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I thought about it for a month or so, and I wanted it so desperately. Oh, how I wanted it. I listed pros and cons, and the pros won every time, hands down. So, I finally did it. 

1. It’s easier. So many times, I have looked at men and thought, how easy that must be. To get up, wash and go. I’ve had a short pixie cut for years, and even though sides were shaved off, I still had to get up and wash my hair, dry it, and style it every single morning. I couldn’t imagine how liberating it could be just to get up and go. I can finally just get up on summer mornings and head to the Farmer’s Market! I can finally sleep longer on vacations. I CAN TAKE A SHOWER AT NIGHT and just wake up the next morning AND GO!

2. It’s hair. It’s not brave. It’s fucking hair or lack thereof now.

3. My femininity and womanhood is not wrapped up in my hair. Women are not their hair.

4. People didn’t want me to do it. Some old dude overhearing me talking about the upcoming buzz to a friend said, “Why would you do that? I know it probably doesn’t matter to you, but I think you need to leave your hair like that.” I swear, if I would’ve had an electric razor, I would’ve pulled it out of my purse and shaved it while standing right in front of him looking him dead in his face the entire time. Instead I looked over, and said, “No, it doesn’t matter to me.” When someone gives me there unasked for opinion and is horrified by the idea, it only served to encourage me more so thanks for that, naysayers.

5. It’s cheaper.

6. It is soft and wonderful, and I love the way the newly shorn hair feels under my palm.

7. It shows off my sexy dangly earring even more now, and it allows my Avant-Garde sunglasses to be even more outrageous (see photo below).


8. No more bad hair days.

9. Bald is beautiful: See Charlize Theron as Furiosa, Erykah Badu, Natalie Portman, Sinead O’Conner, Grace Jones, Amber Rose, Robin Tunney in Empire Records, Agyness Deyn, etc.

10 It’s empowering.

11.Because I wanted to

 And I think I look like a stunning, warrior goddess, and I love it. I don’t regret it, and I’m never, ever going back. I wish I would’ve done this years ago.

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From inside Hail Dark Aesthetics--one of my favorite shops in Nashville 

At work, they are amused but not surprised that I know about the rally and that I was invited. The "Republican" or "Fox News", as he is known behind his back, a holdover from his first week on the job when he brazenly turned on the television in the lobby to said offensive channel, calls me "The Radical." I used to loathe him, but he grew on me like a tumor. We don't agree on anything, but he is sometimes funny. He posts up photos in his office of Trump and motivational quotes that give me the heebie-jeebies. They are all in black and white because he doesn't have access to the color printer. He has plastered them over a Kandinsky that a colleague left in that office.  The work still partially peeks through.  I begin to wonder if I might have synaesthesia as the artist did because whenever I look in there, I can certainly hear the colors drowning under it all and screaming.  In spite of this, I let him borrow my phone charger every day, and he always returns it. He tells me he likes my hair this "standard color" because it is back to my natural color, dark brown. I secretly chuckle to myself and wonder what he'll think when I come in next week with a buzz cut (more on that later, it is deserving of it's own post).

She tells me that she is always surprised when I post my pictures of myself in my twenties when I only wore vintage, and I say, "Yeah, I was beautiful and thin." I just happen to find things more important now than being beautiful and thin. Old age will do that. So, I was pretty. Who cares?  I really took to heart when I hit 34 that quote about as a woman not owing anyone pretty.  I don't see the point in pretending to be modest about it all when wasn't anything special I did or any talent I developed.  

I love the new house, and I'm discovering many things about it.  I think it will be the perfect yard for picnics in the spring and summer.  I must get one of these.  Then, I'll be able to tie Mearl-Purvis (my pug) to a tree near me, and she and I can laze about reading books and chewing sticks.  You can decide who will do which.  There's a perfect tree to sit under, and beneath another tree, I think I discovered a rose bush.  I hope so!  Kelly used to have a rose bush at his old house, and when we were dating, he would sometimes bring roses for my blue bud vase.  Then, when I moved next door to him, he had the roses and I had a gorgeous hydrangea bush.  We both had pecan trees in our backyards in our side by side campus houses, and our new house has a pecan tree, too.  

