Mi Valentino

His name is Ernest. I made him up, out of cardboard and a chocolate box. His heart is aflame for me.

A Winter's Midday Dream

This weekend there was a picnic in this yard. A couple days after, snow fell. Texas weather forgot to take it's bipolar pills.

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow Katy Day, Kristin Ponsonby, Cara Kanavel, and I have huddled up in the Fulton house. There has been a lot of lady activities happening: cooking, lady-targeted movies, arts and crafts (included but not limited to scrap booking, dressing up, sewing, knitting, and creative wordplay rambling).

Cabin fever is yet to set in, but I feel it coming. Soon I will be Mrs. Fitzgerald with book upon book inspired by me. The crazy neurotic lady character with schizo episodes in which the man intervenes, snapping me back to temporary stability. And I'll be married to a man who looks like Ryan Gosling with floppy hair parted in the middle. Social status will rule my world, and I'll wear my flower clip and pigeon feather in my hair at every party.

Katy and Cara are country dancing to Johnny Cash. Time to join!

Clout of a Cloud

A cloud's clout: thin, permeable, naturally evaporates...

Here's Kesha! Her clout barely covers her, but the feathers stroke my fancy (archaic use of the word)
On my road trip back from Austin this weekend a whale cloud followed the 'stang and me. Monstrously huge. And as most safe drivers would do, I took out my camera phone and snapped a shot. Perfect framing, eh?

Where are you now whale cloud? Searching from some other part of the sky for your Jonah that never returned?
You lost your weight and don't intimidate. I'm sure now he'll be your playmate.

BONUS !

Voila, le 'monnet' (modern bonnet). Otherwise known as the mobo.

Tree Masssacres

I have overdue complaining, so be forewarned about the tone of this post.

For the past years that I lived here there has always been construction. Always. New neighborhoods that all look alike, with flowery suburban names. It's been annoying, but it hasn't ever hit close to home (not my actual home but my heart). But now, right outside my neighborhood on 1464 is the largest tree massacre I have ever seen. Everyday, about three times a day I pass by these broken limbs and these hard hearted men cutting away. All the orange spray they use to tag the trees is eerie after having watched "The Virgin Suicides." I'm getting pretty close to tree hugging to stop this madness.

Looking at this objectively, it is ridiculous to get so frustrated, but how can't I? I look at life very symbolically, and 1464 is a major symbol within it. How so? I live off of 1464, I went to High School off of 1464, and my past and present jobs have been off of 1464. And now these beautiful trees are going away for a road expansion. I say suck up and deal with the traffic.

I always laughed to myself when driving past the huge collections of trees (may they rest in peace) about how I'd get so caught up in gazing at them, or the clouds. I have a feeling that my first major wreck will be because I was nature watching. Now I just have to restrain myself from crashing into these tree killers, or from yelling at them again. The first time I screamed something at them was an accident. Words just came out. Oops. Today I kept it PC since I was rolling with Mama.

There's a rumor that some vandalism is occurring tonight. I wonder who would do such a thing?

Burstin' Out of the Bubble

Three days off of work, two days away in Denton. Long car drives, blasting country and mexican and hip hop and rock for hours on the road with the hair breezing along with the wind. Sunburns from swimming and sitting outside coffee shops deep in interest of each others words. Clouds synonymous to us humans, constantly moving and reforming. Sometimes they block the natural harshness of this world, sometimes they let it through. Polaroid shots of the tall & white Sam Houston, an improv hair cut, a hair cutter on a smoke break, a Bob Dylan poser, and tree climbing with rain boots on. Running in a tornado rain storm. Jumping into Lake Madison, hoping the big mouth bass don't bite. Laying on a dock eating banana bread made by a reformed ex meth addict. Vegan grocery food. Judging a man I haven't met by all his possessions. Good mornings on the porch, friendly strangers extending hellos. Freckles on my lips from rays squeezing between clouds. Troops of future students passing through my recent past. Tennis courts and a dry river bed full of midget frogs. World Cup mode and an injured dog. Never have I ever!

