future dancing

i do hope, dear future hubster, that we will randomly waltz in our kitchen over the years with or without music, as the cookies bake or the dishes sit idly.

and when we have children running amok with ketchup littering the floor, the macarena suites me just fine. 

where to compromise?

"i just want to say that this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings" -kathleen kelly- 

sometimes i imagine scenarios-- i shout the perfect zingers, i calmly emphasize my argument with precise and perfect words, and i feel and taste the exact tone of the vocabulary i would utter to the boy-of-the-moment following his apology or breath-taking act of commitment or desire.

the problem with this is, life never quite plays out according to my imagined reality. in my head i express everything i want to say, but when i see the man who is still a boy in so many ways, i catch my tongue, knowing in moments he would say the same thing to me if we were not two entirely different people. 

and so i ask-- at what point is the line drawn? what differences are too great as to impede a future, of a happiness together that ventures beyond dancing within the lines of chemistry?

some people manage. they care enough for who they each are despite the differences. but where do they compromise? because love is about compromise, but love is not a compromise of yourself. 

i believe when you love someone you love their whole soul. you behold their full potential, your potential with them.
but with this beholding of potential you can begin to envision that with a few tweaks here and a major overhaul there, he will fold more snugly into heart.

...i wonder...

if you want the vision of him rather than the reality of him, does that mean you cannot ever sincerely love?

this is one that might always befuddle me. 

shiz and yab

can i just say i don't understand this new trend of socks with shoes?

not tennies-- that's legit and logical, even common sense. like, dressy shoes with medium-height socks. what is this? i don't care if your toes are cold, it's weird looking. let's not bring the 80's back full-throttle people.

that's about all i have to say, because the intricate details beyond the superficial shoes-with-socks are... complicated?

as a side note, i was told i was the "shiz and yab". yeah. that is one excellent way to start a morning. i haven't the foggiest what "shiz and yab" defines me as, but apparently it's a good thing.

ผมมาที่นี่ประเทศไทย

please dismiss the eons since i have blogged.

nothing personal. life is just a lil crazy-pants right now. in fact, i have not had a meal in my own kitchen since... a week ago? yes. 

therefore, where would i have had time to blog about my comings and goings and heart-flutterings and profound realizations? no time i tell you!

here's a glimpse of life lately: 

free rooftop concert featuring the fictionist

just another sign...

shooting with work boys

handmade rifle. 

weddings and sunshine

cake numero dos 

virgin strawberry margarita @ red iguana.

vibrant sound. love? you betcha. 

cake numero tres

the U campus

my new sign

rach and i

plus shopping, celebrating my bestie's birthday, work projects galore, my brother's big graduation from medical school, weddings, parties, and reading {mama day and matched-- i highly recommend both}.

but before i get ahead of myself, how could this be an update if i didn't mention men, right? that's practically what this blog revolves around. 

well. they're still stupid-- all actions accumulating to a heap of confusion.

and on a separate but related side note, the countdown is on.
55 days til huntman is back on american soil. remember when it was 730? yeah, eeeeeek to the max. 

oh, and one last little thing i should mention....

i'm going to thailand in 6 days! 

no. big. deal.

my brother and i are flying to asia to ride elephants, light floating lanterns, eat authentic curry, go to night bazaars, bask on pristine beaches... i'm even gonna see me a panda! life-long goal right thurr. check.  

we leave thursday and arrive home the 15th. it will be a strange thing, crossing the international date line and switching my days to nights. that is, if i survive the 18 hour flight.  oy vei! 

spontaneous? you have no idea.

scared? slightly. 

ecstatic? it's almost out of control. 

the downfall of chick flicks

men are a bafflement to me. the way their minds work. how sex is just sex. how a kiss is just a kiss. it boggles me.
i was conversing with several men who have kissed {or more} two {or more} girls in one night. or over 100 in 2 years. how is that even possible? it is beyond me.

and then, i went and saw something borrowed with two of my favorite girls. 

which really, is darling. and hilarious. having the read the book, i had to see the movie, because that's the way things go.  btw the soundtrack rocks. 

anyways.
my point being: chick flicks ruin you. 

