Gig at The Night Owl

I'll be playing at 9:00pm on Tuesday, January 3rd at The Night Owl. It is a new coffee shop in Fullerton on the corner of Harbor Blvd and Amerige Ave. Come check it out :-)

Barbie

When I was a little girl, Barbie was the biggest deal in the world. I loved her. Nothing was more exciting on Christmas morning than unwrapping a corner of a present and being greeted by a bright pink corner of a Barbie box. I could never have enough. There was even a transition period in my life when my friends had all outgrown Barbie and I still played with her in secret. I had a walk-in closet in my bedroom that served as a Barbie fort: lined with Barbie dream homes, outfits, and, of course, Barbies in the flesh… err… plastic. I was literally a closeted Barbie lover. I could only play in the closet, but still my love of Barbie flourished, and her numbers grew. By the time I actually "outgrew" Barbie, I had a formidable army of tiny, busty, fashionable, blonde power women at my disposal.

I was considerably older when I first started hearing some of the accusations that were raised against Barbie. She was deemed unrealistic and therefore an inappropriate role model for little girls. This scandalized me. Aside from the obvious "No fricking duh, she is a doll" retort I hold at the ready for these Barbie haters, I also can't help but feel judged. I, after all, am a blue-eyed blonde girl with boobs unproportionatly large for her frame. I know that sounds like a punchline, but it isn't. I never considered Barbie and my common ground to be rooted in sex appeal. It was always nice to see a successful Doctor-Vet-Horse Back Rider-Mermaid-Fairie-Princess-Model-Librarian-Pink Car Enthusiast who looked like me. Furthermore, regardless of how she looks, it is important for little girls to see a woman who can be anything!

It was with these loving thoughts that this Christmas I was happy to give my niece her very first Barbie. I went a little nuts with her stack of presents. She had to have a Barbie, a Theresa (Barbie's friend who looks like my niece), an assortment of career women outfits, and the traditional Auntie-Becky-is-a-square-who-gives-kids-books Book.

By the time I went shopping, the only individual Barbies left were Beach Barbie. I confess, I passed some judgment on Beach Barbie. Sure, she was fine for paling in the pool, but for my niece's first Barbie? No way! She needed to see Barbie in her element, dripping in success.

It was with that hope in my heart that I carefully extricated Beach Barbie, put some clothes on her and re-packaged her. My niece recently informed me of her ambition to become an "Animal Rescuer" so her first Barbie was carefully clad in kaki and holding a baby tiger she presumably rescued. Welcome to the Barbie club, Kid. Chicks Rule!

The Night Owl

There is a new coffee shop in Fullerton that I am currently testing for inspire-ability. I have made a habit of writing in coffee shops and the Fullerton Starbucks just hasn't been doing it for me lately. It is not totally its fault, but the fault of these three old bittys that moved into my squashy chaired haven. Usually I get along quite well with the local old people and crazies, but these three just don't get me. They find my smile very offensive and my offer to trade chairs so they can sit next to one another damn near threatening to bomb the place. This open hostility has made it very difficult for me to find my writing zen.

There is another coffee shop in Fullerton called McClain's that I love, but they are cash only and I've almost forgotten what cash looks like.

The Night Owl is a comfortable little space filled with squashy chairs, little tables and pretty orange lighting. A girl is hammering her guitar in the corner. I am contemplating my move to occupy that location sometime soon. All in all, it is a very charming little place that is allowing all my Congested blogs that I have put on the back-burner to flow out.

The creative atmosphere paired with the pleasant chat with the blue haired charmer working the register made this trip totally worth it.

My Dad and his Christmas Lights

As a college student, December is a blur. you've barely finished digesting Thanksgiving dinner, then you're on to cramming for finals, finishing up end of semester projects, cramming for finals, putting up Christmas decorations, cramming for finals, shopping for presents, cramming for finals, and did I mention cramming for finals? It can make a girl miss the whole spirit of the season.

For me, however, there is one activity that can provide all the joy, laughter and nostalgia that the holidays should bring. This, of course, is the annual: My mom makes my dad put up Christmas lights.

My dad is a sweet, easy going person who bends over backward to make everyone happy, particularly my mom. My dad reserves this one day of the year, however, to become a grumbling old kill joy, which tickles me to pieces.

Every year he shimmies up the ladder and puts up the Christmas magic with a frown on his face and a grumble in his heart. He is the Grinch-y, Scrooge-y, Humbug that everyone loves until it is all over and my mom is smiling at the house all lit up. His frost melts and he is back to my same old dad.

Timeless Battle

Dear Brain,

Do you mind? I'm kinda trying to do my thing here...

Love,

Heart

Catching up the Neglected Blog

Blogging nearly daily to completely cold turkey! I suppose that is the nature of this medium, to every now and then send out an "I'm sorry I'm lame" note to your readers.

Well I am all settled in to a lovely new setting for my life, and on Monday I leave for a brief adventure in Spokane, Washington, so I am going to try and showcase my new habitat a little bit before I go.

I now live in the most adorable little apartment in Downtown Fullerton. I have christened it "The Burrow." My landlord calls it the lighthouse, my friends call it my tower, by any name I hope you are starting to get the visual of what makes it so unique. It is a tiny little space: roof garden on top of bedroom on top of living room/kitchen, on top of a garage, but it is all mine (minus the garage) and I love it.

