same time, same place

i love that i never learn.
never.

on this planet for 30 years, i still haven't figured out how to get what i want.
oh- i often get.
but not what i want.
not now.
not ever. (remove thyself, pessimism, from this holy vessel!)

so- i'm back from chasing a wild animal through the woods, and i'm hanging up my spear and chucking it.

when i get a life, i'll write about it.

penny lane

it's in my ears and in my eyes
and in my poop.

did you know that when you swallow a penny, it takes approximately 36 hours for the penny to travel the gastroinestinal system and find its way to the shiny porcelain crib?

well. trust me. it does.

i wanna be lindsey lohan

some days i am an idiot.
usually the days that fall between thursdays and wednesdays.

so today was one of those days. i went shopping for sunglasses, and let me tell you- i have NO idea what to look for in sunglasses. the bug eyes overpower my TINY head. i look like the fly in the fly. sports ones are a bit too bullish- and anything with a logo on it stresses me out. soooo, i ended up with purple and orange vera wang sunglasses.

now- i know you're thinking to yourself, "i didn't know that vera wang made sunglasses." but she does. and they are 1960's reminiscent. i worship.

ohhhh wait- you were really wondering why i bought purple and orange sunglasses?
oh.
well.
that's easy.
some days i'm an idiot.

in addition to this fashion nightmare, i bought a pair of pants that are WAY TOO SMALL. but they are so freaking hot. and i'm thinking i can lose 5 pounds (so then all of my other clothes will be too big) or i can wash them and pull,
and pull,
and pull,
and...
until the ass stretches out.
because it needs to.
because i am not linsdey lohan.
but i wanna be.

rockin' the suburbs

so today was one of those days.
it started well enough.
6 cups of coffee and an double fried egg sandwich. yums.

a smoke and my ipod on the way to school.
unloading books to my classroom.
going for a run...

my nine mile run is where it went south.
in mile #5, a 40? year old federal agent/jogger who works in the kefauver building across the street from my school scared the be-jezzus outta me on belmont boulevard.

fyi-NEVER schmooze up behind a runner wearing headphones. it is just cruel.

so, i pee a little on myself from fear... and his mouth is moving... and all i can think, is this guy serious? who really tries to fondle someone when she's wearing a sports bra, yellow shorts, and a grumpy-ass face? and isn't the ipod a dead, i don't chat while i run, give away?

i ran a half in april, and not even all 15 of the poeple i spoke to during my run accumulated as much talk time as this guy. and we all know how sweet and friendly i am to Y-chromosome strangers...so we run together for a mile or so, until he becomes a bit frightened.

when departing, he actually stops my foreward movement and shakes my hand. GROSS. sweaty palms have only one place in my life, and it is not in my right hand.

so my run is tainted by this cat and the freaks in the camero who think that an utmost compliment involves auto horns and gyration. my middle finger is still a little stiff.

then, i work for a while with minute particles of drama.
doable.

then i go to tennis. which is normally a good time, but i can't serve anymore and the pro thinks that it is funny to make me run even more after i explain that i ran over 9 today. sick, my friend. sick. so then my ass cramps up and i can't go to yoga.

instead i go to the cheezecake factory with my roomie and her parents. do i even have to comment on the ccf??? didn't think so.

as well, her 'rents are staying with us, so i get to sleep with the roomie while she is wearing a CPAP mask.

if anyone has any xanax they want to share, i'm rockin' the suburbs... southbound '65. if you're reading this- you know the exit.

a montage of the good life

okay. this is where i sat at kenny. you may think that i am far from the stage, but i am. please note the lovely mullet in the white visor/blue shirt. you'll have to look closely- i can't figure out how to make my sprintpcs pics any bigger. now- he wanted to take me home, but i hooked up with this guy instead.
hey- don't hate. it's hard out there for a pimp. i mean, would you hook up with a girl whose feet looked like this after a good saturday night???





so really, i got lucky.
don't i wish?

the law of diminishing returns

you know how in econ they taught you that all things are good until a point.

well, take that philosophy to vodka sodas and peanuts in the shell.

you know how i like to eat the shells... especially when i am consuming an entire pound bag at a kenny chesney concert.

right before i committ a class 6 felony and before i spend $28 at jack in the box.

right before i puke the peanuts and the jack in the crack into my toilet.

i used to love peanut butter, but now we have no foreseeable future.

fuck.

i am afeared people, afeared

today, i am taking my camera to the largest festival of non-domesticated rednecks. Kenny Chesney is headlining his ??? living in fast forward??? tour??

yes. i paid for the ticket.

yes. i know that makes me the monkey wrench in the tool bag.

you know how cometimes your friends call all excited about something and you just HAVE TO COME. even if it's not your style? well, i deluded myself into thinking that i could do this. i mean, kenny is good friends with one of my bff's (random halls, tennessee connection). i should support his tour right?

god- i'm gonna need a cocktail or 40 for this.

and do you think my friends ever come to the basement when someone i want to see is playing there? no ma'am. not that i've really asked them... but that's a whole'nother issue not for public discussion.

any way- gear up for some good pics, because i'm taking the mom bag and becoming a shutter bug.

my ipod knows me well

because wimbledon is no fun when federer waxes someone, i saw this on a hottie's blog and had to try it... my ipod loves the beatles

The rules:

1) Put your music player on shuffle.
2) Click forward for every question
3) Use the song title as the answer to the question.
4) No cheating!

