnesses. When we’re safely apart we half-joke about someday being committed, maybe to each other, and then we go try with everyone else. The one conversation in the darkness that’s never risked.

Lately he’s there a little too easily, just scratchable at the surface. He’s a figment of the fear, not even a true what-if, just a diversion for all the ways I don’t want to feel about what’s here and real.

Bahamas – Lonely Loves

February 23, 2010, 6:11 am
Filed under: nomadisms, runaway

I realized, paging back through this incarnation, that it’s basically void of the stories over the months I was gone. I thought I’d been documenting everything a little better.


The fog was so heavy I thought we’d never see the promised mountains that we’d come out this far to find. We hauled our bags along the street to find a place to sleep, and then a place to party.

The night before was all prelude. We tried to figure out what was happening. Our room was unhelpful – two guys from a few hours away had rolled in late and rolled out just as early. The other guest was a Swede who would wear his tight long underwear around after his daily ski session. We were hoping, given his height and muscular thighs, he would be a contender to make out with our friend. He asked where we were from, and she mentioned she was from the city nearby.

“Do you ski?” He said.
“No,” she replied.
“That’s weird.”

He then strode across the room to find some kind of peanut butter energy bar. I had told L.G. that our objective was to make the magic happen. In fact, we had done this before on our other roadtrip six months and a few thousand miles ago. Everything we selected on the trip was to ensure our third wheel wouldn’t be, at least not at the ball drop. We had also selected everything to keep in line with the budgets du jour – one recent grad, one of us temporarily unemployed, and one expat in training. That’s how we found the EVERYTHING FREE ON NEW YEARS flyer.

The EVERYTHING FREE ON NEW YEARS flyer promised cheap drinks, free food, entertainment, and youth. It seemed too good to be true. It wasn’t.

Earlier in the morning, L.G. had gone down to find and scout the advertised free breakfast, which turned out to be a loaf of bread. L.G. described it as watching a bunch of ants maul a sugar hill; entirely young men, gorging themselves on free jam, swarming. He struck up a conversation with a burly rugby player about the flyer – the rugby player confirmed the event was on, and that he would be a bouncer.

Now, the thing about L.G. is that his secret talent is being a Man Whisperer. He is, above and far, the best wingman a girl can find. I have no idea what he said to this bouncer over the jam, but he convinced him that our friend was his midnight destiny.

We started at three with a weak assortment of Australians, one hefty khaki wearing lady from New Zealand, and a filthy Brit. Yes, the sort of people who would show up at three to an everything free party. Midway through the rounds, the Kiwi put her hand on L.G’s arm, which he pointed out to me through disapproving eyebrow communication. I shrugged. We played on and searched for candidates. The bouncer attempted to make contact with our friend, she was oblivious. We played on. Three pints in, all of us were working the room in support of Operation Third Wheel.

I had found the two guys from our room last night. They were wearing matching sweaters. We did shots. L.G. scouted the strong Aussie contingent and talked surfing. We did shots. The first musical act appeared, which L.G. correctly observed was the guy who worked at the front desk wearing a wig and rapping over old indie pop. They only had three verses, and a very lewd chorus, but pint five had taken effect and the free food was only intermittent pierogies on a platter where you were permitted one before it was quickly moved away.

While I was talking to additional candidates, and doing shots, our friend the Kiwi had proceeded to aggressively hit on L.G. He elected to respond to her behavior by grabbing my backside, grabbing me, and at one point hoisting me in the air and spinning me around. Pint eight. The Kiwi had been ditched by the people she came with, won a chugging contest and a large Pilsner beer stein, sucked the face of an eighteen year old Aussie right off on the dance floor during the first act, and then was escourted out as she appeared to pass out – but not before giving me a perplexing shove in the back and three elbows to the ribs.

But we stayed. I mean, EVERYTHING FREE, right?

The eighteen year old Aussie was on par with the rest of the room and staggered towards the bathroom where L.G. waited in line.

“Heeeeyyy,” he slurred, “I saw you hitting on her, we can settle this right here,” he gargled, stepping into L.G.’s space. Apparently, there was some confusion that my boyfriend was interested in his Kiwi score.
I will end you.” L.G. deadpanned. The Aussie took three steps back, nodded politely, forgot about the bathroom, and did some shots.

Meanwhile, my friend and I had appropriated the abandoned beer stein as a purse trophy and were continuing to work the increasingly small room we had been in for six hours. A D.J. from Vancouver played very slow music, hopefully for free. More candidates were interviewed, with mixed success, as it was revealed my friend was more and more oblivious. L.G. still favored the bouncer. I favored the free pierogies. The Kiwi reappeared, bloated and risen from the dead. We found ourselves on the one hour homestretch with all our new friends.

“I need to go back,” my friend announced, “now.”

At first I was totally adamant that we stay. Our work in hooking her up was going to be in vain – a failed mission! Plus, if we left we’d never get back in for the count down. But, a small rational voice cried out over the third act that it was time to take her back and ensure she didn’t meet an icy end on the way. The Kiwi gave a lazy eyed glare as I foreclosed on her New Years make out plans, taking L.G. with me.

The Swede awaited. When we got back to our room, there were no less than twenty people in it and five full beer spilled on the floor. As we arrived, the room cleared out. The Swede had broken pace and was almost jovial. Sensing the final opportunity of the night, we left our friend and set off for the fireworks in the middle of town with everyone else.

“Are you going to come to the fireworks?” The Swede asked her.
“I can’t.”
“You should really come with us. Now. To the fireworks.” He made his move. She knew it.
“I can’t. I can’t.”
“That’s weird.”

And my friend rang in the New Year alone, possibly by throwing up pints twelve through fifteen. L.G. and I rang it in without a countdown, on a winter street in a dark mountain town, watching fireworks we could almost, sort of, see.