It is walking distance from all the delights of Downtown Fullerton, and 2.5 miles from Cal State Fullerton, which means I get a nice 5 miles of bike riding in everyday for school. :-)

It is nice being so close to school as I am trying to finish up. My classes are all really involved now and I have to keep focused. As my degree looms just out of reach, I see it a little clearer everyday, as I power toward it.

Sum up of Italy as told by the group

Click Here!

Admittedly, this video has its dull moments, but it shows the group as a whole's view of the trip (sans copious drinking that wouldn't fit the tone)

Don't Go to Venice

If you don’t have money, don’t go to Venice. Just scratch it right off your itinerary, Cheap-o Marx. If you have money, what are you still doing here? Go! Get a move on! Venice is beautiful! Stay in a beautiful Hotel right on the Grand Canal! Take a gondola ride! Hell, take two! Sip café lattes, sip water, sip wine. Hire a band of attractive locals to follow you around and play music. Do your thing Richie Rich, but if you’re broke, don’t go to Venice.



If you are broke, you may actually think it sounds like fun to rough it in Venice. You’ll spend all your money on the train to get there, so you’ll find a place to stay for nine euro a night. This will sound like an amazing bargain. When you first arrive in Venice (after missing your original train) you’ll wander around with stars in your eyes, taking in the city's beauty. You’ll have a bite to eat, take a few pictures, and before long you’ll want to head out to get settled. You’ll be staying “just outside of Venice.” You’ll get on a bus that doesn’t list its stops anywhere, then be hopeful enough to get off at the first campsite you spot. That won’t be it, dear friend, because let us not forget, you are broke. You’ll have to learn this the hard way by walking a little over a mile along an Italian highway, occasionally pausing to ask managers of comfortable looking hotels if you are still going the right way.
When you finally arrive at your campsite, you will be filled with relief. You will skip merrily to your tent, open it up, and discover it smells a bit like your grandparents’ shed. You and your friend Alicia will push your beds together to make it a little less scary. Your bed will fall off the back of the tent platform. You will attempt to heave it back on, but fail every time due to fits of uncontrollable, slightly manic giggles. Alicia will watch you in silence, convulsing laughter.



Once you have dropped off your purse, into which you have stuffed all your toiletries, pajamas, clean underwear and clean sundress, you will go to the snack bar to split a bottle of wine and pack of Pringles with your friends. The feast will steadily grow into a disgusting pile of junkfood.
When you decide you can no longer avoid going to bed, you will snuggle in your sheets (desperately trying to avoid using the sketchy looking blanket) and hear a strange sound. The sound will crescendo as you stare up at your fabric ceiling. Hoping, hoping, hoping. Good news, the tent is water-proof. The rain will beat down all around you, lightning will flash, thunder will clap, and you and your friend Alicia will laugh. What else can you do?



We’ll skip over the details of how you managed to get ready after your shower without a towel (you knew something was too good about packing in that purse) and jump straight into your second day in Venice. It is freezing cold. Cold?? But everyday in Italy this month has been unbearably hot! You will cry, but it will do no good. It is freezing and raining, and you feel incredibly stupid in your little sundress. You buy an Italia sweatshirt, you buy a café latte, and you buy a warm croissant. You never make it on a gondola because the only ones running are eighty euros a pop. You laugh it off, you run from store to store, café to café. You have a blast. You tell yourself it is an adventure, but when you finally make it home to Florence, you say to yourself: if you are broke, don’t go to Venice!!

Venice Round 2

Apparently others were later than me!! Off to try again.

Almost Venice

I stood on the platform in Florence for an hour and a half, hoping as hard as I could that I had gotten the time wrong. That maybe it was the next train…
I had arrived at the meeting place in front of the train station at 9:04 AM. I was four minutes late, but surely this would not have any great effect. I absolutely beamed with pride at the packing I had done: everything I would need for two days in my little Prada purse. I was too tickled with myself, swinging my little bag on my arm, allowing my back to be prominently displayed with all of its non-backpack wearing glory. My ticket was with the friend I was waiting for, so at 9:15 I checked the departure board for my platform, just in case. I was to depart from platform nine. I returned to my post. At 9:20, panic building, I did a lap along the platform, perhaps my friends were already inside? I raced to the meeting spot one more time, pacing frantically, then at 9:28 AM I sprinted to the platform, just in time to watch my train to Venice leave without me.
Maybe I was wrong! I thought desperately to myself. Maybe it was the next train? I resumed my post and waited. Tours passed in and out of the station. American kids shouted with glee upon noting McDonalds. A girl sprinted off toward a bus she just caught. I stood alone. My Prada purse suddenly heavy with clothes and disappointment.

Writing In Florence

I find that I feel most inspired when walking around Florence alone, with only my inner monologue for company. This does wonders for my notebook, and very little for my blog. The days are so long here, before my head even hits the pillow, I’m asleep. On some days, my notebook even suffers because my eyes are stretched far too wide to turn them down toward my pen and paper. How can I teach a pen to feel what I feel in this country?
A pen cannot feel sweat on its forehead from the hot sun, nor sigh from relief when a soft wind cools it. A pen cannot delight the taste of a delicious meal, nor grieve another course of pizza. A pen cannot perk up at the sound of a quiet melody piercing through the crowds of tourists. A pen cannot catch its breath when it flees at the sight of the Sistine Chapel, a Tuscan sunset, or a really great pair of shoes. But a pen can dance. Perhaps not in a Piazza, to the rhythm of a street performer, but a pen can dance along paper, back and forth, describing a memory, creating a path on which we get lost in words.

