It's 4 p.m. I haven't showered yet, because first, I need to recap my morning

Today, I woke up, ate brownies, thought it was Friday, watched sex and the city, realized it was thursday, cried a lot, got a headache, thought about how much coffee it would take to a. get rid of my headache and b. make me feel like stopping sex and the city and get off of my chair. Answer: two french presses. Then I sat through yet another couple viewing this apt., as they wondered, "Where's the T.V.? Why does all this furniture look like a disjointed sectional?" And thinking to themselves "I didn't think people slept on futons on the floor anymore..." and again, "Where's the T.V.?" I answered their questions by quietly sitting on my chair, typing ferociously (post 2 french presses) and pretending I didn't notice we didn't own a t.v. because my laptop plays DVDs juuuuust fine.

Almost like he knew her

I am new to blogging. Honestly, I think during the first year of my awareness of blogs, I disliked them because of the word 'blog.' It just wasn't appealing to me. I've gotten over that because I'd be worried if a word actually kept me from doing something productive. That's the reason I do it anyway-it is productive for me-the "blogosphere" as it were, is much too saturated for me to think I could influence the casual passerby as they search for meaningful content on the web. But, speaking with my brother today, represented by the image above (because that's how I imagine him and because he is one of two people other than myself who read this) made me think otherwise about the effect of blogs. He revealed to me that he had been reading a woman's blog for years-a woman he had never met, but was nearly the same age, traveled in similar circles and with whom he had actually crossed passed with more than once, but without speaking. This is fascinating, I thought. Then, I checked out the website for myself and realized that the utter honesty of her postings, spanning from ages 18 to 30, is cathardic. I could relate to her thoughts, I even learned a little bit about my own. Maybe it doesn't matter if people even meet and talk anymore-maybe we should just read each other's thoughts. Because, if I actually did meet this person, or any person whose blog I read, could we really communicate in the same way??

Trashing the past

I was cleaning out my desk the other day, amazed that it even needed cleaning after two weeks of existence, and I came across a comment card that was used at my last (waitressing) job. Now, I know as well as anyone else that the "profession" of waiter/waitress is not widely respected perhaps because said waitstaff is known to be a bit crass at times and is in fact, motivated entirely by money. I can attest however that there is a sort of glory to the job. Extreme stress followed by immediate relief and a handful of cash. For this reason I saved the comment card that read, "We Love Ashley," written by a 20-something couple (the hardest to please, as a 20-something myself.) I saved the card as affirmation that I was good at the job and that people liked me. But the other day, I threw it out, closed the garbage lid and walked away. For the next few hours, as I tossed out old mail, banana peels, candy wrappers, etc. I was sure to avoid sinking the proclamation of love I had saved for many months. I held on and then let go, finally, when the need to use my garbage for garbage superceded the desire to make it a shrine to myself. And then it dissapeared.

Just to let you know:

This is perhaps the prettiest 'for sale' sign I have ever seen.

Facebook is killing the rules of engagement

I can't wait until the book about Facebook comes out, stating in the introduction that while we were updating our status and going from 'in a relationship' to 'single' any semblance of real human interaction had completely gone down the tubes.

Thoughts on music:

1. The only reason why Simon & Garfunkel are considered dorky is because of the word 'Garfunkel.'
2. I love Elton John. I mean, wouldn't all women if he liked women.
3. Why don't people talk about 'sledgehammer' anymore? That song is ridiculous. As is this.
4. What really happened to Michael? Seriously.

Tonight, I'm going to watch 'Rear Window'

Because tonight I'm sitting by the window and forget that people can hear me when I spontaneously scream or yell various obscenities (nicely). Tonight, I will only check my email once more and I swear I'm not going to eat another Newman's Own hint of mint cookie-and definitely not an entire row as I once did (because I like to do things whole-heartedly). But back to tonight. Tonight, I will look out my own windows at the lives of my neighbors: the cd collections, the christmas lights of his or her former dorm room and the many televisions, while I still long of having one of my own. But tonight there will be no blue aura emanating from my windows because tonight I'm watching Hitchcock on the small screen [read: my laptop].

I think I'm clever

I spend a lot of time in coffee shops. The things I think there are different from when I am thinking other times of day in other places. I think I am clever. I am writing in a little note book with an ink gel pen and my hair is a little messed up. It's hot out and people are on their lunch breaks. People are always shopping and seem to not have jobs. It's like a wind tunnel in here. I'm fighting to keep my coffee warm. Suddenly I decide to drink it all because I'd rather enjoy hot coffee for 30 seconds instead of finding it cooler than colder after 30 minutes. Everybody wants to talk but it's oh so quiet.

No Direction Home

Since moving to the mid-west from the east coast just a couple of weeks ago, I noticed two things: 1. Streets, neighborhoods, and east/west/north/south directions are easy to comprehend by looking at a map, and 2. I have never been more lost in my life. (Disclaimer: I am a believer in signs, even though my more logical partner in crime {read: bf} is an avid realist. Thus, I tend to keep these things to myself. Related post to follow. There are, seemingly, no hills, no North Star, no geographical indicators of how to find home or anything else for that matter. Everything is numbers and directions. In the heat of mid-day, I want nothing less than to add and subtract the wandering I've done to find my direction home...maybe this is a realist's paradise.

It Is Written

Or is it? My first thought was that these words belonged to a Muslim school of thought, but a quick google search shows that a Christian t.v. show, a jazz forum and countless blogs have adopted the phrase. Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks it has a certain charm (note: I'm not particularly religious). That aside, I do wonder whether our destinies are predetermined...

Dinghy Dreams

Ok, first things first: Dinghy Dreams. What are they? Well, to begin: I wasn't raised by a sailor, I have never actually been in a dinghy (go figure...), and I don't even like alliteration (okay, that's a lie-I f-ing love it). But, I do love water: from the ocean, the sea, the rain, the river I was raised on, all the way to the Brita filter in my fridge. I also love solitude. Well, solitude in the sense that it's safe, and surrounded by activity (read: the millions of organisms, mammals, and three headed "experiments", that happily thrive in the ocean). Yet, I likewise fear the risk of insanity this accompanies solitude. I've had enough fisherman friends that relie on their bottle of allan's to get through the 12-hour solo shift. But we're not even talking about boating here at all actually. Dinghy dreams is about floating along an ocean of chaos towards the metaphorical shore of destiny...making mental notes along the way...