life's little clearance sale

Today from my life, I craved bold colors, passionate kissing, and more coffee than humanly digestible. Instead, I got 2 hours of laundry, cleaning mud out of my carpet, the constant rotation of taking the dogs out, and another dreary reminder that I'm stuck in the same, monotone place as I was 6 months ago.

I want dancing in Italy, dining in Greece, flowy bright red skirts, peach picking in South America, kissing in Rome, sunbathing in Fiji, brightly painted toenails, flowers in my hair, white russians on a beach in Hawaii, seaplanes off the coast of Africa, hiking in Peru, love notes in Tuscany.....

There is so much I crave for my life and none of it is growing old in a dreary apartment with nothing to look forward to but reruns and the next season of Vampire Diaries.

I'm 24 going on 89 and life is passing me by -- so until further notice..


tomorrow is cancelled.

At least until I plan some great escape with my guitar, journal, dogs, and rustic wild woman getaway bag. Preferably mocha canvas with a side pocket for easy cell access.

totally cute runaway style.

if God had Verizon

today was a challenge to my faiths; my faith in God's plan for me, faith in my relationship, and faith in myself.


i hear the words..'trust God'...'i love you'..'you can do it'....but they fall empty and ring hollow on the floor at my feet before they ever even reach me.

today i was cleaning out my closets and threw away almost everything that reminded me of the times in my life I'm not proud of, which was almost every journal, picture, card, note, stuffed animal, and post it from before January 1st.

the only self-inflicted advice i can give myself is to sleep on it, stay faithful, and to remember that every road must be different or we'd all end up in the same place.

still...it'd be so much easier if God was like ChaCha...

my prayer for tonight will be short and simple:

dear God,
text me.

'eyre' we done yet?

In perspective, I have come to realize how different Austen was in relation to the other writers of England and all of it's social dramas of the 18th century.

Tonight I started watching 'Little Dorrit' by Charles Dickens and while I enjoy the story in itself, it's amazing to see all the different perspectives of the same England society. Austen painted in pastels and watercolors where the Bronte sisters brushed in charcoal.

A distant acquaintance brought up Jane Eyre tonight and the wheels started spinning, albeit not much quicker than their usual whirring default :)

The story alone: virginal, modest, but poor girl has hard life, intrigues rich, self-important man with a dark secret, bad hair, and even worse home decor. Blah blah, secrets are exposed, said girl suffers love and it's effectually painful aftershocks. Then fate deals both a decent hand {depending on the perspective} and they end up together despite. The end.

That being said, I don't understand how Austen can portray such vivid character details about the normal, day to day life with such light, beautiful eloquence and the Bronte sisters can portray the SAME life that while leaving the reader feeling as if their brain has sucked on a fresh lemon. Albeit for me to denounce one of the greats but really, the only common thread between the sisters and Austen is that everyone ends up in a prudent match. The problem with Jane Eyre is that you would really prefer her not to.

Personally, I would rather be a charming, well-loved, and financially independent schoolteacher to the poor but witty girls of the town than marry someone who drags me to my wedding and hides a ferocious 'lil nutcracker in the back of my house.


Eesh, well at least..Tiger Woods, eat your heart out.

{mamma}Mila!

So to clear the cyber air, I have my own fair share of girl crushes. Mainly your typical angsty singer/songwriter types, torn and vulnerable in their music videos, portraying their seemlingly normal songwriting experience on the floor of their bedrooms with an open journal and an acoustic guitar. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure they started there at one point or other but let's be real, Studio A @ Capitol Records looks nothing like a 15 year old girl's bedroom set.

But apart from those little mind-diddys to ponder, my latest girl crave is for the ever-devilish little Mila Kunis. Be it her long, dark, completely unlike my own wheatgold hair, or her carefree, funloving outlook on life....she is fascinating. Opposite of some girls' envy-turned-lesbian crush phase goes, I don't want to be her. Jew isn't a good look for me. It's not in my color wheel.