Pisa and Lucca

We took a day trip to visit Pisa and Lucca.
Pisa was completely miserable. Now, to be fair, the leaning tower is pretty amazing to see in person, but thats it. It is kinda like a trip to the aquarium when you are a kid who doesn't care much about fish. You run over and look at the otters, but then what? The fish are cool for a little while, but soon you just want some shade and a gelato. Unfortunately, in Pisa, shade is in short supply, and the day we went was oppressively hot. On the bright side, a bunch of the girls had to wear funny looking disposable shawls to cover their shoulders inside the church.



Lucca, on the other hand, was awesome. We didn't spend much time in the town, but it was quite posh and lovely. I stopped in for a gelato and had a very handsome gelato-tier giggle at my Italian, but other the that, we stayed mostly on the road around the city. We rented bicycles!! It was wonderful. I love bikes, and my friend Shannon and I thoroughly enjoyed peddling around stopping only briefly for me to dunk my head under a water fountain to cool down.

Cinque Terre

Last weekend, three friends and I went to Cinque Terre. Cinque Terre means “Five Towns” and is a beautiful region on the sea.
We started our adventure by grabbing a train… that was an exciting process. None of us had ever ridden a European train before, and my valiant efforts in conversational Italian had little impact on interpreting the squiggles on our ticket. After an excessive amount of wandering around, squinting at departure time signs, and questioning strangers, we finally found our train.
We bumped along happily, playing my little travel guitar and laughing. We seemed an unlikely group of friends to me when we first made plans, but there seems to be some sort of mysterious connection between all of us. The group feels so warm and welcoming, and I get the sense that these people will continue to be important in my life.
Just as the train ride threatened to lose its charm, we finally reached the sea. We fed ourselves, then hit the pavement in search of a hotel. We walked along on the water, on a budget, on a Saturday evening: things were not looking promising. We finally found a little hotel right across from the water, owned by an adorable little Italian man and his wife.
Their rooms were all booked, but they had a small apartment on the hill which they offered to put us in for two nights for less then what other hotels had wanted for one room. We took it. It’s a ten minute walk from the beach, incredibly beautiful, and huge! There is enough room that the boys didn’t even have to share a room, which was very encouraging for their delicate masculinity. Ladies don’t mind sharing, so everyone was happy.
We spent our days swimming, floating in the water drinking Sangria, and paddle boating. The paddleboats only held three people, so we took turns towing one person behind the boat, I took that position frequently, as the water was so wonderful I never wanted to get out.
Because the beach is so crowded, we didn’t want to bring things that we would have to leave out while we swam. We walked down to the water in nothing but our swimsuits, a few Euros for drinks tucked in our bikini tops. I have that unexpected exhibitionism to thank for the sexy new tan lines I’m now rocking.
In the evening, when we weren’t soaking up sun, we lazed around our beautiful apartment drinking wine and playing music. I wrote five new songs in one day! Cinque Terre, you are my muse.

Chianti

Today we went to Chianti. Oh my goodness. Before wine was even in the picture, the scene was picturesque. Florence may be the capital of Tuscany, but that picture you can draw to mind of the grape vines and rolling hills, peppered with tan and brown villas? That is in Chianti. Chianti is wine country, so appropriately, we went to taste wine and olive oil. It was amazing. The wines were delicious, and the olive oils were nothing like anything I’ve ever tasted.
Our guide was American, but incredibly knowledgeable. He told us all about the history of the region and details about the wine making process. It was very interesting, and I walked away feeling like I might not be as intimidated talking to wine buff now, what with my being able to read the label on a bottle now.
The real treat was lunch in between the tours of the two wineries. We ate at a small mom and pop restaurant that sat on a hill with a beautiful outdoor terrace. Up there is was cool and calm. The food was so amazing, easily the best I’ve had on this adventure so far. We were served a multiple course meal, but the gem of the lunch was a pasta that looked a bit like a wonton shaped tortellini. It was filled with pear and ricotta cheese, and the flavor was magical. It was sweet and savory, a bit like a pumpkin ravioli. I was in heaven. It was wonderful up there eating delicious food, drinking a wide variety of wine and practicing my ever-improving Italian on the little woman that kept bringing me my own dishes of food smiling and saying “vegetarian”.
It was a perfect day, and now I have a few short hours to recharge before a perfect night.

A Magical Place in Florence

Somewhere in a previously unexplored part of Florence, at the top of a million steps, there are a few more. The steps at the top of the million are large and perfect for sitting with friends and looking out at Florence.
The lights of the city twinkle up at the patchy crowd smiling back. The clumps speak in different languages, each enjoying their own pocket of home.
In the far corner, a young man strums a mandolin that tells the story of the feelings up here. It is happy and adventurous, nostalgic and beautiful, and somehow familiar, though I’d never heard it before.
The tinkling of strings intertwines with the chatter of Italians talking about love, and Americans mourning a lack of it.
As the song comes to an end, he feeling of the moment wraps up somewhere deep inside, and the private spell breaks to make way for community joy.

