Let the countdown begin

10 days until I leave for Paris. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Silence is golden (black & white is key)

This week was awful awful and horrible horrible. (Minus the fact, of course, that I bought a plane ticket to Paris yesterday!!) This weekend, par contre, will be an excess of parties and wine and mimes galore! Allow me to qualify the mime part...Darling Friend is having a mime-themed party at her house ce soir; which means I get to be chic with my little parisien beret and all black clothing...and no one can talk. Because this is how mimes live. In a world of silence, sadness, reflection, and when they work at birthday parties, maybe a little bit of joy. DF and I went to get drinks after work last night and I thought I heard her ask me,

"What do mimes mean?"

I'll admit I was taken aback by such a philosophical question over vodka tonics; I responded,

"I think that, deep down inside, they're really just a sad and troubled people."

DF looked confused. She and asked me again,

"What do you think mimes eat?"

"Oh, I don't know...silent food? Certainly not pretzels, nothing too loud or salty. Maybe applesauce?"

DF and I also came to the conclusion that mimes probably eat an inordinate amount of black and white food...therefore hard boiled eggs and oreos were a natural choice for hors d'oeuvres. I have no doubt that this will be a super party.

Don't act so surprised

This is what I told my mother after she practically cried when I said I was going to take a vacation to Paris in.....oh 2 weeks time. (!!!!) Hi, my name is Impulsive, I'm your daughter. Basically I've been crawling out of my skin lately & I need to travel/I don't care how much it costs me. I discussed this with Friend who assured me that this was indeed a good decision. Well of course it's a good decision, is going to Paris ever a bad decision? I've already complied a large list of what I want to see/do while I'm there...suggestions? I've been to Paris several times and lived there for seven months once, however something about this city always calls out to me. On the list of things to do is make sure that this trip remains me-centric. I will be visiting a few friends, however, I mostly want to explore the city and be out & about on my own. I can't wait to sit in a cafe all day and read or write or just people watch. Maybe I'll take a stroll through one of the many beautiful gardens and then grab a fresh baguette and a bottle of wine for dinner.....c'est incoyable ma vie. A bientôt chers amis.

Noteworthy

This just made my day:


We can all thank Postsecret for including this little gem in their most recent entry. It's awesome for a multitude of reasons:
a. That's my name. (But not my ...)
b. It's dated on my mom's birthday.
c. The last time I heard someone call their lady bits a beaver was when I worked as a bank teller at the mall 3 years ago...one of the middle-aged women I worked with used that word all the time.
d. What a creep-o for saving it for 8 years (or even at all)...& yet it's totally hilarious.

The fun never ends

The atrocity of my day, indeed my week, can be summed up by way of how my morning began: I woke up late, rushed out of the house, slammed my hand in the car door, & proceeded to spill steaming coffee all over myself. Awesome.

To whom it may concern

Tennessee Williams is one of my favorite playwrights. I would like very much to see this play. Unfortunately, I do not possess the means ($35 & up) to be able to sate my worldly palate. Should you wish to take me I'll be on my best behavior. I may even put on my Sunday best. Surely we'd have a smashing time.

Sincerely,
Moi.

Well, hello

What a happy coincidence to find this little pin at a card store...it's exactly what my pet bird Captain looks like! (Zebra Finch) I've had Captain since I was in 5th grade... against all odds this bird refuses to die despite having his cage next to a drafty window and my often forgetting to feed him throughout my childhood. Apparently Zebra Finches are only supposed to live to be about 4 years old, in which case our little friend has been on borrowed time for the last 8 or so years of his life. Nevertheless this bird is now showered with love and attention from my parents once I left for college. Suffering from empty nest syndrome (ha) he's helped them cope marvelously and has no intention of dying anytime soon, thank you very much. His charming name comes via his father...I thought it was such a cute name and decided to name my bird Captain (jr.) as well. I later found out that the person who owned Captain (sr.) was an alcoholic and named him after Captain Morgan. Hah. Thus ended my childhood of blissful innocence.