I have almost bought out the Asian grocery in town of Green Fields Thai Tea.  It's makes me sing silly songs and laugh at myself, and Kelly laughs too and says, "Someone's in a good mood."  Really, I suspect it's just the good hit of sugar.  I took home some of these Green Tea cakes.  They remind me of Fig Newtons, but they have Green Tea mixture in them instead of Fig.  I also have already finished the Peanut Mochi I bought.  

We are waiting for a new bed to arrive so in the meantime, Kelly is sleeping on the couch, and Mearl I sleep on an air mattress in the bedroom, back to back like Girl Scouts.  She is tiny and furry, of course, but she snores loudly.  I love her stupid wrinkled face so much. I love her marble eyes, and I love how she farts and bites and sleeps under all the blankets with her head on the pillows.  In the morning when my alarm goes off, she lays on my chest and yawns with her "bubble tape tongue" unfurling as Kelly calls it.  

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Wednesday on the ride home, I scramble quickly for my phone to capture him. He is mid laugh with the sun setting, his beard on fire, the copper red coming out that I adore. My Abe, his elegant fingers cradling his head.  He is the fruition of my mother's prayer.  He is everything I didn't know I needed.  I tell friends I have never ever seen him angry, and they think I'm joking or exaggerating.  It's true, though.  Not once since I met him.  He presents the gift to me, and I am all bravado as always.  "What's this," I sneer skeptically?  He has checked out a book for me from the library--Danielle Dutton's Margaret the First:  A Novel.  It is the perfect selection for me--heavy on whimsy with a thick froth of decadence. I've lost count of all the kind ways he shows his love to me, but this one is one of my favorites.  He said he'd read several reviews during his incessant periodical combing, and he thought of me.  A book, no less!  He whips up mashed potatoes for me for dinner because he knows they're my favorite.  Sometimes, he runs to the grocer, and his talent for always picking perfectly ripe avocados is frustrating but rewarding when a dinner of chips and guac is served.  We are spending the night with our animals babies in the new house for the first night.  We have a lot of unpacking to do, and we will for the next few weeks probably.  He promised to celebrate with Thai food soon.  

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News of the week--the weather continued to plague us last week with rain and more rain. Although it's rather pretty resting on the leaves of the tree in our front yard, it doesn't make for good moving weather. We are so very close to being completely in the new house. I was thrilled to see that this week, finally, there should be nothing but sunshine and clear skies! By the end of the weekend, if not sooner, we should be in the new house with all our animal babies! We are on good terms with our sweet rugby boys that play at the university so they have moved us twice over the years. This will be their third move of our house. We moved most of the stuff already, but the big stuff, we let them get. My husband has some heart issues that keep him from lifting heavy items, and I am out of shape and frankly, don't do manual labor. Ewww! Ewwww! The young pups are very familiar with heavy lifting, and they always need a little spending money, as everyone in college does, so it's a win win.

Lately, there have been many thrifting days which I love, and I also had wonderful time out with friends celebrating two birthdays. A group of us met up over sushi and drinks (warm sake to pink my cheeks and make me laugh and a bit brazen). The night was magic and quite literally glowing with cherry blossom trees and radioactive forks with which to dine on the most delicious cookie cake. Hookah and conversation until we all yawned and went home to warm beds.

My tray of goodies from the thrift: Smiling orange to add to my new kitchen, two pairs of avant-garde sunglasses, silvery magic headband, and a pretty rounded wooden tray with blue/green/yellow motif. I may hang the tray up on a wall. I haven't really decided what I'm going to do with that just yet.

These glowing trees outside of our local sushi place always make me happy.

Bathroom selfies are acceptable in pretty public johns. My hair has already been cut again since this photo. It now has no mohawk back, and the sides are completely shaved all the way up. It's sort of like a military high and tight, but much less severe. I've almost had the nerve to shave it completely off which I desperately want, and perhaps soon. I'll get the courage one day, I know it.

Bubbly, radioactive plasticware, and good conversation for a wonderful end to a great night!