Uffizi

Nothing like an Italian art Museum to bring out the pretentious history knowledge that has been lurking deep inside. We went to the Uffizi today, which is a beautiful Museum. It is filled with masterpieces and pieces by the masters.
Aside from viewing the art, our tour was a little trying. Our guide had a thick accent, quiet voice, and tendency to say the Italian version of “Uh” between every other word. She was sweet, but her consistent stream of information about all the art got to be a bit trying.
As if her stream of knowledge weren’t enough, I took it upon myself to explain the “Remus and Romulus” story when a few students saw a sculpture depicting it and were a bit disturbed. Oddly enough, my enthusiasm didn’t sway them, but at least they didn’t mind my nerdiness leaking out…
Here it comes again, because now I have to briefly explain the story:
Remus and Romulus were twin boys, who were sons of Mars (the God of war) and a mortal woman whose father was king until his brother killed him and took his thrown. The two boys were tossed into the river to drown by their uncle, but were saved and raised by a she-wolf. When they returned to the world of man, and learned their own tale, they killed their Uncle and built two kingdoms of their own. After a quarrel, Romulus killed Remus, leaving Romulus confident that no one could challenge his city, Rome.

My Roommates

Slideshow

http://www.vimeo.com/25987634

The Becky that Never Sleeps

Well, last night was a no go for sleeping. I will try again tomorrow. It is 6:20am in Italy, and though the many hours I spent laying awake wishing for sleep were fun, the pigeons are up and so am I.

Our apartment is amazing. It’s huge! There is a small terrace off of my bedroom, just big enough to stand your toes on, but I took a few pictures looking up into the small space it looks out into. Today feels like a good day for taking pictures. Even though sleep was not in the cards for me, I don’t want to wake my roommates just yet, so I intend to sneak off and take some pictures of the city, then come back for them.

From the Stoop

Well, my recon mission wasn’t as accurate as I had hoped… I asked a shop keeper to clarify that I was at the right address. She paused to laugh at my pronunciation, as is the custom I am rapidly adopting as my new brand of comedy, then pointed me in the right direction.

I am pleased to report that this building is also charming from the outside, and also right across the street from a shop I fully intend to investigate soon.

I am early, so my luggage and I are sitting on the stoop in front of the building. I’m receiving a lot of attention by sitting here. I’m tempted to start playing my guitar, but I don’t want to be evicted before I’m even settled, especially if that would involve lugging my suitcase around the cobble stone streets again. They were much more charming without the extra weight or the swear words peppering my stumbles as my suitcase flipped on it’s side.

Jet lag, Cafe Lattes, and other academic subjects

My first real day in Italy is not so different from my first real day in Chicago. I am stumbling over the new sidewalks in quite the same manner. In Italy, I have more of an excuse for clumsiness as this is my first time in regular contact with cobblestones. It balances out with Chicago, however, because my playful remarks that characterize my charming awkwardness fall on deaf ears. Not deaf so much as caught up in their own thoughts that are akin to “What is that American girl saying? Are all Americans that clumsy? I should smile at her.” The smile doesn’t always come, but the rest is written clear as day on their faces.

Chicago and Florence really do have a lot in common. I know someone will roll their eyes at this, but it's true. Aside from my clumsiness being heightened in both locations, there is a similar feeling of activity and energy.  Plus, the locals love it when you smile at their dogs. This is a happy coincidence, as I am a habitual dog-smiler-at-er.

I woke this morning at 3am. At 6am, I decided I had better attempt getting a little more sleep, I still had an hour until breakfast after all. The next thing I knew it was 12:40 pm and the front desk was calling to tell me I was late for check-out.

After the world’s quickest shower and pack-up, I was back on the streets of Florence. The front desk is holding my bags until I can be let into my apartment. I did a small recon mission a few minutes ago, and the outside of my building is wonderful. Sto da favola!

In between the hotel and my recon mission, I strolled and searched for coffee. I first looked inside cafes, expecting them to be similar to ours: coffee, soup, internet. Cafes in Italy, I discovered, are more about wine. The place I ended up in, though I'm not sure what to call it, had coffee, food, and free internet. I am a lot more confident about communicating with the locals today. I’ve found that if I give it my best shot, they laugh good naturedly at me, correct my pronunciation, and speak English to me when I am completely hopeless.

After a particularly delightful moment for my waitress in which I attempted to ask for a napkin (un tovagliolo) I finished my café latte, biscotti, and (again to my waitress’ confused delight) orange juice.

Café lattes in Italy are out of this world! They taste like an amazing coffee-hot chocolate hybrid. I am already craving another, but I am contenting myself with sitting on a bench in front of a beautiful church, writing and waiting to see my home for the next month.

Chowing down after Ciao-ing down

Well, first I got cleaned up and dolled up to explore. I was strolling around really enjoying myself, but I was too intimidated to go in anywhere to get food.

I was feeling anxious about speaking Italian, and knowing what dishes were vegetarian friendly, and any other etiquette I should know. Finally, after a fair bit of walking around, I plucked up the courage to go in. While I was waiting to get in, I over hear this American mom and daughter talking animatedly and they reminded me so much of me and my mom, that I was stupid and impulsive. I told them it was my first time on my own in another country and alluded that I would like to join them if they didn’t mind. They did mind. And made me feel like a creep.