I just find her extremely attractive.


At any rate, I'm glad she's famous. At least in this respect, it's deemed socially acceptable {and more effectually accessible} to stalk her.

Not in the climb-in-the-window-of-her-summer-home-in-the-Hamptons-and-wear-her-entire-collection-of-lingerie-while-sleeping-in-her-bed sort of way. More like, scoping out what she's wearing to the Awards shows these days...

It's a sad world when even stalker humor grazes terrorist lingo....ah, but all is well.


Life is grand. I found a fabulous new nail polish, gave myself a mani/pedi, and relaxed over hot green tea and a psychologial thriller.


If it got any simpler, I'd be a veggie.

call me Bob.

Today was a collage of random thoughts, jotted down in excerpts from my carefree, mustang spirit imagination.

At first I was thinking about Austen, go figure, and I wondered if she had any living relatives alive. Can you imagine being in some way connected to one of the greatest literary minds ranked with Dickens, Twain, and Frost? Talk about having steep pressures for your first elementary school book report..

I think I would like to be related. Well, frankly, I would more than likely stroke out on the spot if it became known that I was related to Austen. Albeit a bit odd since she's been such a fascination of mine these many years together. To know that all along I've been obsessing over "Auntie Jane"....might throw a kink in the mix.

But to dream.


My second thought was that, were I to write a novel, my main character would be strikingly resemblant of Taylor Swift. Picturesque, carefree, and modest. Nothing like her Disney Channel counterpart, you know who you are, Miley. Tsk tsk.

So then it went on to my third, and final thought: I think I should very much like to write that novel.

Bring on the cliches...I've read many a manuscript as an English major as favors for self-proclaimed 'authors' and they've been horrid. Absolutely grotesque. Which is precisely why I want to finally get these stories down on paper. I've got so many floating around in my brain as it is, why not do some spring cleaning and clear some space?

I wrote once that in my mind, there are these ecclectic little characters living out their own little lives, all entertwined but all diverse. The Regency woman has tea with the Indian Chief while the young soldier reads stories to the 5 year old blonde boy with leukemia. All entertwined, all seperate.


After all these years, I think it's time I build them their own homes.

a bookworm at her best

I love books.

Every single one of the smelly, musty, antique little blips in time. There is something so refreshing about putting down the blackberry and Wii remote and flipping the traveled pages of a good Austen piece.

I met a little girl today that was checking out 12 books and she looked only about 7yrs old. She was laughing and talking about how much she loved school and how her and her mom read every night after dinner. Every night, she stressed. I had such an immediate power popping flashback to my own trips to the library as a kid. Growing up down the street from the literally, two room town library, I would ride my bike barefoot down through town and take the first flying left over the railroad tracks. Susie, the librarian and only worker for the entire town of Indian Trail's library system, would meet me at the door with a grin and a handful of new books.

There was an old yellow beanbag chair in the back room where all the kid's books were and I would sit there for hours and hours reading before scooping up a new pile of fresh, untapped words and peddling home.

As I got older, there was a lot about my childhood that I tried to forget and a lot that I suceeded in doing so but that small yellow library and that small little librarian are such stoic flashlights in my fuzzy, broken memory. Today, the yellow building has been converted to the police station, the new library is down the street and is almost 3x the size, and Susie....well, I work with her now.


Guess you can't say you never make an impact on anyone.

more than one jane in common

i'm currently moving full force into the final, southern down-home phase of my stylistic experimentation. I tried the uptown party scene; it smelled funny and hurt my feet. So I threw my heels in the closet and tried the quiet, loner life; I found myself relating to the cast of Jersey Shore and running out of fingernail polish. I hung my head in shame and moved quickly into the musical genius niche; i love playing guitar, i don't love my fingers bleeding.

So here I am; cowboy boots and broken in jeans wearing, animal rights activist, and avid outdoorswoman.

It fits.