Blogs, man. I know that I've never been super reliable when it comes to posting, but lately, I've been the worst. Not only have I not been writing, but I'm way behind on reading as well. Today, I logged into my reader and it said that I had 200-something blogs unread! Holy bejesus! I can tell- you're freaking out, too. For the most part, I've actually been staying away from the internet and have been concentrating on rereading the last two Harry Potters. Say what you will, but those books are great. I can read them over and over, yet still be surprised by something new. Sadly, revisiting Hogwarts has totally renewed my envy of those who get invited to wizarding school. Fiction-scmiction, I say. Yes, I really am 22 years-old... do you think that they have wizarding grad school? I keep pointing at things and shouting "ACCIO CEREAL!" or "REPARO!" Nope. I still have to walk over to the honey nut cheerios and my dresser is still broken. My sanity, however, is obviously still intact. Speaking of HP, have any of you seen the new movie? I actually really enjoyed it.
Back to the Muggle universe (NERD). Today, Rachel and I had ourselves a little day trip to Mazomanie, home of the Wisconsin River's nude beach. We didn't make it to the waters (nor was it our intent, though Rachel did get partially naked at one point in our trip), but we did make it to Hattie's Closet, an amazing vintage clothing store. I got lucky and found a perfectly fitted dress from the forties that makes me feel like Barbara Stanwyck and a green satin hat that has a ginormous bow attached. The hat might make Aretha proud. I'm not sure that I have the confidence to pull it off as I've never been much of a hat person, but it was too darn pretty to turn down.
On the way back, we discovered this old cemetery with at least one grave dating back to the 1700's. Wisconsin's got loads of old places like that- it's one of the reasons that I love my state. The day was overcast and chilly, making the graveyard look even more beautiful and enticing. It was here that our friend may have momentarily removed a select few pieces of clothing... out of respect.
While our day concluded back in Madison with dinner at a Japanese restaurant and watching an improv show, there's something else that I want to spend my last paragraph discussing. On the drive out, we saw a sign advertising a brat fry. Brat fry? What the heck is a brat fry? I have lived in Wisco for my entire life and I have never eaten a brat fried. Boiled in beer, absolutely. With casing. Without. Yes. Yes. Beef/Pork/Turkey/Veggie. Uh-huh, I follow, but, I'm sad to confess, I am lost at fried. I guess this means that Wisconsin is kicking me out and it really is time for New York.
Showing posts with label Life of a Lovechild. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life of a Lovechild. Show all posts
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Early Birds
Today, I went out for dinner with Rachel. At 4:30 P.M. This suited both of us fine.
Before going to the restaurant, she and I sat in the sun (41-degrees today, suckas) talking about the new apartment I'm hoping to rent.
"It's smallish, but the architecture is nice," I told her. "The only problem is that I hear that the building isn't very soundproof."
"That sucks," she replied.
"But I also hear that the crowd is pretty low key, so it's quiet by 10:30."
"No," she said. "It'll suck for you."
"Why? I don't listen to music or own a T.V. I never have people over either."
"I guess that only leaves the sound of you weeping."
Before going to the restaurant, she and I sat in the sun (41-degrees today, suckas) talking about the new apartment I'm hoping to rent.
"It's smallish, but the architecture is nice," I told her. "The only problem is that I hear that the building isn't very soundproof."
"That sucks," she replied.
"But I also hear that the crowd is pretty low key, so it's quiet by 10:30."
"No," she said. "It'll suck for you."
"Why? I don't listen to music or own a T.V. I never have people over either."
"I guess that only leaves the sound of you weeping."
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Fashion show! Fashion show! Fashion show at launch!
Ladies and Gentlemen,
I'm very proud to introduce a new venture. Rachel and I have teamed up to start a fashion blog. I give you...
...Lake City Lake!
Please stop by and check it out! In a nutshell, the blog will include "what I wore" posts, inspiration posts, "what I wish I wore" posts, and basically anything else pertaining to style. What makes this fashion blog different from all of the rest? Us. Booyah.
I'm very proud to introduce a new venture. Rachel and I have teamed up to start a fashion blog. I give you...
...Lake City Lake!
Please stop by and check it out! In a nutshell, the blog will include "what I wore" posts, inspiration posts, "what I wish I wore" posts, and basically anything else pertaining to style. What makes this fashion blog different from all of the rest? Us. Booyah.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
She Always Wears the Cutest Sweaters
I’ve often felt that my blog was the ultimate form of online masturbation, but apparently I was wrong. Turns out, having someone write a guest blog about me on my own blog is the ultimate virtual jerk-off. Back up before I spurt all over the keyboard and onto your screen names. Hopefully, my graphic introduction won’t scare you away from this extremely thoughtful non-graphic entry by my good friend Rachel:
Approximately two years ago I enrolled in my first college level creative writing class. The large group sat in front of lumbering Dell desktops, half of us crafting stories from prompts like “Describe a man’s walk to execution,” half of us online shopping. We were a group of not-totally-invested tech-college kids.
I sat in the second row, on the end, so everyone could see my raised hand. It was raised a lot. I was kind of a know-it-all. Next to me sat a guy in his mid-twenties, with long hair and even longer fingernails. I thought he was cute and spent the moments before class making sure I looked the CUTEST EVER. Except there was a problem and she sat directly in front of me. Her name was The PQK and she was always way cuter than me.