I scurried back to my hotel, and so it was that I almost went to bed hungry in the most exciting country food wise in the world.

The end gets happier. After deciding I’d have to go back out and get something, I finally reached a Pizzeria that I ordered from almost entirely in Italian. So, I ended up with a mushroom pizza to take back to my hotel room. I must have been so tickled with myself that I was letting off an extra confident glow because on my way out of the restaurant, an Italian asked me for directions! All I could say to him was “My Italian isn’t very good. Do you speak English” and when he nodded, said in English “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that is”. It may not have been the most helpful interaction for him, but I was stoked that someone thought I looked like I knew what I was doing.

I'm in Italy!

I’m in Italy! I spent thirteen hours flying and nine hours time traveling, and now I am finally here. After checking my large piece of luggage, I spent my initial time at LAX being eyed suspiciously by everyone due to the rifle-sized guitar I was carrying around. I hadn’t even left LAX, however, when everything switched to German.

All those flight related announcements you can barely understand because of the muffled mic became messages I literally couldn’t understand because they were in muffled German. If only Ferris Buhler had taught me a bit more then Danka Shane…

I needed those German lessons again when I got to my second flight, where a charming young German man new enough English to ask me questions and exclaim “wow” whenever I paused to take a breath.

In my first flight, I did not need to know German, I just needed a few courses in contortionism. Anyone who has ever flown in economy class of a double decker plane understands why civilization had to first invent deodorant, then invent the commercial airliner.

Once finally in Florence, I took part in the most stereotypical taxi ride of my life. I was proud, though. I managed to communicate with my driver completely in Italian, and he managed to drive on the wrong side of the rode and on the curb in the same journey. All in all, everyone behaved impressively.

My hotel is pretty adorable. Its small, but very charming and comfortable. After getting clean and cute I rounded out the evening exploring the city, tyring to take it all in.

My Show Song!

Hey! Come to my show! If my blog posts can't convince you, maybe this song will...

Cd Release Concert

So, I haven't mentioned this before now, primarily because I am under the impression that the only people who read my blog are my mom and people in Malaysia, but in case there are a few locals, I would like to announce the release of my new album Put Up Your Dukes.

My Cd Release Concert is this Sunday June 5th at 7:30 pm

STAGEStheater

400 E. Commonwealth, Fullerton Ca

$10

Come on by!

If you can't make it, the album will also be available on itunes, CdBaby, and Digstation starting June 8th (Happy Birthday to me)

Birthday Month!

The first day of June, and you know what that means... Birthday Month!! Birthday Month is a long standing tradition in my family. I believe my mom started it in an effort to take the pressure off of the one particular day, and in the process prolonging the fun. Now, technically my Birthday isn't until June 8th, but that doesn't stop be from being excited about Birthday Month! Hooray for Birthday Month!

Memorial Day Party

Too sleepy to blog... must postpone 'til tomorrow... head hitting pillow in three... two...

Target

I have been to many a grocery store, and it is just not the same. At the grocery store, individual people do their shopping. Maybe if you're lucky, a toddler will be persuading her mother that she really needs Princess Gummy Snacks, but other then that, not so much a group activity. This stands in stark contrast with an alternative grocery shopping venue: Target.

It is a bit amazing how much of a family outing going to Target is. Couples browsing sections that reveal why they are together, packs of children looking longingly toward the toy section, and old couples lightly bickering over what cereal to get.

Maybe it's my Target specifically that attracts groups. It would make sense, they may be afraid they'll get lost on their own. My Target is, after all, two stories, complete with escalator and cartscalator. It's amazing.

It was a very blustery day today in the valley. The trees were all shaking their branches lovingly, which was a refreshing distraction from the fist-shaking all the drivers do. To take refuge, the inhabitants, myself included, hurried into Target for supplies for an indoor Sunday. A thrilling outing for the whole family. Apparently.

Party Animal, partying like a goldfish.

Saturday night and I am partying hard! And by that I mean I am doing dishes and laundry... woo! I feel entitled to such a wild night because I spent the whole day playing with my friends. I am performing in a sketch show with a group of them on Tuesday, so today was all day joke-em-ups. So lovely. Now that I have some comedy and cleaning under my belt, it's time to cuddle up with a book. Hooray!

May and my Day

Oh my goodness! May is flying past! I can't believe it. There has been so much going on between finals for my seven classes, planning an album release party, and just general busyness, this blog has certainly suffered. It is my plan, therefore to throw catch up information in here and there, but primarily in this particular blog, just dive back in!

I am currently experiencing a bit of a zoney state. Between the ridiculously high temperature in my apartment, my insistence on spending most of the day reading, and now my overindulgence in Sundried Tomato & Basil flavored Wheat Thins, I am quite loopy.

Have you tried these things?? They are freaking delicious! With some hummus or some string cheese? Totally awesome. They are a pretty healthy snack as well, assuming you don't work your way through most of the box in one sitting...

Now it's nearly 8:30, but I'm thinking it may be time to hit the gym. As with this blog and all things, better late then never :-)

The Royal Wedding

I Love Princesses. I have grown up watching princess movies, I continue to watch princess movies, I will forever watch princess movies. What I am trying to say is don't let my love of Star Wars and Harry Potter distract you, I am also a total princess nerd. It's comforting to know that I am not alone in this.

