Just a random collection of songs I'm super into right meow. Enjoy!
I love this song, and it's really out of the realm of songs that I consider even listenable. Also, I feel like I'm watching a ModCloth ad.
I
The next person who calls AFI "emo" gets cut. Also, the entirely of the album Burials, and a few other select AFI songs dominate my Top 20 right now. #DaveyHavokismyLover
White Boy Soul. English White Boy Soul.
Good LAWD, I love this song.
Aaaand just because. Reasons. Oh, you don't like the Misfits? You're dead to me.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Autumn is for Lovers
I'm not a Summer girl. Not even close. Here in Iowa, the summer can be just unbearable. Hot, humid days make me want to stay inside with my air conditioning. Yes, it's beautiful outside. Yes, the sun is shining. But no, I don't like it.
Autumn, now that's my jam. Bring on the cardigans and corduroy. Bring on the pumpkin spice everything and rich, hearty chili. The changing leaves, the brisk crispness of the air. I love it all.
I can't wait to go to apple orchards and pumpkin patches. I can't wait for Beggar's Night, even though I'm an adult and I have to work. I can't wait for Halloween parties and awesome costumes.
Fun Fact: Both Mogs were born in October, almost exactly one year apart.
I'm already scouring online for cords and cardis. I'm already looking forward to taking the AC unit out of my window and sleeping with the windows open. I'm definitely looking forward to not needing to mow my lawn!
I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving! Definitely the best of all American holidays.
I'm looking forward to regular season NFL games (Go Lions! Defend the Den!).
I can't wait for cider and hot cocoa.
Bring it on, Autumn. I'm waiting for you!
Autumn, now that's my jam. Bring on the cardigans and corduroy. Bring on the pumpkin spice everything and rich, hearty chili. The changing leaves, the brisk crispness of the air. I love it all.
I can't wait to go to apple orchards and pumpkin patches. I can't wait for Beggar's Night, even though I'm an adult and I have to work. I can't wait for Halloween parties and awesome costumes.
Fun Fact: Both Mogs were born in October, almost exactly one year apart.
I'm already scouring online for cords and cardis. I'm already looking forward to taking the AC unit out of my window and sleeping with the windows open. I'm definitely looking forward to not needing to mow my lawn!
I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving! Definitely the best of all American holidays.
I'm looking forward to regular season NFL games (Go Lions! Defend the Den!).
I can't wait for cider and hot cocoa.
Bring it on, Autumn. I'm waiting for you!
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Binge Watching and Crochet
Confession: I've lived in my house since October or November of 2013, and I only recently got internet installed. In July.
Before then, I was "borrowing" a neighbor's WiFi. Frankly, if you don't put a password on it, you're asking people to use it. I watched Dexter. All of it, in a few weeks. And I thought that was excessive. Dexter has eight seasons, 96 total episodes. At 50 minutes each, I spent 80 hours watching serial killing.
Since having the internet installed, my binge watching has been... excessively excessive? I've watched:
To be fair, though, I do stuff while I'm watching TV. Crochet a lot. I'm working on a blanket for a soon-to-be born Miss Aria Jones. I actually had to start over, but I'll have it done before she's born. In about a week. Hopefully.
I also do dishes, laundry, cook, read emails (and other internet based things), organize my crochet basket. Mostly crochet. But I do things that are moderately productive. I do mini "workouts" while watching, too. I write this blog!
But mostly, I have a problem. If I read that much, I'd be finished with The Magicians and probably The Magician King. I used to read that much.
So with a mog on either side of me on my new couch, I'm sitting here watching The X Files. Join me? No? That's okay, too.
I can't wait for the Fall TV Season to start. New Scandal! And I can't wait to see what's in store for Huckleberry Quinn. New Revenge! New Grey's Anatomy!
Oh, and there are a slew of movies coming to Netflix this month. Yay! More bingeing.
Before then, I was "borrowing" a neighbor's WiFi. Frankly, if you don't put a password on it, you're asking people to use it. I watched Dexter. All of it, in a few weeks. And I thought that was excessive. Dexter has eight seasons, 96 total episodes. At 50 minutes each, I spent 80 hours watching serial killing.