What else has been going on? My life is tragically slow right now it seems. Who am I kidding? It's always slow because I'm pretty much a shut in, and I hate to leave my house. Yeah. Blah blah blah community and no man is island. I'd like to have a go at it most days. I've been voraciously reading. I'm currently reading Visit Sunny Chernobyl: And Other Adventures in the World's Most Polluted Places. I've always been obsessed with Chernobyl history and really anything dealing with nuclear history. I don't know why, but my real dad always says after all the research I've done online and books I've checked out from the library, he's sure I'm on some watch list. :) He jokingly told me once to "only visit his house under the cover of night." I've got a stack by my bed from the library. If you'd like to know what else I'm reading, befriend me at Goodreads, too. I love new booknerd friends.

Kelly and I finally finished Breaking Bad. I know. I know. I'm always 10 years behind on everything. It was one of the best shows I've ever seen. We're making our way through Curb now before the new season, and then, I may have to rewatch Twin Peaks, too. I am beside myself waiting for the new season to come on Showtime.

You guys, I am also beside myself hoping that the boots below don't sell out in my size before tomorrow. I'm ordering them tomorrow morning, and aren't they the most gorgeous shoes you've seen in your life? I haven't had a pair of Docs since high school (those boots lasted me about 10 years with good repeated greasings). I've said before I'm not your stereotypical woman because I could give a hang about shoes. In my opinion, shoes are utilitarian so who gives a damn? I take it all back! Well, I take back the part about being purely utilitarian after seeing these. I can't imagine walking around with works of art on my boots?!! The particular tale of this work by William Hogarth is detailed below (taken from the Dr. Marten blog). You can also read more thoroughly about it here.

‘A Rake’s Progress’ is a satirical depiction of the rise and fall of Tom Rakewell, a country boy who inherits a fortune. Having gambled it away and squandered it on debauched evenings in the renowned Rose Tavern in Covent Garden, he marries a rich one-eyed woman. Once again he loses his fortune in a gambling house, becomes imprisoned for debt and eventually dies from madness in the notorious Bedlam asylum.

Look at this photo I found of them online (above). Green eyed, and I can't wait to have my own!

You guys, if they keep making boots like this, it's all over for me. I'll give in and become a shoe addict. I looked at this pair and these first, but they are out of my size so I went with the Rake's Progress pair. I never knew Dr. Marten worked with museums and added art now. Look at these (photos below) I would effing kill for! I'm going to have to scour the internet for the willow china plate ones, and I'm even fond of the roses on the sides. I think Docs are a good investment, though. Like I said, my first pair I had for ages.
Photo from here
Photo from here

In order to try to be kinder when moving (which I'm forever failing at because disorder turns me into the grouchiest), I'm diving into self-care. I've taken many hot baths lately, one with the pug who continued to whine and bark the entire time so I threw her in, too. I know you all are grossed out, but I'm too old to give a damn now. Yes, I took a bath with my dog. Yes, if I dropped a fork in a restaurant, I'd pick it up and keep eating most likely. Yes, my cats walk all over my counters and step over my plate most days. Guess what? I'm still alive! I like to live on the edge, and it probably builds up my immunity so stuff it, germaphobes. I'll eat my words, when I get a parasite, but until then, I throw caution to the wind and take bubble baths with a pug swimming near my feet. After, I pat my face with rose oil which smells and feels heavenly.
The weather has been hinting at spring here and there. I'm so excited to spend the heady time in a new home!  Check out this beautiful sunset above our garage.  Don't judge our abandoned tomato plant buckets.  We will empty them and plant some new ones before you know it! 

*I know I've been a shitty friend on here, and I promise to get better very soon! It's all the moving that's kept me away from reading and commenting. Hang in there, new friends! Cross my heart and kiss my elbow, I'll be catching up with you all soon! xo*

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Photo from our trip to Natchez of the Mississippi River at sunset

We are currently still in the old house but should be completely finished moving soon. Once I sort everything out, I will post photos of the new place which I'm crazy about! It will take a while to get settled because my husband is very finicky about how and where we hang the art. I generally pick the art, although he has some mixed in, and then he decides on placement. It's a joint project which takes time, but I'm very giddy about the decorating and nesting so hopefully it won't take too long to show you. It's funny because before I was married, I loved art but I'd just haphazardly hang it up any old way on a wall. Tacked, crooked, and taped. K. is particular. While it frustrates me with my immediate demands and lack of patience, I do admit it looks better when he's in charge with his maddening measuring and eyeballing and teeny pencil marking. Shh! Don't tell him.