The world was all a twitter over The Royal Wedding today, and so am I. It's really exciting to see everyone buzzing about something happy going on in the world. It only feels right that I should gush a bit that I got to watch it, and at the height of my princess love at that. It was beautiful. Such a lovely choir, lovely trees in the church, gorgeous dress and a beautiful couple. Cheers.

My Sunshine

I had an extremely productive day today. I got all kinds of homework done, which is good because I have all kinds of homework to do this weekend, but I also intend to have fun. So, on one hand, woohoo for me and my focus today that will lead to fun tomorrow. On the other hand however, it was a gorgeous sunny day today, and I was out in it so briefly it is a bit sad.

I've finally taken my head out of my books and noticed it's dark and I missed all the sunshine. It made me a bit bitter, like someone stole my sunshine from me. A handful of someone's actually. Damn Dirty Professors.

In what has got to be some sort of cosmic joke, there is supposed to be an oppressive amount of sunshine tomorrow, but I suppose I'll be able to appreciate it more after today when my sunshine was robbed from me.

Sneezy

Each of Snow White’s seven dwarves elicit their own unique response from viewers. Dopey makes us laugh, Grumpy makes us talk in baby voices with our lips puckered and our cheeks puffed out, and Doc makes us scratch our heads (what sort of an adjective is Doc?) But the most under appreciated dwarf is clear. He is a dwarf of character and strength. The character I refer to is, of course, Sneezy. Sneezy lives a tougher life then any of us could imagine, and yet he handles himself with poise, grace, and the occasional assistance of a fellow dwarf’s finger beneath his nose.

Can you imagine how many eye watering, mouth opening, nasal passage clearing moments Sneezy has had in his life? An impossibly high number. Today I have felt a bit under the weather, and I can honestly say it has opened my eyes. Well, in a more literal sense it has closed my eyes. More often then I would like: near my beloved coffee cart, in my English class, while looking for an appropriate parking spot. It has been rough. Yet, my suffering is a microcosm of what Sneezy has endured.

You are a true hero, Sneezy. I lift my tissue to you, sir.

Meanies

Life has a funny way of keeping things balanced. Alanis Morrisette inaccurately called it irony (can I get props for that reference that was topical fifteen years ago? and then some more for the archaic use of the word "props"?) but often life wants to throw some bumps out there so we can keep appreciating all the goodness there is.

I love people. I mean really love them. I want to hang out with them, get to know them, hear their stories, but it is undeniable that some people simply insist on being less than charming. I'm not really sure why this is. I know sometimes it is on accident because we don't know how to properly communicate our feelings. I know I'm guilty of that…

When I was in junior high I told my friend Jake he couldn't walk home with me from school one day. It was just for one day because *sigh* John was walking me home... John was an extremely handsome twelve year old and I thought this was it, my big shot at hand holding! Well, I blew it and my hand remained unheld for another lonely year. Things went back to normal. Jake was allowed to walk home with me and everything was right in the world. I didn't even realize that I had hurt Jake's feelings until we were freshmen in college and he confessed over a can of Miller Lite. I apologized profusely then, and Jake, if you are reading this now, again: I am sorry! I will never let the promise of hand-holding get between us again. Also, I'm sorry for publicly announcing you ever drank Miller Lite just now...

Now that I am a quasi-adult (quasi because I watched The Princess Diaries last night) I'd like to think that mean-ness has gone away. Unfortunately, that isn't true. There are always people with a self-serving need to put others down, and there are really only three things that I find I can do about it.

First off, as hard as it may be, I have to feel sorry for The Meanie. Meanies are notoriously unhappy people, thus causing them to be so darn mean. While the natural reaction may be to curse the very name of The Meanie and write a scathing critique of everything The Meanie has ever done wrong in his life, it takes a real charactered individual to just say: I hope things get better for you, I know it's hard to be a meanie.

Secondly, it's important to know that no matter what The Meanie says, I know who I am. It's very hard to reason with a meanie, but it should be easier to reason with yourself. If there is a hint of truth in what The Meanie says, that doesn't have to bring the whole world down around you. You know who You are. If you can counter an off-handed rude comment with true self-reflection, you have definitely won.

Finally, the universal solvent: ice-cream, the very delicious healer I fully intend to partake of as soon as I've finished this blog. Meanies hold no real power so long as life remains balanced and there is still ice-cream in the world.

To all the meanies out there: knock it off. And to all the knowers of meanies: You know who You are, now go eat some ice-cream and watch a princess movie for crying out loud!

Orphaned Panties

Hey, ever seen a pair of your underwear in the lost and found? …Me either… except this one time that I did. Apparently a pair of my delicates was left in the dryer… I think… but you never know. Perhaps there is someone else in my building that enjoys the fit of gap body's teeny bikini cut. It poses a great dilemma: take the probably-mine-panties, or leave them there on display?

The real kicker here is that this is not the first time this issue has come up in my life. When I was a freshman in High School there was a pair in the lost and found of the PE locker room that looked suspiciously familiar… I snuck them into the trash can just in case they could be somehow traced to me. I feel fairly confident I burned that trail, but now this new abandoned panties incident could, yet again, be very incriminating...

