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Some things I wrote about myself:

I am a certain type of person.

I really like to color and paint.
I like to be in the sun and the water.
I like to be upside down.

Upsidedown

When I am having a bad day,
I do not eat a gluten-free, sugarless vegan cookies with soy milk.
I eat that: never.
When I am having a bad day, or a good day, I seek LEGIT dessert.
I believe in sugar and butter.
More than that– I was raised to express love through butter and sugar.
Suggesting I omit those things is like suggesting I omit my childhood.
And my love.
Stop doing that.

Peace Agreement:
If you would like to eat your cookies without butter, flour, eggs, or sugar– no big.
Just let me and my butter be together.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .

Sometimes meeting people makes me nervous,
Even though I really like it.
It’s hard for me to eek through the slow process of “opening up.”
When I think we should just have a soul session right here at the table.
What’s worse is when I open the door for a small soul sesh,
And you have nothing to say.
Where is your PASSION?!
What’s really worse is when:
Neither do I.
Sometimes people just aren’t ready.
Sometimes me neither.
I should stop freaking out about this.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .

(I think the word should is a little oppressive, but maybe sometimes necessary.)

.   .   .   .   .   .   .

There are certain words I love to use, even though they are not real.
If you use them, you may have more fun talking…

1. I do not like the word cuddle. It reminds me of moldy milk. Instead I say snuggle which has now become SNUG or SNUGGIN.

2. Instead of journal, JOURN. It sounds like journal and journey at the same time,
which is neat-o. It also sounds way cooler than “diary.”

3. Instead of ocean, OSH. Say it with a long O sound and a nice shhhhh at the end. Like the first syllable of kosher or motion. It just sounds better. Admit it. I love this sound. If a word has this sound, I’ll use it every time. Example: Lotion: LOSH!

4. You did that ON PURP! A friendly accusation.

5. Neutral. Like, “Put it in neutral!” I don’t get the chance to say this word very often, but when I do, I revel in it. Check out this abbreve: NEUTCH. You can do it. Just take the -ral sound out of Neutral. Like the GOOTCH in Gucci. The HOOCH in Hoochie Mama. It is a ridiculous sound that only comes in ridiculous words and it is SO FUN TO SAY. Try it. Pretend you are pushing a friend’s broken-down car. You are huffing and puffing and she’s up there in the driver’s seat tryin to steer but it won’t budge. Tell her: “PUT IT IN NEUUUUTCH!” Yeah, try and tell me you didn’t enjoy that.

Aside

On how no one can explain America

I know there are far more influential and relevant things to talk about, but if America is going to spend all this time on Miley Cyrus and the VMA’s, we might as well open up our eyes to something else no one seems to have mentioned. Here it goes.

Everyone is saying that this girl’s performance was downright nasty. And yes, I agree. It was a big gross mess. Everyone is saying how sad/weird/disturbing it is that she went from Good-Girl-Hannah-Montana to this Public-Scene-of-Obscenity. But here’s the thing– no one is shooting any criticism toward Robin Thicke, who stood right up there on stage with her. In fact, the whole nation has been singing his song “Blurred Lines” for months and raving about how they hope it will be the Song of the Summer. People turn up the bass. Have dance parties. Tweet their enthusiastic fandom. But have people really listened to the lyrics they’re raving over? Because hello, it’s about a former good girl “getting nasty” and doing some pretty detailed, graphic things. In other words, it’s the story of Miley Cyrus. So Robin can put this song out there and make millions of dollars. He can be glorified by the music industry. He can even stand up there on stage with Miley Cyrus, complicit with her twerking all over him, as she embodies the very meaning his song we’ve been singing all summer… but now we hate her? Still love him? Weird.

mileypost

I am sitting in an airport

I would like to write a not-so-serious post.
And hey, I guess I’ll just do that since this is my blog and my life.
Doesn’t it feel so good to have ownership sometimes?
MY blog. MY life.
I think this is why so many little kids are yelling “MINE!” at each other.
It’s a human thing. We gotta have something that’s ours.
Sometimes we grow up and learn to share.
Even still, certain things are just yours, even if you share them.
Like your blog. Or your life.

I am sitting in an airport.
This gate keeps filling up with people and then they all fly away. And then it fills up with other people and then they all fly away too until it’s just me and the carpet cleaner guy. He’s doing a great job. I don’t fly away for another few hours so I’m here on my laptop hustlin Craig’s List like a BOSS. Because once I get on that plane, I’m flying to Texas. And once I’m in Texas, I’m going to LIVE there. With Ken. And we need pretty furniture for small amounts of money. And I am great at finding things for small amounts of money. I will unearth them from the dust by my sheer willpower. Or just find them on Craig’s List. Whichever happens first.

I am sitting in an airport.
I think it’s beautiful that as soon as I sit, no matter how or where I am sitting, my legs form a surface for a notebook… and my arms are the perfect length for writing on that surface. I’ve been referring to this spot as my lap for my whole life, but I never thought about how magic it is. Laps just happen when you sit down. It’s a great thing. It’s the reason why my lap never gets as tan at the beach. I can also use this spot for a book, a baby, a sandwich — whatever I’d like to sit with for a while. Fantastic. I bet people were made this way on purpose.

I am sitting in an airport.
Next to me is a book I read on the first plane. It’s called What Wildness Is This, and it’s full of essays and poems that I’ve loved for years. Recently, I discovered that it was published by the University of Texas, which I of course interpreted as an omen from the universe.

I am sitting in an airport.
Annnnnd something smells like fried chicken,
which of course triggers the involuntary urge to seek out the source.
Fried Chicken trumps blog.
See you in Texas.