In our neighborhood in the front of our street they are building a new road. Behind us they are building new graduate halls so there is always something going on when I come out every morning with the dog. I’m always at my worst, hair standing on end from sleep, eyes blinking in the morning light. Today there are cars parked in our yard, several bulldozers, half a fence torn down around the site, and workers in boots gabbing by our pecan tree. Mearl, our pug, is miffed, and she tells them loudly and insistently. She charges down to the creek, and her eyeballs bulge as she chews madly on weeds while watching them. I imagine she’s thinking of what she’d like to do to them, but in truth, she’s dumb as a box of rocks and eats everything like a goat. She is a delightful little companion, and I’m mad about her but she’s definitely lacking in the intelligence department.

I finally tried Confetto, the last of the perfume samples. It’s good, but it smells like a sissy version of Hypnotic Poison. Some described it as better than Hypnotic, but I prefer how the Dior scent smells very naughty with the softness of the vanilla. Confetto just smells soft to me, and I like depth and mystery. It’s okay, but I don’t have to own a bottle. I put on the Salome again this morning, and I’m truly in love with that perfume. It’s my next “to buy” scent (or to have bought for me if I play my cards right at holidays or birthday). The Cumin is so heavy in this perfume, and it’s naught, naughty, naughty. Some of my favorite online reviews/descriptions of it are below—

The first perfume that actually made me blush. Jehzus. Elephants. Circus. Straw. Feces. Leather. Sweat. Definitely of the ‘Grossmith’ older perfume house ilk, it felt vintage but more daring. It honestly makes me swoon a little just because I feel like my brain can’t process or define the intensity that I’m selling. This is Not for the faint hearted and definitely not one to wear at Christmas dinner with the in-laws. Or is it… "

Wow. Just wow. All the little animals contributing their wonderful stinkiness amid the flowers. I think I love it. Quite powerful and would avoid crowed elevators while wearing, but this is a beauty.

“This beauty blew me away! Absolutely stunning. Gorgeous fragrance reminiscent of a vintage perfume on a glamorous silent film starlet. Animalic, a little smoke and a lot of hot sultry "come hither".

“You know the famous scene in When Harry Met Sally: " YES! YES! YES!" ? Well, I will DEFINITELY have what she's having. OMG, Salome is utter delight. When I was 26, I fell in love with L'Heure Bleue, before the whispered reformulation. This reminded me of that: vintage, amazing, beautiful, bold. But this is different: it is its own modern thing, and delicious on its own. It takes a different turn & has many different scents going on during the drydown. Witchy candle-wax, vintage, castoreum, sex.

“Oh, man! Got a sample and immediately had to have the full bottle. I'm in love with each stage of this gorgeous, vintage-smelling, sex pot of a fragrance. The smoke, the indolic flowers, the deeply unsettling and very carnal humanness of this scent is like nothing I've smelled before. All I can say is WOW.

“Um, whoa. Right off, Salome socked me in the eye with a very vintage Rochas Femme feel. Of course, Femme is about as raunchy as they come. But this is unshowered Femme, with her JF hair & post-coital cigarette, & she is unimpressed with you. Flowers, my butt. This is cumin, ashtray &, well, particular mucoidal fluids. If you are confident enough to pull this one off, more frickin' power to you! Tough sell, though, for more conventional palates, I predict.”

