Friday, November 20, 2009

Karma gets you pastry.

Twenty-five things for which I am thankful, in no particular order:

- Coffee mugs from California.
- My cellular telephone.
- My laptop computer.
- My favorite turquoise necklace.
- My zombie messenger bag.
- My imagination.
- Science Fiction.
- My ID badge that gets me into doors marked "Authorized Personnel Only" because that's a secret thrill even after five years.
- Scrapple.
- Secret corridors.
- Goofy action movies.
- Eggplants.
- My Kitchen-aide five-speed hand-mixer with milk-shake attachment. It probably has a proper title, but I use it for milk-shakes. So there.
- Hyphens.
- Punctuation in general, even if I abuse it horribly.
- My health.
- Words.
- People.
- Old Navy. It's actually a problem. A delightful, brightly-colored problem with clean lines and thoughtful design.
- My family.
- My dog.
- Music.
- My friends. Even the ones that make me want to pull my own hair out. They keep it interesting.
- Dark, hoppy beer.
- Ramen noodles.
- Love.

Obviously this is just a random assortment. I'm thankful for basically everything in my life, even the inconveniences and complications. It builds character, and I am all about character development.


EDIT: I've taken this story down in the hopes that I can get it published. Thanks for the wonderful comments on it, you guys are awesome.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009


Chinese Gardens 29
Portland Chinese Gardens, January 2009

Friday, November 13, 2009

what I'm telling you is

So. That happened.

I've been struggling a little, with what I want to say here since. I've opened the post window several times over the last few weeks, only to stare at it for a while before closing it and walking away. I don't have a problem being trite and zany on Facebook or Twitter. That's my stream of consciousness; that's what flies out of my mouth during a conversation.

And now, nothing seems important enough to blog about. But I want to tell anyone who will listen.

Should I tell you about how I saw a man cradling a paper crane in his hand on the elevator? Or the fire extinguisher that was just sitting in the middle of the sidewalk outside of my office yesterday? Should I tell you about the countless trips I've made to the lab because of the swine flu testing my office does? How about the time that I got the wrong salad dressing? Or when I went the whole day with my shirt inside-out?

None of it means a damn thing. And that's okay. We're okay. I'm okay. We buried Ina on a Thursday, and I wore purple.

There's always more story to tell.

And, you know what, World? You crazy, magnificent mess of humanity? I love you. Every single one of you.