Since having the internet installed, my binge watching has been... excessively excessive? I've watched:
- Five seasons of Top Chef (not the first one, Katie Lee Joel is annoying.), 16 episodes per season, approximately 45 minutes each. 60 hours.
- All eight seasons of Weeds. 109 episodes at approximately 28 minutes each. 51 hours.
- All three seasons of Louie currently available on Netflix. 40 episodes at approximately 20 minutes each. 13 hours.
- All five seasons of Breaking Bad. 62 episodes at approximately 45 minutes each. 46 hours.
- Season three of Scandal. 18 episodes, 45 minutes each. 13 hours.
- Two episodes of Portlandia, season three. 45 minutes.
- Ten episodes of Say Yes to the Dress, season one. 20 minutes each, 3 hours.
- American Psycho. 1 hour, 41 minutes.
- Thelma and Louise. 2 hours, 9 minutes.
- Three TED Talks. 55 minutes
- The Mighty Ducks. 1 hour, 45 minutes.
- Four episodes of The X Files (my next binge watching target. I feel like I was too young to appreciate it when it was on, and since Netflix has all seasons, I'm making the commitment now.) 45 minutes each, 3 hours.
To be fair, though, I do stuff while I'm watching TV. Crochet a lot. I'm working on a blanket for a soon-to-be born Miss Aria Jones. I actually had to start over, but I'll have it done before she's born. In about a week. Hopefully.
I also do dishes, laundry, cook, read emails (and other internet based things), organize my crochet basket. Mostly crochet. But I do things that are moderately productive. I do mini "workouts" while watching, too. I write this blog!
But mostly, I have a problem. If I read that much, I'd be finished with The Magicians and probably The Magician King. I used to read that much.
So with a mog on either side of me on my new couch, I'm sitting here watching The X Files. Join me? No? That's okay, too.
I can't wait for the Fall TV Season to start. New Scandal! And I can't wait to see what's in store for Huckleberry Quinn. New Revenge! New Grey's Anatomy!
Oh, and there are a slew of movies coming to Netflix this month. Yay! More bingeing.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Magical Tattoo of my Dreams
I've been pretty stuck on what to write here.
I asked my lovely Facebook Friends to give me a topic. And I so received! What tattoo, if free and licked on by kittens, would I want. And why.
First, licked on by kittens (please get the reference!) because I am TERRIFIED of needles. Butterfly needles make me cry. Like a little baby. Which is the primary reason I don't have any tattoos. That, and I'm pretty indecisive.
I do, however, have one idea that's been with me for a while. A wonderful, magical idea. That's an homage to Harry Potter.
Most of you know my love for HP. I'm a total nerd, and I don't care who knows it. The Harry Potter series is like a patronus charm for the dementors in my life. So, it's only natural that if I ever get a tattoo, it'll be Harry Potter based.
Not a lightning bolt or even a Deathly Hallows sign. No, I'd have an owl. Delivering my letter. A massive chest piece of a barn owl in flight, wings stretching from shoulder to shoulder, my Salem letter clutched in one claw. Salem School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm not European, so obviously I wouldn't have gone to Hogwarts.
I also love simplistic versions of the Voldemort's Horcruxes, themselves. Professor Quirrell (his soul, anyway), Tom Riddle's Diary, Marvolo Gaunt's Ring, Salazar Slytherin's Locket, Helga Hufflepuff's Cup, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, and finally Harry Potter himself. A small symbol to represent the mission through each year of the series.
Regarding the artist, I don't know who I'd choose. I don't know any, personally. What I do know, is they'd better be proficient in kitten-licked ink.
I asked my lovely Facebook Friends to give me a topic. And I so received! What tattoo, if free and licked on by kittens, would I want. And why.
First, licked on by kittens (please get the reference!) because I am TERRIFIED of needles. Butterfly needles make me cry. Like a little baby. Which is the primary reason I don't have any tattoos. That, and I'm pretty indecisive.
I do, however, have one idea that's been with me for a while. A wonderful, magical idea. That's an homage to Harry Potter.
Most of you know my love for HP. I'm a total nerd, and I don't care who knows it. The Harry Potter series is like a patronus charm for the dementors in my life. So, it's only natural that if I ever get a tattoo, it'll be Harry Potter based.