because no man is really like that. 
highly attractive, proper, well-dressed, perfect hair, and the most deceiving-- sincere and not a huge douche bag. the big screen gets you all discombobulated with reality to the point that you end up thinking illogical things, like maybe it would be a good idea to tell a boy how you feel, yata yata yata.
during the movie i was all a-flutter thinking that perhaps i was not just another girl {to a certain boy}. maybe this one instance he would come around and say the perfect thing, and whisk me into a kiss, and we would be oh so happy.

ridiculous.

that's what that is. 

are these the bitter diatribes of a single woman? i'm hoping not, but maybe you're thinking such a thing. i'm just laying out the truth: chick flicks are too good to be true, because men {at least the ones currently in my life} are morons. 

and yet, i still love them. men. and the chick flicks.

and i still have that unquenchable hope that one day my life will parallel a romantic comedy. not so much the story line {chat rooms are creepy i.e. you've got mail} but the cute moments. 

curses!
i hate being a romantic at heart.

a thought for food

"the most terrible and beautiful and interesting things happen in a life. for some of you, those things have already happened. whatever happens to you belongs to you. make it yours. feed it to yourself even if it feels impossible to swallow. let it nurture you, because it will." -sugar-
*from here

all this time of growing into my skin and heart i have often wondered, why? why was i blessed with this? or why must i endure this?

and it has all nurtured me. the good and the bad, the sweet and tasteless and bitter.

this quote inspired me to keep feeding myself a slice of life every day, to swallow knowing each ounce of laughter and heartache makes me who i am. 

not my best

today was not my best.

i swore more than circumstance called for, threw a marker at my nice boss, and then i broke down in the bathroom.

on top of eating ridiculously unhealthily. 

oy vei. 

i chalk it up to extreme stress.
that, and dastardly deluding myself with too many things to mention.

damn it, i hate men!

only actually... that is a big fat lie.
i care.which is the problem here, you see. caring about those strange moronic imbecils with their stupid but perfect scruff and muscles.

if i were in a romantic comedy the only logical thing to do now would be to bang my head on a wall repeatedly, for losing sight of the facts and slipping into caring. 

but  i rather hate headaches, about as much as i hate caring about men.
so i shall eat another cookie and call it a day.

oh and in case you were wondering, i am officially a red-head. 

today my feistiness just about matched my smokin' hair. 

kiss and tell

kissing is such a weird thing. don't you think? i mean, we mush our lips together with a little saliva action going on and that is considered affection.

when i was still a proud member of the vl {virgin lips} club i completely romanticized kissing.  after my first {rape} kiss i was all bent out of shape because kissing was, in my 17 year old opinion, ga-rosssss!
how could you blame me for thinking such a terrible thing when i wiped slober off my face (no joke) and yelled with disdain at my first-- "you kissed me!!!"

true story.

i cried on my big brother's protective shoulder that night, for quite some time.  my whole vision of rose petals and sweetness had been violated by a gross boy's tongue, and my hope for future kissing and foot-popping was detonated. 

i no longer think kissing is repulsive. i rather enjoy it, even if it is still a weird concept. 

since my 17 year old naivety i have had some unexpected kisses. some knee-weakening. some serious and devout. some rushed. some bland. some lingering. and some just plain ol' hilarious. 

case in point:
a boy once tried to kiss me. while swinging. he leaned and i leaned, til the chains were taught and rigid. he leaned some more. our lips nearly met, with the black plastic digging into our respective hips, our eyes closed, and then... there was a *thunk*, a skiddering of playground pebbles, and him lying at my feet, disoriented.

i laughed for a solid minute. 

note: we did not try that endeavor again.

2nd case in point:
i once was kissing a {different} boy. on a couch. because that's typically where cuddling progresses to kissing. as he was leaning on one arm, it slipped. off the couch, completely. he made a noise akin to "ooo-uhhmph!" and tumbled down, taking me with him. like jack and jill we both fell down, crashing with a dull thud. i was immobilized by giggling. he tried to set the mood again but since i literally could not stop snickering, that was the end of that.

kissing can be oh so adventurous.

while i do love the sweet, slow, and tender kisses that leave me in a blissful daze and nonsensical happiness, the comical and/or horribly-gone-awry ones take the cake.

i will kiss and tell any day. that is, if it's a good story to tell. 

do you have any kissing stories to tell??

do share! 

por favor y gracias.