my Friday night

Consists of listening to the entire "Laid" album by James.
Sitting on front porch post-jog.
Politely sipping tap water out of my orange cup.
Watching the sunset fade into the bare, spindly trees of my neighborhood.
I need to watch the sunset more.
Thinking about the salmon patties I am going to make for dinner.
Planning my Waxahachie day trip tomorrow--possibly alone.
All in all reflecting on life and its simple pleasantries.

Not too shabby.

why I love my job.

It's the small things.

If you want to feel incredibly productive and proud of yourself, wash your car. By hand. With a small sponge. And a hose. Then wipe down the inside. Vacuum. Spray. Buff. Wipe. Polish. 1.5 hours later, you will be a bit sweaty, but you will feel like you have actually accomplished something. And that, my friends, is a tremendous feeling.

Thank you, Blind Date.

For some reason, every time I am thankful for my family, I am reminded of an episode of that classic, awe-inspiring late-night programming: "Blind Date." In the particular episode I am thinking of is some loser guy and some desperate girl. (Yes, people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw rocks. Is that the correct idiom here?) Regardless, the guy is asking her inane questions about her life, and she says, "Well, my family is very important to me" or something utterly original like that. And I remember (being a naive 17-year-old at the time) rolling my eyes in disgust and thinking, "Family?! UGH. I am so TIRED of hearing about how people are into their FAMILY these days..."

Cut to seven years later. I went to school close. I went to school far away. I moved 2300 miles away. Twice. Came back to Texas. Dated people. Broke up with people. Learned some life lessons. And, there's no other non-cheesy way to say it: I am really, really grateful for my family. They are incredibly important to me. They are kind of a big deal in my life. I love them like I love Paula Deen's Ooey Gooey Butter Cake. And I know now to never take them for granted again. And if I ever end up on an episode of "Blind Date" (fingers crossed!) that very well might be my emphatic opening line: "I just lurrrrve my family, y'all! Now, where we eatin'?"

Still doesn't mean I want kids though. And there's still nothing wrong with expressing that very practical, sustainable opinion in public.

Music for fuddy duddies.

I defy you to blast the song "Laid" by James at any intimate social gathering and not have people get up and dance. Or at least play the air drums really, really hard. Or sing along to that high note, "Pret-tyyyyeeeeyyyyyyyeee..." Goodness. What a feel-good song. A pounding on your steering wheel, making a fool of yourself song. I think that will be my ultimate karaoke song. Like, if I actually was not self-conscious and could let loose, I would sing that song. And play the air drums. And not care what anyone thought. Good New Years' Resolution!

Peter Falk has crazy eyes.

I learned two things today. Watching crazy Gena Rowlands in A Woman Under the Influence actually made having kids look like fun. For about, oh, two seconds. The birthday party she throws which spirals out of awkward control looks like good times! Perhaps this is a bad sign. Perhaps I really should not have children. This movie also made me go slightly insane. I don't think I can ever watch it again. The screaming, the horrible tension, the awkwardness, the throwing around of children, the slapping. Good God, I'm exhausted.

Another thing I learned. While watching the documentary American Teen, I felt inspired watching these kids deal with their struggles and strife. High school is really, really tough. And I think one day I would like to work with older kids. Not the young, annoying ones with runny noses. But the awkward, acne-ridden, hormonal, dramatic kids. I want to be the guidance counselor. I want to teach AP English and talk about books. I want to be the flamboyant drama teacher.

Huh. Interesting. Who'da thunk it?

two heartwarming films in one day.

That is a good day. I have to say, I was in a foul mood just attempting to see a film on a holiday in an uptown area. The people that frequent yuppie areas are truly the douchiest of the douche. I am frightened by the state of America sometimes. Ed Hardy T-shirts, Oakley sunglasses, disturbingly orange skin in winter...what is the world coming to? These people also like to get rowdy during their overpriced, mimosa-heavy weekend brunches as well. But I digress.

Needless to say, it would take an amazing movie to lift me out of my stinky spirits. And it did! Thank you, Slumdog Millionaire. I went in with no expectations, and came out sniffling. Now I want to join the Peace Corps and work in India. It's horrifying that people live in trash heaps while I sleep in a warm bed every night and complain about the price of produce at Whole Foods. I need to reach out in my community, even if it's just locally.

Then I came home and watched Lars and the Real Girl. I was not expecting to like it. But it truly warmed the cockles of my heart. I love good-hearted Midwesterners. This was full of them. My only complaint? Ryan Gosling's mustache. It distracted me. It made him look like a sleazy hipster instead of the good Wisconsin boy he was. Simply written and sweetly directed. And I have such a crush on Paul Schneider. Eep. He's a North Carolina kindred spirit.

Hooray for two good movie days.

Happy New Year?

Woke up at 8 am.
Look in mirror.
Virtually unrecognizable, thanks to nuclear fall-out from bouffant the night before.
Feet ache from plastic sparkle shoes.
Break favorite gold-leaf antique glass.
Drink packet of Emer-gen-C.
Unable to go back to sleep due to Emer-gen-C's mood-enhancing powers.
Tried to control racing mind while buried in six pillows.
Get up.
Put on cowboy slippers.
Shuffle.
French-press coffee.
Add Mexican hot chocolate.
Arrange bistro table situation on front porch.
Put on Leonard Cohen album.
Turn speakers outward.
Put "I left a woman waiting" on repeat.
Hope neighbors don't see pink robe spectacle.
Frequent trips to fetch Kleenex for runny nose.
Heat up bowl of chili for breakfast.
Think about writing short story.
But don't.
Runny nose situation has worsened due to spicy chili.
Hopefully 2009 will be as successful as this morning was.