things i do that are weird

• i must have a blue icee whenever i'm on a roadtrip.
• that's not really the weird thing.  the weird thing is that i insist on taking a photo of my blue tongue every single time.  and totally crack myself up over the whole affair.  the collection of blue tongues would have made a very interesting travel collage and i'm sad i've deleted them.  note to self.
• also, i'm greatly pleased at how my tongue totally goes with my sunglasses in this photo.
• as i'm writing this, i realize that tongues are weird.
• no really, think about it.  they are freakin' weird.
• people think i'm reserved when they first meet me.  i must be quietly observing.
• i get mad crushes on rockstars.  i still dream of being a big-time groupie.  (i've been a small-time groupie...not so rewarding.)
• i am quietly rebellious.  take my short hair for instance.  i have great hair and it's fabulous when it's long, but i can't stand how culture dictates that women have to have long hair and how their husbands/boyfriends insist they can't cut their hair.  it's my tiny feminist protest. 
• sometimes i'm not-so-quietly rebellious.
• i think about random stuff in yoga and it makes me giggle uncontrollably, like when i was a little girl in church.  also, i can perseverate on something really stupid in yoga.  last week a partial memory from years ago flashed in my head:  a friend showing me a chopper in her garage.  it was a full-on-easy-rider-1970's-big-seat-in-back chopper.  this random memory engaged my mind for the good part of ten minutes.  so while my body was doing its best to execute standing bow pose, my brain was all, "why did she have a chopper?  where did she get it?  people don't ride choppers anymore...hey, standing bow pose is kinda chopper-esque in appearance...we are all choppers..."  then the aforementioned uncontrollable giggling.   it's humiliating. 
• it's weird that every time i type the word weird, i type it "wierd" first.
• now i can't stop looking at the word.  am i spelling this right?
• i rename other people's dogs in my own head.  also, when i'm driving down the street and see a dog, i name it.  i have a huge file of really great dog names in my head.  you should consult me before you name your dog.
• i put potato chips inside my tuna sandwiches and on top of my hotdogs.
• i watch the biggest loser while lounging on the sofa with a giant bowl of buttered popcorn.
• i've just realized that there is a need for a "things that i do that are weird, part two" post.  i'm kinda wierd. 

flowerbomb

this old abandoned gas station sits on a corner in my town that i drive by almost daily.  a few weeks ago some lovely soul sketched a summer meadow that transformed it from outdated utility into a thing of beauty. 

each time i drive by, i am filled with an intensie desire to add color to the black and white canvas.  in my mind's eye, i can see myself with paintbrush in hand, like a happy child with a giant coloring book. 

lately i find myself paying attention to these flashes of fantasy firing in my head.  throughout my life i have been taught to ignore them and consider them something to keep secret.  this can be somewhat shame-producing for me, because, you see, i have these kinds of thoughts all the freakin' time.   

take for example, the letters.  i have a pretty big collection of them.  some of them form words on my walls; some of them are stacked in a room downstairs, waiting for assignment.  during the time i was hanging "beautiful" on the wall, i dreamed that when we are born, we each bring with us a big letter.  throughout our lives, we migrate toward and away from others with whom we form a variety of words, depending on where we each are in our own books.  the others with their own letters are our family, friends, allies, antagonists.  human interaction becomes a giant choreographed dance of language and symbolism and poetry.  the imagery was so beautiful.  since the dream, i often wonder what words are forming between the connections i float through in real life.  it has become a sort of mental game i play...just one more vivid mind film playing concurrently with the one of the flowerbomb exploding from the average fountain and the one where the sweet fat pink cartoon elephant in the room is whispering secrets in my ear during a conversation.

i understand that this kind of overactive imagination has to be contained in order to function in the world.  i've been sufficiently trained to run the stories like a foreign film playing in the background of a party that no one is paying attention to.  but i often wonder what lush garden would have bloomed if a parent or friend or teacher said, "tell me more...", "write it down...", "color me a picture of what that looks like...".  i imagine the person who envisioned a garden on a gas station.  was he encouraged to create?  or did she just go on ahead and paint in spite of doubt and fear?

the other day a friend and i were discussing things we love about being in our forties.  i shared that the biggest thing for me is how infrequently i feel that cringe-worthy embarrassment that plagued me in youth.  i realized that i may actually be becoming comfortable and happy with who i am and (dare i say?) proud of my vision of the world we live in. 

i like my vision, my version, of this colorful magical life. 

