Poppy, Polka Dots & an Array of Wedge-Tables

New Favorite Color: Poppy
  (not-so-incoincidentally the color of my new cardigan)

New Favorite Day: Thursday (because it often feels like
   Friday but without the hype)

New Favorite Color to go with my New Favorite Color: Taupe



           Happy Administrative Professionals Day?
           Wish I'd known beforehand.
           I might've asked for something.




                                Like a raise.


Just hearing the word "deli" makes me feel excited.
                                                       


     Get Lost
     .in a book.
     .in a moment.
     .in a day.
     .in time.
     .in a feeling.
     .in a gaze.
     .in an embrace.

Why is it so sad when a grocery store closes down?  A gift shop, clothing store, restaurant -- When these places close it is very sad indeed, but something about a grocery store feels much worse, cuts far deeper in an intimate way.  Is it because they symbolize health, life, vitality?

Grazing 101

1. Assortment of vegetables (any and all varieties)

2. One delicious dip (no, that's not what I call the Boy)

3. Something surprising on the side (in this case, a nice stuffed olive and a crossword puzzle)

4. Rinse, chop, dip, eat (say that ten times fast!)
5. Repeat as necessary (Voila.)

     WOAH. Watch where you're pointing

                                                         that thing.

Old Wives' Tales
E Burnside & Sandy
Food: Modestly portioned
Service: Genuine
Atmosphere: Cozy & bustling
Dent in the Wallet: Considerable

Though I must note:
The company was charming, the owner (I assume he is the owner) a fantastic human being, and I did not feel one bit rushed. 

               Mother's Bistro

               SW 2nd & Stark
               Atmosphere: Yep
               Service: Occasionally too fast
               Chili Cheese Omelette: Stupid good
               Coffee: French Press for one? Weee!
               Bottom Line: Left a hefty tip

It's the sour cream drizzle that really gets me.

Moonstruck, Awestruck, Lovestruck

  

Yesterday I went to my usual appointment in the afternoon, only it felt like Friday because today I have the day off.  Upon leaving the building I discovered the sun was intermittent enough and the air warm enough to warrant parking myself at a metal table outside Moonstruck with, do I dare say it?, a cup of coffee so smooth and easy that cream would likely have ruined it.  I sipped from the cup that fit neatly in my hands, nibbled on the shortbread cookie with the zig-zagged edge, and admired the way the sun came in and out of the tree branches, laden with fresh April blooms. 

Sometimes it doesn't feel real.

Sometimes I don't feel real.

Then I discovered an entire world

living inside of my coffee cup.

And my new favorite butter jeans looked so compelling in the light; strangely complicated and pretty with pattern.

 Oh, and I almost forgot!  Look what Mom sent me!

The most perfect, timeless, fantastically elegant

Yellow Teapot in the world!  Yeesh, this photo does it

no justice.  In person, it just glows.

Thanks, Ma. :)

New Favorite Phrase: Creative Miscellany

I wish you were less blue.  But I've only

my wee camera, and it'll have to do.

What Can I Say? I'm A Sucker For Flowers

And I must be a sucker for Oregon, because we had to put up with a lot of friggin' rain to have such a stupid awesome Spring.

 Zero manipulation on all of these.

 I love you, and you, and you . . .

 I love how flowers look like they're

standing around having conversations. 

Especially these, dishing the latest gossip.

 Oh em GEE rip my guts out! Exquisite.

 Unreal . . .

Blobs of paint on a canvas lawn. 

 Hi Henny.

Gah!  How you set my soul aflame!

One Mission Shy of A Space Cadet

                   

                     You smell suspiciously like peanut butter.

     Favorite Song of All Time:

               Piano Sonata No. 14 in C sharp minor (Moonlight Sonata)

I’m not sure if my inability to count backwards from one hundred by sevens is due to my usual mathematical retardation, or if it really is because of the whiplash.  Besides the counting (or, not counting), my greater concerns are the blanket fogginess and absence of firing synapses in my brain.  (I accidentally wrote “bread” before I wrote “brain” . . . Precisely my point?) 

Hi, yes.  I am here because the synapses are not firing in my bread.  My bread is synapseless.  Devoid of synapse.  Please reinsert the synapses in my bread, before it’s too late!

She asked me to remember these three words: 

pink  
tissue   
and . . .

something else, but I have since forgotten.  Anyway, what’s important is I remembered at the time, but only with great effort.  The swirling thoughts of exactly how to remember three entire words was strangely overwhelming.  I wasn’t sure how to manage it.  After careful and fumbling consideration, I recited them just fine, but I could still hear the wheels in the doctor’s head turning about my mathlessness. 

One hundred minus seven?  I have no idea. 

It’s tragic, I know.

I’m still sore after five days, but this time sore because my lovely LMT drove her fingertips deep into the little knots in my shoulders.  Hurts.  So.  Good.  I’m glad we were (are?) instant friends.  Waste no time.  Since I’ll be seeing her three times a week for a month, I suppose it’s good we have rapport.  And, it helps that she’s a Cancer.  ‘Cause I’m a Cancer.  And Cancers like Cancers.  ‘Cause we cut through the junk, get to the meat, and delight in mutual understanding without having to explain It.  Plus, she has cool tattoos and speaks in metaphors.  It’s really a jolly time, now that I think about it.  A jolly, aching and painful time.

