Building a Future...One Piece at a Time

I haven't written in ages. I used to live on the internet, feeding off its limitless information and communicating with friends. Now, I feel rather lost, but I am ok with this. I'd rather receive news regarding important events in person or through my phone rather than having to hunt for it myself. Making an effort to communicate with those I love...redefining the meaning of friendship.

Life is under a microscope lately. On the outside, looking in.
I'm twisting the knobs to bring it all into focus and trying to figure out what needs to be added or modified and what simply doesn't fit anymore. Letting go of the past and carrying out ambitions for a future are equally as difficult. So is figuring out what qualities separate me from everyone else and how to utilize those for self-satisfaction.

I'm reorganizing and redecorating in hopes of creating opportunities for motivation. New home office coming soon. Hopefully inspired writing and designing will be soon to follow.

Physical and financial maintenance also come into play here. I've been attempting to monitor what goes into my body and what goes out of my checking account. Nutritional supplements and debt repayment are a nuisance but a necessary part of this process.

Building a future...one piece at a time.

Currently Listening We Used to Be Friends By The Dandy Warhols see related

Silicone and Saccharine

"Oh, I love that skirt! Where did you get it?", the flamboyant redhead remarked, raising an eyebrow as she ingested a full head-to-toe inspection of the pixy-like newcomer before continuing her discussion of damask drapes and the annual all-night Pottery Barn sale with her fellow women's Bible study members. As soon as the young visitor had left her realm, she immediately lowered her drawl to a whisper and all eyes turned on recent Texas transplant.

Something I've learned in my transition from Yankee to Southerner is that most seemingly sugary dispositions are artificially sweetened.
Growing up in Chicago, I distinctly remember a difference in demeanor. If someone did a girl wrong, was an annoying attention whore, or an insecure little twat who changed friends like underwear, a person wouldn't think twice about refusing their friendship, let alone their conversation. It was socially acceptable to be somewhat cold if you disliked someone. Maybe to some, this sounds harsh, but it sent a clear message and completely alleviated the need for plastic pleasantries.

On the other hand, here in the good ol' South, someone can cheat, lie, and steal from you, but the social grace police will get you if you don't pretend to be their best friend for five minutes as they kiss you on the cheek during a bar run-in.

I've noticed that the longer I live here, the more I waver in between the two behaviors. I've found myself guilty of plenty of fake niceties and it sickens me to the core. I wonder how the locals would respond if I suddenly reverted back to 100% Yankee mentality. The more I watch those around me, the more I consider putting this into practice. People get away with murder here because others are more worried about saving face than speaking their mind, even if they're right. This is especially true and even more sticky in the work place and frankly, I'm tired of it. If I offend someone, I want to know about it. If someone wounds me, you better believe I'm not going to pretend everything's okay. Communication gets messy but at least it's genuine.

Everyone wants to be liked, but at what price?
This is where completing my social pyschology degree would have paid off.
I'm done biting my tongue.

Hella Good Time

 Adam had to run sound last night for his uncle's band at a venue out in Garland. While I'm enjoying a leisurely walk with my dog, he calls me to relay the remarkable oddities of his afternoon and begs of me to join him in his amusement. I don a lovely 1950's-esque brown strappy dress and brown/cream saddle shoe pumps and drive for what seems like an eternity until I burst at the seams with comical mirth. Before me, is a large beige warehouse with the words "Hella Shrine" painted upon it.
I gather up my serious face and as I glide past the glass case lined with shelf upon shelf of ornately adorned fezes, I see a ballroom full of military uniforms, most, relics of time, and a handful of freshly purchased ones, accompanied by young ladies in fancy dress. It is certainly a sight to behold and as the former American Bandstand one-hit wonders take the stage, I am transported through the decades of every soldier in that room.

While peering down my cleavage, the lovely elderly veteran bartenders served up potent and FREE whiskey and cokes, making for a rather difficult time rising on this cloudy morning. Though my mischevious puppy yanking my multi outlet out of the wall (containing my alarm clock) in order to chew my phone charger could have also complicated that matter!

Mike Mollsen

The alarm sounded wildly this sunny morning, severing me from my gratifying dream in which the perpetually awkward girl gets the out-of-her-league guy.


Of course, the setting was once again back in the dreaded high school gym class, where adolescent little Tammy held a unilateral crush on the golden-skinned Mike Molson with the million dollar grin. One flash of that alabaster smile would invoke involuntary, pint-sized giggling, the kind that she wished could be instantaneously annulled in order to hamper the entire student body from witnessing her naked emotion. As we join her in her defeated hour as the distressed, artsy outcast who gets picked last for the basketball team, we learn that in recent days, our heroine has inadvertently left her heart on her pastel-stained sleeve and that the object of her affection has grievously dismissed her substantial token.

Taking a seat upon the heavily shellacked risers, Tammy tried to decipher whether the scribbled scrap of paper dictated that she's on team 24 or 29, (obviously a weighty issue for a fifteen year old benchwarmer). Seeing the look of painstaking deliberation on her pale face, Mike sauntered over, sauvely careening one leg after the other over the pine bench above her, hunching closer to read along. He offered a suggestion to toss the slip aside and join whichever team she wanted, which prompted Tammy's further analysis of whether or not she'd like to play on Mike's team or oppose him. He placed a reassuring grasp upon her round shoulders, planting small kisses on her cheek and back of her neck, which again incited the tell-tale giggling. He suggested they go out for smoothies after class and she tried as much as humanly possible to conceal her enthusiasm with her acceptance. The buzzer sounded, indicating it was time to start the game of hoops, but then seconds later, she found herself firing rampage upon the red led screen of the clock.


Funny, I barely spoke to the guy in school and hadn't thought of him in nearly seventeen years. The mind is a peculiar, but sometimes entertaining playground.

Dum Dum Dum...

Ever since Adam left for tour, Lily (the canine) has been having serious separation anxiety. She used to enjoy time in her kennel, but lately, she has figured out how to transport it into the middle of the room, whilst scraping up furniture and walls to get there. She has been doing the usual spiteful dog-like things (chewing, peeing, etc.) X 10 since he left, despite me walking 20 miles last week to try to use up her energy/make her happy. So, I decided that since she's successfully passed the sleeping out of her kennel test (for the most part), maybe it was time to start weaning her off it.
So, this weekend, I made the apartment unsupervised puppy inhabitable by removing tempting chewable items to a higher destination, ridding the place of stacks of papers, moving electrical cords out of reach, buying more puppy toys and hiding treats. I tested her out for an hour yesterday by going to the grocery store, and when I returned, everything was as I  had left it. I'm really more worried for her safety than I am for my meager things.

Today was day one of the extended-period of solo play, so I am a bit nervous to see what the place looks like. I left my itunes on the soothing sounds of Kent. Kent is magical... they can create miracles...even with dogs...right?

.....................................

The Verdict:

The cat is still alive and Lily didn't break or eat anything (that I know of).

The only noticeable objects out of place:

1) One of my dirty socks relocated under the futon(which is actually quite cute, as she likes to lovingly carry around one of Ian's socks when she misses him)

2) The Notebook was tipped over on my bookshelf and pillows from Simon's window seat were on the floor. Either she decided to take up novels by Nicholas Sparks, or she and Simon were frolicking by the window as usual. My guess is the latter....but one never knows...

Well done, Lily!