The Questions:

1) How am I feeling today? Janey Don't You Lose Heart- Springsteen
2) Where will I get married? Something- The Beatles
3) What is my best friend's theme song? Drowaton- The Starlight Mints
4) What was high school like? The Stranger- Billy Joel
5) What is the best thing about me?Title Track- Death Cab For Cutie
6) What is today going to be like? What's the Difference- Dr. Dre
7) What is in store for this week? You Never Give Me Your Money- The Beatles
8) What song describes my parents? Beautiful- Belle and Sebastian
9) How is my life going? Range Life- Pavement
10) What song will they play at my funeral? The Motivator- T-Rex
11) How does the world see me? So Fast, So Numb- REM
12) What should I be doing right now? You Really Got a Hold on Me- The Beatles
13) Do people secretly like me? Five Stop Mother Superior Rain- The Flaming Lips
14) What do my friends really think of me? Everyone's Gone to the Moon- The Flaming Lips
15) How can I make myself happy? Ruby Sees All- Cake
16) Will I be happy? Honk if You're Lonely- The Silver Jews
17) What is some good advice? Fighting in a Sack- The Shins
18) What is my current theme song? Alpha Beta Gaga- Air
19) What does everyone else think my current theme song is? Seventeen Devils- The Starlight Mints
20) What should I do with my life? A Sorta Fairy Tale- Tori Amos
21) What type of men/women do I like? Free Until They Cut Me Down- Iron and Wine
22) Will I get married? My Opening Farewell- Bonnie Raitt
23) Where will I live? Tear It Down- Old Crow Medicine Show
24) What should I do with my love life? Summer of '69- Bryan Adams
25) What will my dying words be? Damnation's Cellar- Elvis Costello and The Brodsky Quartet

oh my god! they killed kitty. you bastards.

i disappeared for the last couple of weeks and a certain friend was convinced that i had checked myself in to re-hab... she was not convinced i had been committed, thank you... she knew better; they couldn't catch me if they tried. vodka makes me fast.

i was merely living life, folks. you know- kissing boys, teaching writing, downloading over 6000 songs to my new ipod. the last wore me out for at least a day. i desire firewire.

as for my love life, i have a new moniker- kyhugandkiss. it seems i can't seal the deal. i never knew that i had a conscience or a set of morals (see my college diary).

wow- the things you learn in your thirtieth year. it seems no matter how many nights i go out, imbibe 7 or 8 cocktails on the rocks, and pout my lower lip at the opposite sex, i puss out (ha ha, not really). i've had some good offers, too- as if you couldn't tell from my attached blog photo. celibacy has not always been the case. i am so pissed my mom gave me "our bodies, ourselves" in early college; finally, visions of sugar plum fairies and fever blisters dance through my head.

and everyone i know can hook up and sweep that shit under the covers; as i am the local priestess for sex confessionals, i have learned things that have made me turn a little green (which is a feat). i had no idea that good little girls could do the things they do. a word of warning- the dirtier her mouth, the cleaner her wassa. and vice versa. i am definately going to troll for men at tatoo parlors- at least they probably test themselves for AIDS, with the constant needle fondling and all.

sadly, i think my shit glitters, and i am the only one prom enough to polish it. wax on. wax off.

NPR: national public romanticism

npr has a series, "this i believe". here's my contribution...

Soul mates and white knights don’t resonate with me. I’m not a woman who enjoys movies like “The Notebook” or “You’ve Got Mail.” However, I believe that human beings should be by love possessed.

It took a quiet divorce and some October “spring cleaning” for me to figure this out. Recently, I emptied the storage box that housed our mementos. In the dust of an attic, I filled trash bags with the greeting cards and photographs of my married life. I felt a little nervous, but it didn’t feel wrong. At age thirty, when you break up, you clean out. You move on, and you make space for what comes next.

While tossing these last tangible pieces of my marriage, I found an eleven year old envelope: one that I had scribbled a poem on while sitting in my ‘82 Chevy Blazer. I had gotten lost in the Forest Hill Cemetery looking for a grave site and couldn’t think of anything else to do. So I wrote; and yes, the poem sucked. But inside the envelope that the poem was written on were three reminders of my belief that people should be by love possessed.

The first was a eulogy I had written in a bout of gothic romanticism. You know, what would I do or say if my lover died? I read it sitting on the attic stairs, laughed, and tossed it near the trash bag.

Looking again through the envelope, I pulled out a Vonnegut short story, “Long Walk to Forever.” The eulogy boy had given it to me. It’s a short fiction piece about a soldier who goes A.W.O.L to see a girl he loves before she marries someone else. The soldier gets the girl. I smiled at Vonnegut’s romanticism and again tossed the contents of this envelope toward the trash.

The last thing I pulled out of the envelope was a poem by this same eulogy/short story boy. On a July afternoon, he drove an hour to my Knoxville condo to climb my second story balcony. While I napped on a pink couch, he snuck in and put this poem that he had written on the armrest beside me. I had dumped him, and he was forgiving me. Eleven years later, sweating my balls off in an attic, I read his words, “There is no Check Point Charlie, no Maginot line.”

Now, I hadn’t yet cried over my divorce and wouldn’t much, but this sentiment from a boy I loved in college made me lose my shit. Somewhere in my twenties, I had forgotten that someone had loved me enough to love me ferociously, to write it down, to make it real. At that moment, I understood that the choice to leave my husband was the right one.

I am a pragmatic and a realist (although some say cynic and pessimist). However, I will not again take my logical look on life into a relationship. I know now that balancing a checkbook does not a good marriage make. And that not fighting is not good. Most couples can choose a washer/dryer and agree on which house to buy. But not everyone can cross my Maginot line.

The papers in that envelope are the first prisoners of my personal war to find a place in another human heart. My armory in this battle is the poetry of T.S. Elliott, the smell of gardenias, the creak of wicker porch furniture, and the lull of Interstate 75 on the way to the Mc Callie School. These pasts lead me to the memory that I have been by love possessed. And the belief that I should be, again.