Audio

Sing it, yeah.

There are certain lyrics I love lately.
They just fit with me.
I’ll show some of them to you:

I will be rocks. I will be water.
I will leave this to my daughter:
lift your head up in the wind.

Those three lines don’t carry special meaning for me so much as they
SOUND so good to me.
The pace and syllables and short vowel sounds.
Ooooh. It’s a drum for me.

This one I love for different reasons:

Antarctica, my only living relative.
Antarctica, I can’t wait anymore.

Except she sings it like this:
Annnnnnnnt-arrrrrrrrrc-tica: my.on.ly.liv.ing.rel.ah.tive.
Oh it’s delicious.
Stay with me here.

I kept singing it and singing it one day while Lacey (my sister) was over.
“What does that even mean?” she said.
“It means there is a place somewhere way out there that is isolated and frozen in time and even though it’s an unlikely place for comfort, it is her only chance to be close to someone alive.”

Antarctica

As I explained this, it just felt like an obvious thing– like of course that’s what it means– didn’t you feel that too? And that’s why I love words. Because who knows what Deb Talan really meant by it… but I know, for me, exactly what it means. Because so often I am trying to say something that I just can’t find the words for. I am trying to get out all of this STUFF in me and I need words for it. But I just can’t find them. So when I do find them, or when someone else finds them in an obscure reference to an uninhabited continent, I am in love. And I just keep saying and singing and writing those words. Expressing. To clearly express what once was just a stuttering voice in my heart: It’s an act of healing.

Though sometimes there is that little disappointment– why couldn’t I have written that?
I want so badly to own those words.
But I can. They can be mine too. That’s gotta be part of why people write.
Somewhere in there we are hoping to connect not just to ourselves, but to someone else out there.

These songs brought to us by Deb Talan.
Sometimes in a band called The Weepies,
and sometimes just her. Thanks Deb.

Audio

Macy Gray triggers a freak-out.

Today I read a review of Macy Gray’s album called “Oh How Life Is.”
The title intrigued me, because it’s just what I’m always trying to write about.
The critic described Macy as a few things I’m always trying to be:
assured, original, adventurous.

But this was the statement that got my heart:

“At times, Gray attempts more than she can achieve — but it’s always captivating, even during its stumbles. And when it works, it soars higher than most contemporary R&B.”

Stephen Thomas Erlewine, Rovi

Thanks Macy Gray.
I wanna be like that.

Because I don’t know if you noticed up there, but I said one of the things I am trying to be is assured. And what do I even mean by that? How can you try to be assured? Seems like that’s something you just choose to be. Otherwise it’s like you’re saying, I know those flowers are dying, but I’m trying to water them! No you’re not. That’s ridiculous. Just water them. Or don’t. There’s not much in between there, right? I’m not sure there’s much in between for me when it comes to being assured. Or confident. Or secure. (Choose your favorite word.) I recognize that sometimes these things take time or therapy or something. But I’ve had time. (And hey, I’ve had therapy!) I don’t think I need anything more than to just make up my mind. I never had problems with being confident before my mission or on my mission– so what’s the deal now? I know it’s in me. I just need to pour some water in the vase and give those little babies a good sniff. This is my life! And frankly, I’m tired of writing about who I was. I’m tired of having little mini identity issues on my little mini blog.

“At times, she attempts more than she can achieve — but it’s always captivating, even during its stumbles. And when it works, it soars.”

That statement reminds me of who I was.
I think it’s time I stop feeling so relieved when I find things that remind me of who I was, and start looking for things that remind me of who I am. And maybe just stop obsessing over the difference between those two people. So friends, if you’re out there reading, that’s what I’m doing for a few posts. Just writing about who I am. And not deceiving myself that there is a right or wrong answer to that.

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Until then, do your thing Macy Gray.
I’ll just be here writing about mine.

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Lists of Things

Things I love but am not necessarily good at:

Modge Podge (I know it’s “Mod” Podge, but I like my way better.)
Volleyball
Singing my heart out
Painting
Yoga
Sign Language

Things I’m good at but do not necessarily love:

Cleaning.
Judging you for being a bad communicator.
Talking on the phone.
Feeling like I just personally experienced ALL the heartache in:
–that sad movie I just watched.
–the sad news article I just read.
–the sad story you just told me.

Things I just plain don’t love:

Speed Bumps
Sarcasm
Manually looking things up in the dictionary…
(I still have to sing my ABC’s in my head a billion times to find stuff.)

And finally, things I love:

Head lamps
Biscuits
Gravy
Ice Cream
Cheese
Mamaw
North Carolina
Porch Swings
Rockin Chairs
The Ocean
Campfires
Blueberries
Post-Slavery American Literature
Tomatoes
Any kind of cooked up fruit + the word “cobbler” or “crisp”
Hanging out with Lacey

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A bit of my brain today.

I really like to draw trees, eyes, hands, and the ocean. Sometimes I like to draw shapes that don’t make sense. Some people call that “abstract” or “modern” or something.

I don’t think it’s any less vain to get plastic surgery than it is to subscribe and religiously follow a blog that promises similar effects from “natural” remedies. I saw a post today called “Botox on a Plate!!” They may be vegetables, but you’re still eating them for your face. Same deal.

I really love cleaning white boards. When I have time at work, I jump for the janitorial closet. It is so freeing to wipe all that mess away.

I don’t understand how to have a “themed” blog. How can you only write about one thing– be it food, fashion, depression, religion … don’t you eventually just want to write about what you thought while you were walking down the sidewalk today? For this reason, I will probably never have a million snappy followers and cutesy give-aways on my blog. I’m not very hip– and I’m not sure how to be hip without squishing my voice.