{p.s. my guerilla art coloring is strickly of the photoshop variety...}

{p.p.s. thoughts bloomed from today's creativity boot camp promt, ornament.}

my bionic ears

this week we explored the sense of sound in unravelling further: exploring the senses. I have such a love-hate relationship with sound. it has to do with my weird ears. they are hypertuned and sounds are often over-amplified.

when I would lay my head down on my pillow as a child, an entire world of sounds would emerge from inside my pillow (in actuality, the sounds were in my head, I just thought they were in my pillow). the soundscape consisted of whines, bleeps, whirls, squeeks and other assorted hi- and low-frequency beats. I imagined a tiny village in the pillow just starting their day as I was ending mine. eventually, I made out conversations and music and tempos of the little magical world. (don't worry, I have been advised that this was the sign of a grand imagination and not schizophrenia; plus the tiny folk were kind and interesting and never told me to kill or otherwise do harm. in fact, now that I think of it, they operated as if I was not there.) the whole experience provided much fodder for a rich dream world and future character development (my own and potential fictional expansion).

I am also highly attuned to the sound of everyday mechanical processes. I love the rhythm of operation: the click-whirl of the camera, the metallic clank of the gumball machine door, the clickity-clack purr of the rotary phone dial, the chemical hum of lit neon. these things actually read as music in my head. I cannot not hear them; they are a part of my life.

the acuity of my hearing ebbs and flows. sometimes I can actually hear conversations in the house next door. it is cumbersome when I am in an environment where several conversations are going on at the same time. if you were talking with me during these times, I might appear a bit scattered. I have to put a lot of energy into staying present with the conversation I am in. if there is tv, music, air conditioning, rain, etc. in addition, chances are I'm not picking up our communication in its entirety.

the downside is that some sounds are painful: sopranos kill me, I can't listen to mariah carey or enjoy a movie in the theatre. I'm drawn to down-beats, bass lines, hidden riffs in music, just as in life.

la vie ordinaire

1. get up at 5am on saturday morning, go for a walk, take a shower, clean the kitchen, feed the dogs, run to farmer’s market for best dibs on organic produce. just. like. every. other. saturday.
2. lovingly make labels for travel-sized toiletries for your husband's upcoming trip to london.
3. having recently surrendered to the twilight bandwagon and read the first two books in just under 48 hours, add trip to bookstore to your saturday routine to purchase third and fourth books.
4. with all your adult wisdom and experience, contemplate the mysterious hold the story has over you. realize that the powerful (albeit adolescent) mix of lust and recklessness were, are and always will be your drug of choice. enter brief melancholic dance with the reality that this intoxication belongs with youth and any future experience of this sort will most likely not be yours.
5. consider alternative substance abuse.
6. casually browse the literature section of bookstore; find yourself in the "m" section. after two unsuccessful scans, slowly come to the understanding that what you are looking for is in the teen section. saunter over to teen section. tell yourself you have nothing to be ashamed of as you mentally concoct the story that you are shopping for your 14 year old daughter (even though your daughter is 24). try not to be too devastated when you see that books three and four are not there either. add trip to target to your list.
7. beautiful 20-something boy politely asks if he can help you (as in, “can I help you, ma’am?”). summon 40 years of practicing natural confidence and ask about the books then instantly regret it when he turns to lead you to another section. blush with shame as you realize you are following his litheness to (horror of horrors!) the romance section. sigh with relief once you see you are only moving to the magnificence that is the twilight display table. try not to let your eyes catch fire at the sight of bella bookmarks and edward journals. graciously accept his offer of eclipse. keep your hands to yourself.
8. momentarily entertain the delusion that he is telling himself the same thing.
9. run into colleague at bookstore. conceal teen romance under latest issues of new yorker and food and wine. intelligently discuss upcoming court case.
10. rush home to purchase fourth book online, resisting the edward journal. move movie to top of netflix queue.
11. do yoga to stretch muscles that are wound tight after two days in a prone reading position.
12. laugh at yourself for your silliness and accept that this is part of the ride. be grateful for the midlife ability to put it all in context.
13. go back online and buy something ridiculously expensive.

morning dork

I went for a run this morning. my neighborhood was bright and clean with the scent of wetness from yesterday's storm evaporating in the sun. this is why I live in virginia.

on the way back, I was a little high on endorphins and oxygen. I spied a turtle who just successfully crossed the road. he seemed so proud of himself for not being annihilated by a passing car, I swear he smiled at me. I smiled back with a cheerful greeting, "good morning mr. turtle!".

with earbuds in place, I was somewhat oblivious to my surroundings. within seconds a running group passed me from behind, barely containing their laughter. I'm still blushing.

happy weekend!

restless

my brain woke up buzzing with electricity; if it's of the good or bothersome kind I'm not yet certain. thoughts that are being tumbled about:

~I can't stop thinking about life of pi, specifically richard parker. I guess this is the mark of an excellent story but I'm always surprised when a book leaves me spending so much mental energy. I've said it before, I need a good book club. and now I've talked about it so much with my immediate circle, I've given away the ending, so there's no use anyone here reading it. maybe I will blog about my thoughts later this week.

~I dreamt last night of flying and an old boyfriend. the flying involved two landings: one flawless, one unknown. of course, I had to quote life of pi in reference to the old boyfriend (a "botched goodbye"). a theme? things unsettled?

that's all. happy midweek beauties.