Pull up a martini and let's have a chat.
I decided…that I could go on being scared forever, that I could keep walking, that I could carry my rage around, hot and heavy in my chest forever. But maybe there was another way. You have everything you need, my mother had told me. And maybe all I needed was the courage to admit that what I needed was someone to lean on.
— Jennifer Weiner (via poires)
Source: melleus
Even though I am a stubborn enthusiast for anything-but-East-Coast breweries, I am starting to accept that these beer guys out here are pretty talented, interesting people. I mean, I KNOW they are, but…nothing compares to Colorado beer (and I’m not talking Coors…), I’m just barely willing to accept that EC beers could be AS GOOD.
In any case, Smithsonian mag has a rockin’ article on The Beer Archaeologist. When I grow up, I want to use my Ph.D. to study ancient fermented drinks. That, I know for sure.
And, in the middle of an emotionally distraught week, filled with horrible things, weird things, annoying things…and me: complainer of ALL things, comes this.
Jill saves the day, again.
Love. Do it all the time, under all conditions, without restrictions or limitations. Don’t hold back your love; constantly remind the people you love that you do. Talk about things you love, books you love, places you love, food you love, people you love, experiences you loved. Don’t waste your time criticizing or complaining, there is no time for that. -Jill Costello
Sometimes, kids, I just need to be reminded.
(via mylimerence)
Source: orchidsonfire
This whole Megan McCain/Glen Beck debate has actually struck a cord. Normally, it wouldn’t, and I’d look the other way, rolling my eyes at Glen Beck and how he continues to have opinions that people talk about.
But not this time, you see, because I’ve recently seen a public message from one person to another, about me…my full name, to discuss my outward appearances - the one’s I was born with.
Women aren’t all born thin and perfect. Shocking, I know.
And see, I could be skinnier - but frankly, I fucking love eating with my boyfriend. He loves amazing food and, whether he cooks it himself or takes me out to a great place, he provides me with amazing moments shared over delicious food. I wouldn’t give that up for anything.
I could be skinnier, but son of a bitch, wine should be enjoyed in glasses…which means hundreds of liquid calories. And beer, really, really good beer, from really great microbreweries, are not Natty Light. So, I indulge and I imbibe and I love it.
I could be skinner if I gave up on these two things…but I’m still Scandinavian. And German. And Scottish. And not the from the small stock of those peoples - my family has royalty and warriors that I’m the direct descendant from. My big ass and legs and hips have helped me win races over anyone I wanted. They’ve carried me without fault or injury. And they have never stopped me from making friends or attracting men. So….
I could be skinnier…but I have SO much more going for me.
I could be blond…but it would be a criminally, damn SHAME to mess with the amazing red hair that I have. You don’t live 26 years of life having people tell you how beautiful your hair is, just to dye it. I know I’ve been blessed and I’m thankful for that.
I could be prettier….but, if you asked me, I’d say: “Then the world with be blinded.” But, really, every woman is beautiful. Every Single Woman Is Beautiful. I could spend an hour on my hair and makeup in the mornings, but I don’t want to. I could pay people to fluff and primp me on the weekends, but I don’t want to.
I could be prettier. But I’m just fine.
I could let the words, said by insecure people, bother me. I could…and to some extent they have bothered me. Who wouldn’t be bothered when their full name is used to describe just how ugly, fat and NOT blond they are? But I’m not bothered by what these people think. I’m bothered that they’d be so….jealous? insecure? unhappy that I’m happy without them? that they’d feel the need to even utter my name when they can’t even talk to me. TALK TO ME. SAY IT TO MY FACE.
I don’t care if they would’ve said, “I hate That Bitch because she still talks to my ex-boyfriend(s)! What a Whore! She knows that hurts me!” Yeah, I know that could hurt. But, here’s what, you don’t talk to me about your relationship…so I don’t know what’s going on, and he’s still being a good person toward me. And you aren’t.
And when he takes me to Town, and displays me out on the dance floor, then proclaims me the queen of the gays…. While you’re still following around some raging bitch that has you so mindfucked that you’ve become her servant… Please realize, that your comments…on FACEBOOK…about my physical appearance really only make you look catty, snarky and trashy.
Money doesn’t make you beautiful. Acting like it does only makes you the New Money that you insult. So…buck. the. fuck. up.
Disclaimer: I would write this on Facebook but it’s too long and I’ve had those people blocked for a while now, so they wouldn’t see it anyway. This is, like every other post, a therapeutic vent. :)
“It was mostly a nightcap- in the sense that it happened mostly at night, and throwing away the cap was a big part of it.”
Source: wildanimalsonline.com
Yesterday was Sunday. Sundays are SUPPOSED to be relaxing and involve lots of wine, especially on super sunny Sundays, like yesterday.
That was the plan, yesterday, wine + sunshine. After some errands. Boyfriend’s errands. To have included (what I knew when we left the house): picking up farm machinery…from a farm…and taking it to a coworker on another farm close by. Then maybe stop by Lowe’s to pick up a toilet seat cover that broke when my giant Marine stood on it to paint the bathroom walls. Easy Peasy, right?!?! I even brought a Joyce Carol Oates book if “picking up farm equipment” turned into “an hour of men bullshitting”! Because, I’m smart like that. SMRT SMART!
