Guilty Confession I'm also a sucker for startling blue eyes, a great smile and cunning wit.... posted by me 3:40 PM . . .
Insomniac "I've tried everything short of Aristotle. Took Dramamine and a whiskey bottle. I've prayed for the day my ship comes in and I can sleep the sleep of the just again...." ~Insomniac Ok, so the song's actually about finding your true love, but I really just can't sleep. I woke up at 2:30 am this morning and was awake, like Snow White after first love's kiss. Speaking of, that's what I did. No silly, I watched Snow White. Well, I started watching it and then realized there are a lot of superfluous, slow-moving parts in the Disney Classic, so I fastforwarded to the parts I wanted to see and hear. Incidently, I was shocked by what I heard. First of all, whenever I hear someone randomly sing "Heigh Ho," they sing "It's off to work I go." The real lyrics as demostrated by last night's dwarves are "It's home from work I go." That should be evident by the fact that they're going home at the end of a day of work. duh. But what shocked me most were the lyrics to "Someday My Prince Will Come." I have a Disney songbook (no, I'm not twelve, but I do enjoy the songs--- call it Cinderella Syndrome, we'll get to that another day.) The lyrics I have to SMPWC are completely different from the movie--- and from the recordings I have of the song (don't ask). Well, this change was too much for me to handle at 3:30 in the morning, so I just tried to go back to sleep again. I don't remember, but I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up having dreams about living with seven men after that, but again, that's for another day. ;-) posted by me 1:24 PM . . .
I was just sitting here pondering what makes me attracted to a certain gentleman, or anyone in general and I came to a startling conclusion: honesty. I hate games. I hate the whole guy-gets-girl's-number-must-wait-three-days-to-call rule. I hate the whole he-must-call-by-Wednesday-to-get-a-date-for-the-weekend rule. I hate the fact that someone may think I'm pretty but will never talk to me because he doesn't think he's cool enough (I'm not so bold as to assume this, it's what I've been told). News flash: I'm a dork. I like dorky boys. I like boys who aren't afraid to make a fool of themselves in public, and are able to laugh at themselves when they do. But most of all, I like someone who is open. Someone who isn't afraid to speak his mind. Sure, being coy is cute and there's a time and a place for everything (you don't have to tell someone your deepest, darkest sins right away-- when you get to know each other enough, they'll all seep out), but seriously, call a girl when you want to, not when some rule says it's kosher. If she likes you enough back then she'll be glad you called. If she thinks you're not cool, maybe she's not the type of girl you need. Because you need someone whose stomach twists in knots and mouth goes dry when she sees your number on the caller ID-- not someone who wants to play The Who's Cooler game. I won't shiver because you held my hand, but because you knew to do so at the right time and in the right way-- because you know me and I know you. Because we both hate games. Because neither of us confine ourselves to cool rules. Because you're you and I'm me and somehow we fit together. Somehow we work together. Somehow your hand was meant to intertwine ever-so-perfectly with mine. posted by me 7:10 PM . . .
Here Here is a place for me to post my thoughts. Here is a canvas for me to splatter with ideas and other outpourings of my imagination. Here is a clean slate where I get to choose my own font, my own text. Here is a fresh slab of boardwalk waiting for me to pick my stride. The only thing is, what if I'm not in the mood to move? Perhaps my pace is to sit my butt down on a strip of grass and breathe in the fresh, clean, pollen-filled, allergy-inducing air. Just because I'm not running full-speed into the next concourse of life doesn't mean that this is a useless time. Right now I am learnign to relax. Enjoy. Rest. And hopefully, the lessons I learn about these things now will transfer to the times in my life when I'm cruising down the highway of time with no rest area or cyber cafe for miles and miles. So, if I'm a little laidback with the postings, don't forget about me and don't think that I've run out of things to say or think. Chances are, I'm just appreciating the white canvas, black slate and clear blue sky for their simple purity and the multitude of possibilities waiting to be unleashed. And when they are, you'll find them. Here. posted by me 2:20 PM . . .
Beginning this blog was a way to cut through the monotony of my day. A way to express myself freely in an otherwise filtered world. A way, if you will, to be my own vocal censor. The idea was if I write all my inappropriately funny things here, then maybe I would stop eating my size 7s in regular conversation. The only thing is, I don't do that. I sit here at my desk and try to think of some artistically sensitive, inspired revelation. My fingers run across the qwerty, though the most exercised key starts with a "B" and ends with "ackspace" as I try again and again to sculpt the written word into a majestic vessel of my thoughts. When what I'm really recalling is how I had to laugh through tears at the presenters of the American flag at my grandpa's funeral because their shoes squeked so loudly in the stone still room. Or, speaking of shoes, the cute sandals I didn't buy yesterday because they were $20 and I'd just dropped $716 on my car. Or how, even during communion in the wedding this weekend, I thought how I hate it when the Body of Christ gets stuck in my teeth. Lately, it almost seems as if I over-censor myself. I hold back saying things and just chuckle to myself because I'd rather savor my own inappropriateness than have it ruined by the discouraging looks of those around me who are apparently "more mature" or think that I'm about as funny as diarrhea on a first date. Which, incidently, I find the idea of hilarious, though I realize the actual situation would more than likely stink. (no puns intended... though, I find that funny as well). Instead, I find myself more quiet, more reserved; especially around people I don't know. I'd rather say nothing than offend, though the offense is most likely the funniest part of the joke. Maybe this is a sign of maturity, or maybe it's a sign of resignation to social norms. Or maybe it's a sign that I've been around too many tight wads. Thank goodness for those people who do allow me to be myself. (and even think I'm funny sometimes) posted by me 12:10 PM . . .