Single Ladies

Ladies and Gentlemen, for the first time in roughly seven years, Kelsey and I are simultaneously single. Hooray! Just in time for some wicked awesome spring break partying… which will most likely be centered around watching copious amounts of Gilmore Girls… but it's the thought that counts.

I feel it's important to celebrate these key points in our friendship, because someday, when Kelsey is settled down with seventeen kids: one naturally born, the rest adopted, and I am an old crow of a spinster, insisting that my next great piece could only be written if I lived in Malaysia for a while, we'll look back and smile.

Coincidently, I was reviewing my blog stats the other day, and noticed I get a fair number of views from Malaysia, so Hey There! To you all specifically. Cheers to all my single ladies!

Kelsey Forster: Coolest Girl I Know

Today is St. Patrick's Day, but more importantly, it is the birthday of my very best friend, Miss Kelsey Forster. Kelsey and I have been best friends since the first grade. Well, we are now in the sixteenth grade, so fifteen years, and going strong! We are going out tonight, so a few minutes ago I wrote her this poem:

Happy Birthday Kelsey,

You've always been a friend to me,

And so tonight beside the sea,

We'll drink together happily,

And if holding your hair is a job to be,

I hope that lucky bitch is me.

Masterful as it is, that is not all I have to say about Kelsey. She is the best kind of friend, and I'm so lucky to have her. And so, in honor of Kelsey and all her glorious Kelsiness: I am using today's blog as a forum for delightful Kelsey anecdotes. Anyone who knows her is welcome to add Kelsey-filled comments to this Kelsey tribute.

Without further ado, a Becky-Kelsey Tale:

Every Friday the 13th, Kelsey and I watch scary movies. It started around age nine when we stumbled across the movie Killer Klowns From Outerspace on television, and both thought ourselves way too cool not to watch it. The only problem was, of course, Kelsey really was too cool not to watch it, where as I was completely terrified. I had nightmares about alien clowns from then, way into my teen years.

In any case, we got through it and so a tradition was born. Every year, we'd get a little older, and the movies would get a little scarier. Kelsey the stoic, and I the huge wuss. One year she casually fell asleep during the climax of What Lies Beneath! So calm cool and collected. Kelsey was off dreaming of sunshine and puppies, while I was forced to sit alone, looking through my hands at Han Solo doing terrible things. Again it was confirmed that Kelsey is simply way cooler than me.

And so it went for years, until we were eighteen. Coincidentally, this was the first year I decided to bring a date (just in case Kelsey tried any of that sleeping funny business) and he was pretty into the idea of a scary movie. Our selection was Jeepers Creepers. Jeepers Creepers!!! Who the heck made that movie?? Barely ten minutes in, I hit pause. I thought I could pretend I was being coy, maybe make a hilarious joke at the expense of one of the characters on screen… they saw right through me. And yet, miraculously, Kelsey was not bothered, she too looked very shaken, and for the first time I realized that she was scared too!

We watched the rest of the film with the remote sitting between us so either of us could hit pause when necessary and we could let our suspense-endurance bar reload. Since then, I believe the scariest movie we've sat through was Young Frankenstein, and so the tradition continues.

Happy St Patrick's Day and St Kelsey Day!

Belly Dancing

There is an innately sexy feeling involved in wiggling your hips. What can I say, hip shaking makes me feel like a woman. When I was in Chicago, I was there to completely immerse myself in comedy. Well, comedy is a boys club, so I was surrounded by testosterone constantly. The boys club isn't impossible to deal with, as long as you have balance. I didn't, until I started belly dancing. It saved me.

Now, I'm not overwhelmed by men, but I am surrounded by intellectual endeavors. Reading, writing, editing, repeating. So tonight I had my first re-start at belly dancing. Adding some healthy, balanced, wiggling to my diet of daily activities. Trust me: them hips were wild.

Swamped

This week I am totally buried under work. I have three papers due one after the other, and two large projects, for which nobody can get schedules aligned. It’s very frustrating. Today was a day, rare and beautiful, when I had nowhere specifically to be. My options were open that I might plan out my day however I saw fit, at least that is how it began...

There I was, getting myself together for a day filled with homework, when the universe saw fit that I should be swamped by more then just homework. I flushed my toilet, as is my costum once I have used it, but the contents did not disappear. Oh no, instead the toilet water rose toward me ominously. I threw the back lid off and halted the water. I waited for the water to settle down, plunged like no one’s business, and flushed again... to no avail. Again I waited, again I plunged, and again the water leered at me, ever closer to the edge.

Well, I left the bathroom a moment to formulate a new game plan and returned to discover the toilet was leaking out the back, turning my bathroom into, you guessed it, a swamp. I will relieve my weaker-stomached readers and assure all that it was just water... but toilet water! The stigma of toilet water is not lost on me, and it took great strength for me to stand in the bathroom in my panties and galoshes (thus keeping my pants and feet safe from harm) and battle valiantly with my plunger!

At long last the plunger and I met victory, and the bathroom was restored to it’s former pretty clean glory! Hoorah!

Lament of the thing that never was...