What I’m saying is, it makes normal people say, “What’s that smell?” It makes me say, THIS IS PERFECT. I always wonder why I like the dark so much? I pray about it, “Dear Lord, I want to be good, but I love the hard edges and mystery so much. Is that wrong, too?” I always imagine Heaven as arriving at the gates and finding I belong to one of the 12 tribes of Israel. I just would like to get up there, and Jesus would say, “Okay, here is where you come from.” I would see this group of warrior like people that have fought their anger issues their entire lives, but Jesus uses them as the badasses from Heaven who fight the Dark. So they’ve got a little Dark too because you can’t go toe to toe without picking up some. They would be silent people with icy eyes and moon skin like mine. They would always be pacing and prowling like animals and restless and want to wander, and my lifetime of anxiety would make sense then. Oh, these are “my people”. These are the ones I came from. Everything has a rhyme and reason now. That’s my version of Heaven. Getting down to the roots of why I am how I am. That or this other version—everyone exists in the same place at the same time, but we each are independently also living our own version of Heaven. Like, mine might be ballets and beaches and operas and libraries and your’s might be golf and…what do people that play golf like? Anyway, we’d each be living our version unbeknownst to the others, but we’d all be doing that together. Does that make sense? My favorite is the first version though where we all each come from some tribe of likemindeds. We hang out together up there doing whatever you do in Heaven, but we have a special connection—like twins do—with our tribe. I was so jealous of the forever history when I toured the beautiful synagogue in Savannah. I wanted that sort of history and those kinds of stories. I want onion history going back to the 1500s. Anyway, I’m sure that’s not how it works, and He has a better plan but that’s the best I can come up with.

Anxiety is going to get your 6 month refills on your prescriptions/wellness check from your doctor, and being beside yourself for days before with consuming worry that threatens to swallow me about the entire situation. “Hey, how are you?” I really want to answer, “I’m still crazy. I still worry about sinkholes swallowing me daily. I still worry about having an aneurysm. I still worry that my husband will die in the 15 minute trip to the grocery store. I worry that my dog has rawhide wrapped around her intestines. I worry that my dog has asthma. I still think every time the heater comes on in the house, that it will explode. I still can’t drive because it’s huge gaping laughing terror. I still have anxiety about this anxiety med appointment. Please help, Doc?”

While we wait together, my Mom asks me, “Are you happy, Sarah?” My matter of fact response, “No, I haven’t been happy in a very long time. Years, maybe.” “Are you happy with your marriage still?” she questions. I quickly and fiercely respond, “That is the only thing I am happy with. That is what gets me through my days. That is the one thing I cling too.” It’s everything to me. He’s everything to me. He is my anchor. I can’t tell you what the problem is because I don’t know. It’s just here, and it’s been here for the last 5 to 7 years, I guess? It’s become such a part of my life that it doesn’t even make me sad to admit it. “No, Mom. I’m not happy. I don’t remember her. I don’t know what she looks like. She was years ago for a brief time, and then she died. She’s not coming back, and it’s not important that she come back. What’s important is to figure out, how to keep surviving, and I do. I will. But my marriage, is what gives me shiny droplets of happy, dripping in daily. It comes into my cell to give me a little bread and water, and I wait for it to visit every day. It’s bits that drip down into my life and are so special and perfect. It is the only thing that means a damn out of all of this that I messed up somewhere. That probably sounds pathetic to you, but I don’t care. This day to day heavy curtain doesn’t even bother me anymore. It’s just here. It’s forever. I am learning how to carry it better, but please never touch my perfect K. with it. He is my life raft. That's not to say that I'm on the verge every day, and I don't have things I enjoy but I've accepted that this undercurrent will always be a part of my life.

Oh, other happy moment, though! My Uncle that passed away used to make this amazing Wild Rice Soup that he predatorily guarded the recipe for, despite my pleading. My aunts, uncle, cousins, and mom and dad all met up at Grandma’s to celebrate their belated 60th anniversary with a family party, and they made his famous soup. Mama brought me home a bowl and a bottle of Merlot sent to me from Grandma. It was as amazing as I’d remembered. I thinned it out a little with milk to make four bowls from the one (it’s very rich), and it’s so yummy! Fortunately, the recipe was passed on to Mama so when we make it, we can also think fondly of Mark.