New Beginnings

Here we are. Summer. It's been a couple months or so since I ditched this blog. Oops. No excuses, but I stopped keeping up with the blog after I had a weekend that I just did not want to write about. But I have found new inspiration: my friends!
The other day I was exploring a forest with Hope, my hippie friend and her dog and she suggested, in her high-pitched fast-paced tone, that I continue this 'ol thing, incorporating her into it. That was during her 'get fit for next semester' phase, though, which has recently ended. So I'm pretty sure she won't be exercising with me. And today I found out that a few friends from Denton are all starting blogs about their summer adventures. A couple of them mentioned me in a post and that lead me here, tapping away at these keys.
I'll be taking a new angle, or angles, though. I won't limit to writing about exercising. Cause that got boring. I'll keep up the regime of participating in some new physical activity each week. If it was interesting/embarrassing/significant in any way, you'll read about it. But beyond that I'll be here just talking about this little life of mine and my ritzy job at the Houstonian Golf and Country Club.
Yep. Country Club. I've worked there for 3 weeks now as a poolside server, and I'd say I've already made an impression. How so? Well the Houstonian is about a 2 minute drive from my house, and one day I decided to bike it. What you need to realize is that a major rode takes up 1 minute of that 2 minute commute. All was well, and I was safe on the side of this busy road, and then I turned into the property. I turned sharp onto a gravel road, a short cut, and right there was a golf cart driving along that spooked the shinola outta me. Naturally I grabbed those breaks hard. And naturally the bike flew out from under me. My face hit the pavement and slid. I was pretty scarred up, but I went ahead and worked. Turns out I kind of cracked my teeth, and I had a Hitler-mustache looking scab for a week, but other than that I'm fine. Swayze, my bike, only got a little dusty.
The Hitler 'stache has been a hoot. Members kept asking questions. One really bubbly girl said "You're so pretty! What happened?" The members have been pretty great so far. No real snoots so far. Just a bunch of skinny, tan, sharply dressed folks who buy over-priced mediocre food.

Gripping Fear and Letting Go

So I had a two week break without writing, which I feel a bit guilty about. But then again it was Spring Break and I am entitled to some type of relaxing. But today I cease the ceasing.

On Friday I revisited a past fear with my friend Cara: rock climbing. I've had a thing against rock climbing since Middle School when I took it for a P.E. class back when I lived in France. French schools have a very different program when it comes to physical activity. A lot more diverse and hands on than America. Over the three years I spent going to a French school I took ping pong, swimming, wrestling (mixed with girls and guys), ping pong again, ribbon twirling (I'm not joking), soccer, track, volleyball, ping pong once more, gymnastics, badminton, rock climbing, and then a bit more ping pong. Of all these sports, rock climbing and ping pong were the ones that irked me. I could never advance all the way up the walls, and I could never advance very far in the ping pong tournaments.

Naturally, I felt inadequate and insecure during those classes, and those feelings have stuck with me anytime I do those activities. Every time I play ping pong I get a nervous chin twitch. And when I went rock climbing Friday, I felt the same nervous insecurity as I gripped onto those silly colored rocks, halfway up the wall and unable to bear on. I am proud in myself in that I made it up two different courses (one I did twice), but they were the lowest level. I did attempt to do a higher level, but came right back down from that one.

There's something about getting stuck up there on that wall... I grip onto the rocks, up against a wall, unable to pull my own weight, struck with panic and anxiety. It's as if I'm in a metaphor. A depressing yet beautiful metaphor. The panic and anxiety is completely unpractical and illogical (check out The Logical Song by Supertramp, by the way, it's a great 80s hit), yet there it is. All entangled in me. And I'm not afraid of heights. That's not the problem. I would get the same bit of anxiety if I were to play ping pong. And that's as about as a low a sport as you can get, besides limbo.

I must seem an unstable girl, but I assure you, I function just fine. I didn't cry or freak out when I was rock climbing, except internally. I manage my crazy so it doesn't seem that bad. Impression management is a big deal for me, as for the rest of the majority of the human race. There was no way I'd have mental breakdown in front of the whole gym. I get enough weird looks simply explaining this odd emotional experience to my friends.