Mr. Mainstreet goes rock climbing

Let me give you a little background on my family life. I am an extremely liberal-democrat-vegetarian/sometimes vegan-alternative lifestyle/alternative energy-organic produce buying-road trip taker-vintage/thrift store clothes-self sufficient/do it yourself-recycle everything always-ethnic food enthusiast-drinks wine or espresso anytime of day-prefers foreign/independent films almost always-have traveled to non western countries & hopes to see more type of person. I come from conservative/"I'm not that conservative"-republican-meat eating-former Atkins diet followers-owns multiple SUVs-favorite meal is pot roast or some form of a casserole-buys whatever is on sale-drinks decaf with cream & sugar-watches whatever movie is shown on TV-doesn't travel often-if given the choice to travel would probably go to Western Europe type of family. Don't get me wrong, I love them like crazy...but we don't have much in common. I'm always astonished that I came out the way I did. Against all odds, I am the exact opposite of what I was raised to believe. Sometimes I imagine that I must've been adopted & in my angsty teen years would often entertain myself with this thought. Yes, I was adopted, my family was out living somewhere in the likes of Seattle, drinking organic fair trade coffee for breakfast & then biking to some local film festival while wearing hand-made clothes and eating hummus & veggie sandwiches (all ingredients homemade/bought from locally & sustainably farmed sources).

Fantasy families aside, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that my real-life brother and I don't necessarily see eye-to-eye on...well...anything. Of course I love him and am always excited & happy to see him (which tragically only happens once or twice a year), but we've had our fair share of disagreements. Like I said before, we're opposites, so he's living my idea of what hell would be, and vice versa. BUT, today, there was a ray of sunshine in this dark cloud of differences between us. I was astonished, nay bamboozled, to learn that my brother and I have something in common. Before I go any further, let's let those words sink in.

SOMETHING IN COMMON

We both like rock climbing! Joy of joys...I feel closer to my darling brother already. Dear brother, if you are reading this know how great I think it is that we have something (albeit one thing) in common! Hopefully this will lead to our discovering that we have more things in common...like he's really a liberal democrat at heart but doesn't know how to come out and tell my parents...then as he tearfully confesses his secret love for ethnic restaurants & sustainable agriculture I'll brew some chamomile tea & we'll go take a yoga class to meditate (align our chakras & oxygenate our blood)...he'll tell me about a unique new Thai spice he uses to season tofu & we'll decide on a way to tell our parents about his being liberal (a closeted vegetarian as well) over a delicious asparagus & thyme risotto (the asparagus is from his garden & he found the best fresh thyme at the co op)....ah yes, if only. Nevertheless I now have a renewed sense of hope...it might not be too late for me to save my family.

Adriana

A friend of mine had been troubling me for a while for my snail mail address. Actually, he'd asked all of his friends to give him their addresses, he had "something planned"... of which I couldn't decline, "Sign me up for the stalker list!" said I. A few days later a shiny postcard found its way to my mailbox...le sigh. The joys of receiving hand-written postcards & letters feels like looking at old photographs from your childhood...like record players, or Sunday morning cartoons, or the ice cream truck, something romantic & archaic from the past that you long for and remember with bittersweet nostalgia as you silently weep to Rush or Straight Up by Paula Abdul. (Seriously, those songs defined my childhood.) I think it's fair to place letter writing among the endangered species list of art forms in the age of emotionless emails & generic text messages. (Technology be damned! Yes I realize I'm writing this blog from a computer...) But revenons à nos moutons (let's return to our sheep, as les Français would say) this postcard I received was an invigorating memory of the past. However, initially I couldn't tell what the postcard was a picture of. The deeply saturated hues left me to believe it was a tropical setting and indeed leaves were distinguishable as well as a pool of water or some sorts. It read,

"A four hour hike to the nearest village, which has a
population of 500. Pure mountain fresh water,
Howler monkeys swinging in the treetops.
That's why I travel. Why do you travel?"