I had a wonderful day today. I had my computer cleaned up and revamped with some updated software that is going to make me so very much a badass. In order to do this, however, my computer was wiped completely clean. I, being a young woman who is oh so “with it”, backed up everything important on an external hard drive. There were a few left over things that got wiped because they were too old to care about or projects that I knew were never going anywhere.

The guy at the apple store must have asked me fifteen times if I was sure I wasn’t going to miss anything and I assured him it was alright, because it absolutely was. Until hours later, in the back of my mind a lightbulb illuminated. On the computer there was this one file I “didn’t care about”:

It was a silly video of me singing a song that I had recorded directly onto the computer. I suddenly remembered the day of this project, I had redone it over and over trying to get it to work. The sound was a mess, I didn’t like my facial expressions, the light was coming in at strange angles; you name it, it was an issue. I finally got something half-way decent, and then couldn’t get it to upload to my old blog where I had intended to impress my three followers. It was a completely frustrating project, and after stealing the above still shot for my vanity, I pushed it from my mind. The still managed to ride onto my hard drive with the rest of my photos, but the video was lost.

Realistically, if the video stayed with me, I may not have ever looked at it again, but when I realized it was gone forever, it was martyred. The lost chronicle of my life! How will I ever remember those happier times? I was in Chicago, playing my ukelele. My uke has a broken string right now... boy those were simpler days. I was wearing my colorful beaded necklace. The one that needs to be untangled from a bracelet now... boy those were simpler days. Plus, I was sitting on my pastel quilt. That sweet quilt that at this very minute is sitting in my laundry basket waiting to be washed... boy those were simpler days.

So now, though reflecting on how silly it is, I can’t help but feel slightly nostalgic. Unabashedly, lamenting a thing that never was.

Rain Gods

I tested the gods today. Rest assured, prolific Greek authors of old, they are as ruthless as ever. I was feeling a little under-the-weather today. The sky was gray and the air brisk, the best kind of atmosphere for some good walking. I thought a bowl of soup across the street would be perfect, and as I headed over a light mist was leaking out of the sky. I ignored this, delighting in the short walk to deliciousness. Just as I got across the street the gods cackled and dumped a bucket of water on the valley. I enjoyed my soup and reading, happily dry inside, but the rain got heavier and heavier. It's beautiful to watch and listen to, but my sprint home drenched me, umbrella and all. Now I'm nursing myself back to warmth with chocolate and some delicious homework, while the rain still drums menacingly, daring me to try to leave the house again.

The Dilemma Review

Rating system (out of five):

Stars = measures the film's cinematic quality.

Hearts = measures the film's enjoyability.

Bowls of Ice cream = measures the numbers of bowls of ice cream it would require to get me to watch the film again.

The Dilemma is a classic story putting forth the endless question: bros or hoes? The plot is simple, should our hero tell his best friend some news he won't like hearing, in the middle of the biggest business deal of his life, or does he wait 'til things have settled, knowing that he has lied all that time. Throw in a couple of ladies, and the awkward comedy that only Vince Vaughn and Kevin James can provide, and the recipe is complete.

In the beginning, the film presents ideas that are universally familiar. The characters are people we know and the plot is something we can believe, but once we are hooked into relating with what is going on, we are given twists of comedic gold. Our boys deliver clever dialogue with charming timing, but it is when the physical comedy comes out that this duo truly shines. Vince Vaughn takes a thorough beating in this film, something that us "little guys" can appreciate once in a while. Also seasoning the film are unique supporting characters that bring something wacky to the world. Queen Latifa is a particular delight in a role as a woman who is especially turned on by cars. Her lusty descriptions of engines are just clever and silly enough to really work.

Winona Ryder's character gets a bit wearing after a while. The voice she was using for most of the film sounded so much like the old lady version of herself she played in Edward Scissorhands, it was a bit distracting, but as we weren't meant to be fond of her, it worked.

The film is set in Chicago, the perfect city to house the combined feelings of anonymity in the large urban landscape, and small-town closeness that only the midwest can provide. The shots of the city were lovely, and it made me miss Chicago something awful.

All in all, this film was fun and light and perfect for a weekend afternoon with nothing to do but eat popcorn and watch movies.

My Rating:

3 1/2 Stars

4 Hearts

0 Bowls of Ice cream

Champagne & Shopping

A couple days ago I was out shopping for a dress. I was wandering around the mall up here, taking tours of all the stores whether I knew what kinds of dresses they sold or not. Well it was my lucky day, because I happened to walk into a store that greeted me with a glass of champagne. Just little old me, just for walking into the store. Hoorah! Instant celebration. It was so delightful, it made me wish there was any chance of me actually purchasing one of these dresses.

I felt very spoiled and sipped it gratefully as I walked around the store. The only problem was, there were only four racks of dresses, so there I was surrounded by roughly forty dresses I couldn't afford, holding a half empty glass of champagn, trying to finish it without appearing to pound the drink like a drinking game at so many college parties.

My options were drying up, I couldn't very well walk around the mall drinking an alcoholic beverage, nor could I stand and conspicuously not try on dresses any longer, so I guiltily returned my glass to the store owner and avoided that wing of the mall for the rest of my shopping trip. Awkward exit aside, it was very glamorous to have been liquored up for dress perusal, which brings me to:

Thing #6 I like about the Valley:

Champagne drinking while shopping: the fanciest of mall activities.