My first memory of talking to The PQK doesn’t exist. It was probably boring. While I don’t remember what I said, I do remember my thoughts, which were something like, “This girl is so cool. This girl is cooler than me. I want to be this girl. How can I trick her into being my BFF?”
The class wore on, every Wednesday night, and soon the long-nailed boy, myself and The PQK were usually grouped together. We were the cool kids, at least in my mind. We’d write funny stories, and communally roll our eyes at the work of our fellow classmates, who liked to write about vampires and depression. During the class-wide critiques, The PQK would sit next to me (Or I would make sure I sat next to her?) and I’d turn to her with a “gag-me” expression whenever someone just didn’t get my vision.
We’d discuss the upcoming Project Runway episode, and I would compliment her on her sweater or her hair or her top or her shoes or her skirt or her dress. Someone would come around with a towel to wipe up my drool.
Let’s be clear: it wasn’t a girl crush. It was a “I want to be you” fascination. She lived in Italy for a year! She was younger than me! She was born in Madison! She liked cool music! She rode a bike! It seemed that every time I found out something new about her, it was more awesome than the last fact. Despite this, she deigned to continue associating with me for a few hours each week.
That semester we never managed to get together outside of class. Maybe it was because she thought I was an arrogant weirdo. When the class ended, I was most sad that I wouldn’t get to bask in her glory anymore. To my pleasant surprise, however, the following fall I walked into my much-loathed Brit Lit class and GUESS WHO WAS THERE. She smiled and said, “Hey!” I’m not totally convinced there wasn’t a touch of dread in her voice. I sat next to her and we continued our routine of eye-rolls and know-it-all comments and Project Runway recaps.
Maybe that semester I charmed her with my enormous knitwear. Maybe I weaned off The Crazy and tried to be more agreeable. Whatever happened, it apparently worked because we saw each other outside of class!
We further bonded by both transferring to UW the same semester and establishing a weekly meeting time. I freaked her out by having my tarot cards read around the question, “What’s in store for my friendship with The PQK?” but you know, we recovered. We started watching Project Runway together, with fellow blogger and friend GiganticDrumKit. We have brunch and do friend things. She inspires me to shower. You know what I have to say about all this? Victory is mine.
Approximately two years ago I enrolled in my first college level creative writing class. The large group sat in front of lumbering Dell desktops, half of us crafting stories from prompts like “Describe a man’s walk to execution,” half of us online shopping. We were a group of not-totally-invested tech-college kids.
I sat in the second row, on the end, so everyone could see my raised hand. It was raised a lot. I was kind of a know-it-all. Next to me sat a guy in his mid-twenties, with long hair and even longer fingernails. I thought he was cute and spent the moments before class making sure I looked the CUTEST EVER. Except there was a problem and she sat directly in front of me. Her name was The PQK and she was always way cuter than me.
My first memory of talking to The PQK doesn’t exist. It was probably boring. While I don’t remember what I said, I do remember my thoughts, which were something like, “This girl is so cool. This girl is cooler than me. I want to be this girl. How can I trick her into being my BFF?”
The class wore on, every Wednesday night, and soon the long-nailed boy, myself and The PQK were usually grouped together. We were the cool kids, at least in my mind. We’d write funny stories, and communally roll our eyes at the work of our fellow classmates, who liked to write about vampires and depression. During the class-wide critiques, The PQK would sit next to me (Or I would make sure I sat next to her?) and I’d turn to her with a “gag-me” expression whenever someone just didn’t get my vision.
We’d discuss the upcoming Project Runway episode, and I would compliment her on her sweater or her hair or her top or her shoes or her skirt or her dress. Someone would come around with a towel to wipe up my drool.
Let’s be clear: it wasn’t a girl crush. It was a “I want to be you” fascination. She lived in Italy for a year! She was younger than me! She was born in Madison! She liked cool music! She rode a bike! It seemed that every time I found out something new about her, it was more awesome than the last fact. Despite this, she deigned to continue associating with me for a few hours each week.
That semester we never managed to get together outside of class. Maybe it was because she thought I was an arrogant weirdo. When the class ended, I was most sad that I wouldn’t get to bask in her glory anymore. To my pleasant surprise, however, the following fall I walked into my much-loathed Brit Lit class and GUESS WHO WAS THERE. She smiled and said, “Hey!” I’m not totally convinced there wasn’t a touch of dread in her voice. I sat next to her and we continued our routine of eye-rolls and know-it-all comments and Project Runway recaps.
Maybe that semester I charmed her with my enormous knitwear. Maybe I weaned off The Crazy and tried to be more agreeable. Whatever happened, it apparently worked because we saw each other outside of class!
We further bonded by both transferring to UW the same semester and establishing a weekly meeting time. I freaked her out by having my tarot cards read around the question, “What’s in store for my friendship with The PQK?” but you know, we recovered. We started watching Project Runway together, with fellow blogger and friend GiganticDrumKit. We have brunch and do friend things. She inspires me to shower. You know what I have to say about all this? Victory is mine.
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