From: Ma
To: Daughter
Subject: No subject. WHAAAAAT????!!!

Even on a good day, my George Jetson (thank you, dear and well-meaning, husband for yet another bit of technology WAAAAYY too advanced for this pathetic pea-brain) Stove of the Future Model 4000 is one. Hot. Mo'. Fo'. And hard to handle (read: can't walk away for a second = yes, I've burned/burnt? a few things). Factor in a fever, dizziness, the aggravation of calling off work for the second day, a certain little dog (who shall remain anonymous) nipping at my heels, trying to get 100% of my attention 100% of the time and, AND the (very entertaining) In Style makeover link (sent to me by a certain Pea), and what we have is a bona fide recipe for disaster, causing whatever it was I WAS cooking to be completely forgotten. . . Well, suffice it to say, I'm lucky I only burned up one pan of ground meat and not the entire kitchen. . . scarier than the possibility of dying in the near-miss fireball is that I look really, REALLY good in Kate Hudson's hair.

ba·nal

[buh-nal, -nahl, beyn-|]

-adjective

devoid of freshness or originality; hackneyed; trite: a banal and sophomoric treatment of courage on the frontier.

hack·neyed

[hak-need]

-adjective

made commonplace or trite; stale; banal: the hackneyed images of his poetry.

The Only Way to Say :

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

 (i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings;and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any - lifted from the no
of all nothing - human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

E. E. Cummings


Courtesy of KT

Wednesday

Yes

The most PERFECT cup of coffee in a US Army: ARMY STRONG mug

Low fat mini chocolate cupcake, made with love

Fat spoonful peanut butter (like, fat fat…)

No

Thick grey skies

Dying bamboo

Absent buses

Need

Approximately one more hour of sleep

The feeling that surges through my body when I lift weights

More poetry

Want

Black Mary Janes

Black structured coat, maybe with some great buttons or a

  high collar

Black floppy sweater with the perfect amount of floppy

*Of note:

    Odd phenomenon = Phenoddmenon

Today

I feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin.

Sky!

Sunshine!

Puffy clouds!

Sixty-something degrees!

I stood on the sidewalk in front of the court house, read the Mercury and let the sun seep seep seep into my skin.  Burn my eyes.  Warm my hair.  God, it felt good.

It is imperative that I run home from work today, rather than go to the gym.  I think I would regret it if I didn't.

And tonight I will cook dinner for the Boy and Brother Number One with the windows open, curtains aside, air moving through and pure sweet elation in my gut.

We will eat and eat.

We will be merry and cozy.

Much laughter will ensue.

Readygo.

Chai + Samosas On A Beachy Sunday

Tao of Tea

3430 SE Belmont

Atmosphere: A magnificent cave

Tea: Sultry & complex

NomNoms: Eclectic & delectable (Eclectable?)

Staff: Appropriately distant

Overall: A good place to lose track of time

Aaaand, I know you're jealous that I got a

Tea Date with Devon, even though sometimes

it is a little difficult to be around

so much pretty.

Smile, Eggin, You're on the Net!

Oh, and Mom is up to more mischief.

I know, I know . . . What else is new?

More Butter, Less Paper Sack

I think I've done it.

I think I've really done it.

I have found the most perfect pair of jeans.

I know you think they do not exist, especially for women who have rather serious derrieres (like myself).  Most jeans?  Cool, they fit my foot.  And maybe my leg.  And that's it. 

Most jeans: deficient for those with anything in the trunk.

It also seems there is a direct correlation between the severity in problems with ill-fitting jeans and the quality of the jean.  Low-end department store denim: Okay, I can fudge it.  Maybe.  I'll just wear tops that come down a little lower than normal.  Don't mind the muumuu, I'm just shielding my muffin. 

But Target or Wal-Mart denim?  Forget it.  No way no how.  I might as well wear a potato sack (which I have threatened on multiple occasions, particularly when hauling ten pairs of jeans back to the fitting room clerk, discouraged and annoyed). 

I'm just not willing to spend more than thirty dollars on a pair of jeans.  Or on any clothing, really.  I am a woman on a budget.  I do not have $180 to spend on pants.

So whenever I'm in Buffalo (which I call Beefalo) I duck in and try on every eligible pair of jeans I can carry.  Most times: no luck.  Most times: super bonchy, too tight here, too loose all over, unattractively "boyfriendy," weird size, weird color, weird pull, butt spilling out, handles spilling out, any number of other things spilling out, too short, too long, too ugly, too whatever whatever whatever. 

But the other day...

It's probably because I wasn't looking for jeans.  I was looking for something else, an item which now escapes me.  But it was the Tao.  I am sure of it.

Boo-yah:

Citizens of Humanity
Light-Dark wash
High Rise Bootcut
Amber #263
Stretch

The best part?  They feel like effing butter.

That's how you know the fit is good.  And if you genuinely contemplate wearing them as jammies?  Even better.

"Any of those work for you?"

I handed the fitting room attendant a fat pile of denim, and held the Ones out away from my body.

"These are the winner.  They feel like butter."

She laughed heartily.  "Like buttah...!"

I wore them today.  I felt like a million bucks, and only cost me $27.