Not a lightning bolt or even a Deathly Hallows sign. No, I'd have an owl. Delivering my letter. A massive chest piece of a barn owl in flight, wings stretching from shoulder to shoulder, my Salem letter clutched in one claw. Salem School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm not European, so obviously I wouldn't have gone to Hogwarts.
It would done in black and gray. I love the aesthetic of black and gray, just so seemingly simple. But not at all. And it would have green eyes. Another homage to the books, something the movies couldn't do. I also love simplistic versions of the Voldemort's Horcruxes, themselves. Professor Quirrell (his soul, anyway), Tom Riddle's Diary, Marvolo Gaunt's Ring, Salazar Slytherin's Locket, Helga Hufflepuff's Cup, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, and finally Harry Potter himself. A small symbol to represent the mission through each year of the series.
Regarding the artist, I don't know who I'd choose. I don't know any, personally. What I do know, is they'd better be proficient in kitten-licked ink.
Friday, August 1, 2014
On Disappointment
"Hard not to feel just a little bit disappointed and passed over."
I don't handle rejection well. Something I'm going to have to get over if I really intend to finish writing my novel and then seek to publish it. I take it too personally, whether it's professionally or romantically. It just breaks my heart. Every. Single. Time. I can't seem to separate myself from the disappointment of not being perfect for everything I attempt.
So I don't. I don't put myself out there often, because the very notion of rejection is crippling.
I applied for a job that I'm qualified to do in my sleep. Overall, the hiring supervisor advised that the job would be given to either me or a former teammate of mine. She got the job. I'm in no way angry about her getting it, she deserves it. I'm really happy that she's getting out of the service center. I just feel stuck, and I have for a very long time.
So, not getting this job was a massive, crushing blow. Oh, and they haven't even bothered to tell me that I'm not the one getting the job. I learned from asking her if she had heard anything yet. They were supposed to tell us three days ago.
This is a fresh wound for me. Seriously, I wrote most of this between calls on scraps of paper shortly after learning that I'd been passed over. Fuck. Me.
It's been a whole-Misfits-catalog kind of day.
When I started my job four years ago, it was an entirely different life that I was leading. I had the intention to move to Portland, OR with a job waiting for me at the center there. About a year later, that center closed. Two moves, several job rejections, and one terrible break up later, here I am. I've let go of the idea that move to Portland is at all a possibility or would make a difference in my life. Disappointment would follow.
I just feel stuck. Really, really stuck. I feel like I'm going to live and die in the same small city that I was born in. The town that I both love and despise. I do see the melodrama in taking a job rejection to rejection from the rest of the world. That's how I handle disappointment.
A cloud so dark and thick and ominous, that I don't see how the sun will ever shine again. Disappointment apocalypse.
Today, I am the embodiment of Forever Alone. I get the guts to say how I feel, but that hanging shadow of disappointment is never too far way. I chicken out. I want to say everything, but I can't. Because I can't take another disappointment just yet.
I don't handle rejection well. Something I'm going to have to get over if I really intend to finish writing my novel and then seek to publish it. I take it too personally, whether it's professionally or romantically. It just breaks my heart. Every. Single. Time. I can't seem to separate myself from the disappointment of not being perfect for everything I attempt.
So I don't. I don't put myself out there often, because the very notion of rejection is crippling.
I applied for a job that I'm qualified to do in my sleep. Overall, the hiring supervisor advised that the job would be given to either me or a former teammate of mine. She got the job. I'm in no way angry about her getting it, she deserves it. I'm really happy that she's getting out of the service center. I just feel stuck, and I have for a very long time.
So, not getting this job was a massive, crushing blow. Oh, and they haven't even bothered to tell me that I'm not the one getting the job. I learned from asking her if she had heard anything yet. They were supposed to tell us three days ago.
This is a fresh wound for me. Seriously, I wrote most of this between calls on scraps of paper shortly after learning that I'd been passed over. Fuck. Me.
It's been a whole-Misfits-catalog kind of day.
When I started my job four years ago, it was an entirely different life that I was leading. I had the intention to move to Portland, OR with a job waiting for me at the center there. About a year later, that center closed. Two moves, several job rejections, and one terrible break up later, here I am. I've let go of the idea that move to Portland is at all a possibility or would make a difference in my life. Disappointment would follow.