We arrived at the farm. Farmer wasn’t home. His brother was. Boyfriend told Brother man that we were going to, “pick up farm equipment. AND go get a trail camera in the forest. ANDmaybegoshootsomeguns” at some little family target shooting area. “Boyfrieeeeeeeend,” I says, “WTF do you mean ‘shoot’?” Boyfriend says, “Yeah! We’ll see! Look llamas!”
There were llamas. Funny looking animals.
So we drove by the farm house, and the guest house…and the barn, and the farm equipment, and proceeded to go down a giant hill in a pasture (with cows!) in his F-350.
Then he got stuck in mud. Because it rained like whoa on Saturday.
He got out of the mud after much effort. Only to drive directly into another mud-pit, only this one was worse. He gave it the ol’ college try to get that big ass truck out of the mud. Then he gave up, told me to put on my muck boots (that he brought, how kind) and go with him to get this camera…over “there!”…in a forest.
I’m not a country girl. Nope. I’m from California. I tan and read books. I barely do water of any kind and I was a rower.
But, it was a beautiful day, I happily threw on the boots and tromped over to some trees..only mildly afraid of the cows. But, he keeps going…and *surprises* me with “target practice” so I can test out some little guns for a conceal and carry permit. “FUN!” he says.
…As a Californian, and a woman, and…me, I need to be properly mentally ready for guns. I have found this out. I am a hell of a shot, but I still don’t like to shoot.
Also…no surprises with guns are good surprises. Men, remember that.
So, naturally, I freaked out and quickly tromped back to the F-350 stuck in 3 feet of mud in the middle of a cow pasture down a hill from a farm on a battlefield in Beyond Fucking Egypt Virginia.
I didn’t cry. I called my dad. We talked about hard drives and backing up my computer. (Nerdspeak).
Boyfriend came back huffy, eventually threw enough mud around with his big ass tires to get us out of the mud bog, then went about 80 mph up the pasture hill “to make sure we don’t get stuck again”. I laughed nervously.
Then he found out he couldn’t pick up the farm equipment (that was the point of coming to the farm) so we couldn’t take it to another farm where his coworker lived, so that was that, we left. After 2 hours.
Down the street was an “antique” shop filled with toys I used to play with in the eighties, and one random baby doll that included male-baby parts totally visible to the world, in it’s original packaging (no pun intended). Next to that ramshackle of a old toy shop (read: someone’s grandparent’s attic o’ shit) was a farmers market. We picked up some fresh, local veggies for later.
Boyfriend became hungry, so we stopped at a gas station. Rural gas stations apparently sell down-home-cooked fried chicken and collard greens. Yum! Everything was sauteed in bacon fat first. Ohh…my heart…
Then, oh since we’re only 30 miles away…boyfriend thought, Let’s go to the Taxidermist!!!! Which was cool by me, I like that guy. Get me a coffee and I’m down.
We pulled up and the Taxidermist’s shop was closed, but his wife called us from the near-by house. He was tending to his bees. In his bee-suit.
He stopped doing whatever it is you do with bees and did animal business with the boyfriend, whilst I walked around the shop and stared into the fake glass eyes of things like coyotes, elk, shit-tons of deer and a mounted triceratops head. Oh, and big bears, GO BEARS! (Which reminded me of my college team’s race that day, so I checked the results. Despite a win going to Stanfurd, my alma mater did phenomenal!)
For a very loud moment, there was a cacophony of squawking. His room of exotic parrots. Massive, rainbow-colored, exotic birds with beaks bigger than my Marine. Of course! Taxidermist said not too get too close because the birds could bite. Yes, these were living animals. Noted.
Then we went to Lowe’s. The Lowe’s in rural Virginia is:
1) Not crowded
2) Filled with incredibly nice people
Wow.
Then we got stuck in traffic for 2 hours, to go 20 miles. We arrived back home around 8pm - which put a SERIOUS damper on me enjoying white wine in the sunshine, as you are SUPPOSED to do on SUNDAYS. But neither here nor there, I still planted some flowers in the front garden while enjoying a microbrew. Not a total waste.
Then the boyfriend made seriously awesome bbq ribs, and I made a seriously awesome giant salad. We sat down at 10 to eat this meal and finally have a glass of wine in the dark over an episode of Top Chef Masters.
Kids, don’t ever let anyone tell you that coupled-up, Suburban life gets boring.
For every girl who is tired of acting weak when she is strong, there is a boy tired of appearing strong when he feels vulnerable. For every boy who is burdened with the constant expectation of knowing everything, there is a girl tired of people not trusting her intelligence. For every girl who is tired of being called over-sensitive, there is a boy who fears to be too gentle to weep. For every boy for whom competition is the only way to prove his masculinity, there is a girl who is called unfeminine when she competes. For every girl who throws out her E-Z-Bake oven, there is a boy who wishes to find one. For every boy struggling not to let advertising dictate his desires, there is a girl facing the ad industry’s attacks on her self-esteem. For every girl who takes a step toward her liberation, there is a boy who finds the way to freedom a little easier.
Totally excited to get new carpet in the carpeted areas of the house. Ordering tonight!
This almost excites me more than the recent bathroom “re-do” that consisted of (cheap) new lighting fixture (bathroom lights totally suck, don’t they? ugh), new (cheap, IKEA) mirror, new paint, new (cheap) waffle shower curtain.
And definitely excites me more than the recent office paint color - north carolina blue.
In other news, I had more than 2 vodka drinks on Friday night. I was hungover for 2 days.
26 going on 75.
Love affair with dusty pink and gold continues. Oh how I’d loooove a little corner like this in my house!