In outlandish things, I was absolutely dreamy about these copper sneakers by Stella McCartney, but she is entirely too proud of her outer space shoes made of ground up pennies as they are $385 (marked down from $550). Also, everything she’s done shoe wise as of late is on a huge foam-looking platform. She takes sensible and slaps audacity on it and calls it a day, and unfortunately, I couldn’t love it more. It’s not for me to wear, but I do delight in them even if I think it’s ridiculous to spend so much on shoes which to me are just functional. Put ‘em on your feet and walk. I definitely didn’t get the stereotypical lady obsession with shoes. But all these that look like they’ve been presented on a pedestal, and I’m admiring just a bit.

This weekend: more moving, trip to the library to collect new books and return those read, celebrating a friend’s birthday with a dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, and hopefully, sorting through some thrift stores if I can convince my love. I hope your weekends are all marvelous! What have you got planned?  

thesarahscope: (Spooky Mouse Club)

New hair this weekend!

Friday evening my magical hair artist whipped and painted and created the most perfect hair she's conjured, yet. Stormy gray and blues brewing and lapping over my skull.  She went down to a two on the buzzed sides. The shorter sides make me feel like a warrior. It feels fierce and coupled with the color, I might be able to conquer the world. It suits me.  I think this one will stay for quite some time!  Perhaps forever.  

A dear friend came back to our office bearing King Cake from Louisiana.  I had never tried it, but I knew of the baby so I insisted that she hide it for us.  The cake tastes like a cinnamon roll, but this one has an over the top cream cheese filling that luxuriously spills out when you cut a slice.  It also has the jewel colored sugar sprinkled on the top that crunches delightfully in your teeth.  Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about because if you've ever eaten a Christmas Tree Cake (by Chef Little Debbie), you've caught the bug.  I do it as a toast to my teeth cleaning friends at the dentist so they can continue to live in style, I insist.  I will happily crunch the sugar bits against my molars until I have clickety clackety porcelain ones that I soak in a cup every night.  It will be worth it, I surmise.  We then read up on the history of the baby, and I was delighted to find that a baker once bought a surplus of porcelain babies that a traveling salesman was selling to put in the King Cake in place of the bean that was usually used.  It became very popular, and when he used all the porcelain infants up, he went with the cheaper plastic ones. I'm not from Louisiana so I'm not sure as to how true this is, but so says the Internet (there is a lot of fighting about whether the baby in the King Cake represents baby Jesus). If you know of another tale, do tell.  I like this traveling salesman story though so I'll keep that one if you don't mind?  

Yesterday my perfume samples came in, and I first tried Salome.  The first smell was awful to me.  It burned my nose, and it reminded me of Grandmothers at church.  It is strong, and it bowls you over.  After a while, I smelled my wrist again, and I enjoyed it.  It is still bold, but it's a nice vintage smell.  It's definitely not a daily wear perfume, though.  It's for a night out at the opera.  It's for the ballet.  Use sparingly, or you'll give yourself a headache.  Trust me, I know.  Of course I would have exquisite tastes, and I adored the sample of Note Vanillee that I tried this morning.  After testing it, I went online to see how much a full size bottle would cost, and it's a cool 235 bucks.  Around 10:30 a.m., I took a whiff of my wrist, and it had faded.  I couldn't detect it at all, and for almost 300 bucks, you'd hope it'd last longer.  The Salome is so pungent it would probably last for four days.  I haven't tried Confetto yet, but I'll report back when I do.  Rumor is that it smells like a better version of Dior's Hypnotic Poison which is my signature scent.  

At work, our office has been infiltrated by a gnat army.  We have been searching high and low for what's drawing them in, but fortunately, our Facilities department brought vinegar traps.  Then a curious student overturned one near my desk, and it smelled of vinegar all day.  He has scented the hallways, and a friend questions, "Why does it smell like cat piss everywhere in here?"  