Looking at the picture on the front of the postcard I can now discern the trees from the water, a scene so incredibly serene it's hard to imagine it existing of this world. My response, longer than a postcard, was this:

I didn't know his name, how old he was, where he came from, or what language he spoke, but something about him was captivating. I was alone taking the train from city to city along the French Riviera when I saw this old man, also sitting alone, in the seat diagonally across from me. There wasn't anything particularly interesting about him; he had a calm demeanor, easily missable. However, what caught my eye was the worn red backpack he held delicately in his lap, as if it were a small child. The name "Adriana" was embroidered on the backpack. Suddenly my mind was off and running...who was Adriana? Did this bag belong to Adriana? Perhaps Adriana was his granddaughter and she had forgotten her bag with him or maybe it was his daughter's--she'd outgrown it and given it to him. Something about him seemed to express a quiet sadness, maybe this bag was a reminder or token of someone he loved, of someone who had died. Then again I could be completely wrong, maybe he stole the backpack or found it or maybe he's homeless and someone gave it to him and the name Adriana means nothing at all. Nevertheless it was a problem that I continued to search for the answer to. All scenarios aside, this story isn't about who Adriana was or where this old man came from or was going to. The point is that traveling makes my mind active. Everything around me is new or different or special. Like the photograph on the front of the postcard, it is sometimes impossible to discern top from bottom, right from left. Displacing oneself in a foreign country, or traveling in general, heightens my senses and makes small differences ever more apparent. I find that I approach my travels with curiosity and excitement--always eager to know & learn more. The possibilities are endless, it makes me examine and question the world and my place in it. Do I really know as much as I think I know? Are there other ways in which I should examine or question the world, my place in it, my reality, my experiences, etc.? Traveling makes me actively question what I know and who I am. This isn't to say that when I travel I'm searching for answers, only that I have a lot of questions.

I can't wait

to wear spring dresses.

On skipping class, not doing homework

It's entirely too early in the semester for me to be this stressed out already. What's more strange is that I can honestly say that for the first time in a long time I like 80% of my classes. (Up from last semester's 0% enjoyment from courses required by both my major and CLA.) Par contre, this doesn't mean that I do my homework or want to go to class when it's -15 and snowing. Despite all the personal satisfaction I'm getting from these classes...I.can't.wait.to.graduate... Thus I have come to the point my college career in which doing homework and going to class have become superfluous details. (Required reading? Feels a bit too fussy & contrived.) Have therefore decided, through use of crafty deductive reasoning skills, that a more intelligent use of my time would be to go out to lunch with Friend and drink a bottle of wine. What a lovely way to spend a snowy afternoon, n'est pas?

Young Americans

you shall above all things be glad and young

For if you're young,whatever life you wear

it will become you;and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
((e.e.cummings))

Having just read Frankenstein

I am ready to create a monster of my own...I've decided that I want to write a novel. My intermediate fiction class has been so helpful and I've been getting so much good work out of it that I feel I almost prefer it to poetry. However this is not to say that I could ever give up poetry. It will probably always be my first love; my most loved and bookmarked books are my poetry books, which have their own special shelf on the book hierarchy of my heart (top shelf, naturellement). Still fiction has been so enjoyable lately. I have come to love a certain storyline and continually return to it writing new occurrences and instances whenever I get the chance. I hope to bring this story to life, I already have a sense of who these characters are and feel like I live with them...in the sense that they are a part of my daily consciousness. If only my everyday life didn't get in the way...I'd love to be able to sit down for several months and completely wrack my brain trying to give this story and these characters the presentation and attention they need. I am enjoying my other courses immensely, however, I just wish I could escape. Take to the woods and write in my own private little retreat like Thoreau in Walden (a book which sits on my shelf eyeing me up this very moment, yes I will read you later, later.) So that is that. Also, I did receive several happy packages today:


New boots! Hurrah! They are warm & wonderful.


And something special from my Pop: hearts! He sends me these every year for Valentines Day. I can't remember a single year not having given these out at school.

Stay warm dear friends.