A Green Blog

I was skimming through someone else’s blog tonight, and began feeling a little green that their blog has this unreachable sense of irony/humor, has fairly regular commenters (who all try to mimick that humor when they comment) (I’m guilty, too), apparently has an author who is confident with one life-time blog background, and most intimidating of all the guy puts in at least 20 -25 posts every month!

I stopped by to admire my own blog, and it just didn’t have the same shine it had before. Now the numbers beside each month in my blog-log looks pitiful and sickly. Granted, the blog that made me feel inferior has been going strong for 2 years now - so I shouldn’t hold myself to such standards. Still, I felt I should write this post, just so I could have one more number next to ‘July’.

You looked like you needed something to do anyway.

Sometimes you have to run

So Run
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Her breath surfaces in her ears,
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Kicking to be free of traditions’ womb.
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Feet, pound the cobblestones firmly into the street,
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As she runs.
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She roots her hand in her hair,
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And yanks the respective braid from it’s order,
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Like one would yank the drain from a full tub.
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Her name echoing through the silk morning air,
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Is a wrecking ball finding the hip of an old building.
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She runs faster,
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Feeling the pain in her own side,
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As though the wrecking ball is lodged there.
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Sleeping homes sit quietly,
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Watching her, the rabbit in white,
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Scatter from the Mr. McGregor’s of the world,
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While bathed in a dress,
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Much like Princess Diana’s,
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When the flashing smiles and camera’s of the world,
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Witnessed her “I do”.
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So gowned,
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And so broken,
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She fights.
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To flee.
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To breathe.

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The Entirely Solemn Study of Saturday

I love Saturday. Saturday is the day you look forward to on every other day of the week. Even on Sunday, you start to schedule your next Saturday in your mind. For some reason Monday's are irrepressibly depressing, because its so opposite of Saturday. Saturday equals options for the individual, Monday equals duty for the individual.

It would be an interesting study indeed to find out how different days of the week affect people. I personally, tend to notice about 90% ups on the depression scale when Monday rolls around. I don't doubt that most of my customers would confess to feeling a slight heaviness of the heart when their alarm clock sounds off Monday morning. I, assuredly, feel gradually more and more depressed by the gloom of people feeling gloomy. Spring and sunshine, where are you?

But take heart! It's still Saturday! And you're still not done reading my blog!

Today, I had a spontaneous girlfriend day. I don't normally get chances to get together with my friend Kimmie, so when she called me up last night to ask if I wanted to go shopping, I sniffed my last sniff of sickness and felt better instantly. "What time?" - was my reply.
After the deliciously nauseating feeling of too much food from Ponderosa (my childhood favorite restaurant - brings back the macaroni and cheese memories), we drove to the mall and I scoured the prom dresses (inevitable). My friend and I get crazy when we shop, though. We like never buy anything. We just spend forever 'looking' (the phenomenon that drives all men batty).

Although, there was the exception of one time (in the past) at Target we bought batteries and deodherant. I wrote out a check for 15 bucks, and now that seems so hilarious. We don't buy things like normal people, because it just seems so much more fun to amuse ourselves with abnormal things. It did get a little embarrassing, though, when my friend began humming the mission impossible theme and darted from pillar to pillar behind two unsuspecting ladies. We also went into Bath and Body Works and were befriended by a woman who wanted to tell us all about the body-spray we had been sampling. I asked (for a friend) if any of their foot products dispelled planters warts, and my friend got this shocked look. It was classic - pay-back embarrassing moments. That's how we are, though. We're those giggly nuts who squeeze behind curtains into photo booths and scream because the pictures are taken too fast. Only, the last time we did it there was no curtain, and every body who went past us looked in with wrinkled, mature noses. That was quite fun.

Anyways, so that was my Saturday. I came home, filled out a migraine of a Scholarship form (my Dad moaned that it felt like taxes all over again), and I ate my mom's steaming, home-made biscuits. My mom makes the best biscuits in the world. I told her that when I get to college, I would like her to please mail a box of her biscuits to me still steaming all the way from winter-land. There's something irresistibly melty about them, that even Ponderosa and campus meals cannot possibly hold a candle to my mom's biscuits.

Random. Spontaneous. Irresistible. Unpredictable. Yes. That's me/life.