At lunch, in the food court, I see a man who looks exactly like Charles Manson waiting at a table.  I can't stop staring.  I wonder if anyone has ever told him that?  I'm certainly not going to be the one to break it to him, but I can't help but feel both sorry for him and also repulsed even though he's done nothing wrong.  

thesarahscope: (Spooky Mouse Club)
Our three kitties lazing about: The black and white is Dimitri, the gray one leaning on him is Francis, and the one farthest from those two is Nickel

The Christmas break is over, and it was wonderful. It ended too soon, as usual. Mine was a mix of giving over to the depths of laziness and also packing and starting the move to our new house. The new house is just four houses down from our current house.  That can be both convenient or insulting depending on my mood and how heavy the boxes are that day. Besides the moving, I've been enjoying the gloomy, wet weather quite a bit.  Every morning when I go to take out Mearl, the stubborn pug, it feels as if I'm suddenly on some Welsh coast.  Trudging through piles of wet leaves with my ankles out.  The air is so damp, I look to make sure I didn't step in water.  I like to commiserate with people on nasty weather because, for an introvert like me, it's an easy way to not have to think of some mind numbing small talk everyone seems interested in exchanging. I must admit, however, it's all a blatant lie.  I love the rainy, wild days in the winter. I love avoiding puddles, and I love the sting of the wind. It makes me feel alive.  In summer, it's just awful and humid, but rain in winter is a dream,I confess!  We did the usual and made some trips to visit family over the break which we enjoyed. I gorged myself on literature, olives, and blue cheese.  I ate an ungodly amount of blue cheese.  When I talked to the pusher behind the cheese counter, I insisted, "I want some funky blue cheese.  I mean funky."  She raised an eyebrow, "You want something that kicks you in the teeth?"  "Perfect," I said.  I don't think it's healthy to eat an entire block of it no matter how much you're enjoying the creamy melt in your mouth texture and wrapping your tongue around the chunks of blue mold while reading.  That didn't stop me, but the dog wouldn't leave my side.  Every time she neared me, I'd see her little nose quiver wildly, and she looked eager to find the source of the putrid smell. I once went with my Mom to a wine tasting, and I was much more impressed with the cheese.  These Southern society wives kept droning on and on about the wine, and all I wanted to know was where the hell the cheese came from.  

In other expensive habits I have, I purchased three new samples from my favorite perfume site Luckyscent. I ordered Note Vanillee, Salome, and Confetto.  A lot of people said in the reviews of Confetto that it was really similar to Hypnotic Poison which is  my signature scent so I'm sure I'll like that one.  I hope I don't like them too much because the full size bottles cost a shit ton.  

Kelly won at gifts as he does on every occasion.  One gift from him I've been enjoying lately is our new subscription to FilmStruck.  I was heartbroken when The Criterion Collection moved off Hulu so of course, we had to pick this up.  He also booked a stay for us in February at Stonewind Retreat to stay in a yurt.  There's heat and wifi and an indoor bathroom so I can go.  I still have my fear of bears, and the deep dark secret wish that they would all become extinct, at least in the United States. I've never come across a bear in the wild, but I've had millions of nightmares involving them since I was young, and I try not to go anywhere where there is a potential to run into one hence the reason that I don't go hiking (one of many).  

Last night, I took myself back to childhood.  There was a pot of leftover rice on the stove, so I reheated it and added milk, butter, and a teeny bit of splenda, teeny bit of honey, and tons of cinnamon.  My Mom used to make this for me when I was little.  I basically find it to be a kheer knockoff, but it's still yummy and was as good as when I was a kid.  Not as good as kheer, mind you, but it'll do.  

I had a wonderful lunch with my Goldilocks friend today.  She is always a wonderful listener, a light to everyone, a curly haired perpetual sunshine.  It was so good to catch up with her.  We laughed a lot, as always.  There is never enough time to get everything out in a lunch break, though.  We'll have to meet up again soon.  One of my intentions this year is to try to be a better friend.  I have been blessed with friends who have the patience of saints and have never given up on me when I'm down in a hole.  The problem is, I'm always in the hole.  I owe them more.  They deserve better.  I am going to try.  I love them, but actions speak louder than words so I hope to do better this year.  I'm sorry for the many times I let everyone down in the last year.  It probably won't be the last time, but I strive to make it not as common in 2017.  

I'm really happy to be over here now.  For some reason my blog always made me feel like I  had to be more formal, and like I couldn't just ramble like in the old Livejournal days.  I have rambled my way through this, and it feels wonderfully familiar and comforting.  I hope you all will feel free to comment, and if you have an account on here and you stumble across this journal, please feel free to add me.  I look forward to making new online friends, too!   


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September 2017

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