I just feel stuck. Really, really stuck. I feel like I'm going to live and die in the same small city that I was born in. The town that I both love and despise. I do see the melodrama in taking a job rejection to rejection from the rest of the world. That's how I handle disappointment.
A cloud so dark and thick and ominous, that I don't see how the sun will ever shine again. Disappointment apocalypse.
Today, I am the embodiment of Forever Alone. I get the guts to say how I feel, but that hanging shadow of disappointment is never too far way. I chicken out. I want to say everything, but I can't. Because I can't take another disappointment just yet.
I am Not a Tattooed Dream Girl
This is just me airing how I feel about an assumption that I've made up, and now can't get away from.
I am not this girl. I will never be this girl. Radeo Suicide is unconventionally gorgeous. I feel like in the kind of life that I want, she is ideal. We'll talk about the Suicide Girls later. This is about me.
I am not this girl. I will never be this girl. Radeo Suicide is unconventionally gorgeous. I feel like in the kind of life that I want, she is ideal. We'll talk about the Suicide Girls later. This is about me.
This is about who I thought I'd be. A tattooed dream girl. I thought, as an angsty teenager, that I'd grow up and be some kind of an artist. Some kind of a girl who'd defy the norms and somehow earn the love and attention (because that's what's really important, right? No. It's not) that I deserve. That tattooed girl is who I am inside my chubby body. It's who I long to be.
So here I am, 28 years old and still holding on to the disgusting idea that I'm not worth the attention of any of my objects of desire because I can't be the person I want to be. Though, if I showed up anywhere with victory rolls and cherry lips, I'd feel like a fucking poser. Please never let me say the word "poser" again.
I admire those girls, because they had the courage to be themselves. If they are being themselves. They're seen as the cool girls. But really, do "cool girls" exist? I watch football and actually know what's going on, I read for fun, I can hold deep conversations about things other than celebrities and fashion. Doesn't that make me "cool" enough? I can pretend to be laid back, but I'm a control freak. Sorry. Not really.
If I had tattoos, if I had black hair, if I had Dita von Teese's pale skin, would I then be enough? That to me, is ideal. I want to be vampire skinned. But I'm pink. I'm piggy fucking pink, and there's not a damned thing I can do about it. I want to look amazing with jet black hair, but I don't.
What now? I'm hoping one day to accept that this body is who I am. Except for extensive surgery, I can never be like Radeo Suicide or Dita von Teese. That kills me. I can't be the girl you see in the front row of the indie rock show that all the boys-in-bands adore. The groupie you can't have.
This is really about letting go of ideals. This is really about me finding love in myself. It's hard. Really hard for me. I hope that I'm not the only one who feels like this. Like you'll never love me, because I'm not this girl. I am me. And really, that's all that I have to offer.
Random Post: Secret Celebrity Crushes
I'm in the middle of yet another binge marathon. Having just finished Breaking Bad (seriously, guys), Weeds was recommended to me. I just found out that the dude who is Huck in Scandal is also Guillermo in Weeds (Guillermo Diaz), and I was half inspired by seeing an actor who is just so perfect for one role playing quite another. The other half was a quick Google search of "Secret Celebrity Crushes". The "secrets" that people are confessing, they're not so secret. These people are attractive. Not just subjectively, but Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom (the sole reasons I watch Pirates of the Caribbean beyond the first film) aren't exactly surprises.
I decided to air my secret celebrity crush dirty laundry. Because I'm transparent that way. This will definitely expose my weird ass taste in dudes. I'm okay with that. Again, I'm transparent.
Sam Rockwell
Let's choose to ignore the teeth he had to wear as "Wild Bill" Wharton in The Green Mile. Sam Rockwell chooses roles that are unique, and frankly, fucking bad ass. Choke and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Yes. All of it. Again, ignore those fucking teeth.
Scandal's Huck
Okay, understand me here. Huck is crazy. Batshit, PTSD, homeless crazy. At some point in Season Three, he finds sexual excitement in torturing the woman he's secretly in love with. That's kind of hot. Hear me out. He's dangerous. He's raw. He knows how to hack the Pentagon network and pull out someone's teeth like pulling a knife out of soft butter. Don't judge me, huh?
Mark Ruffalo
Hello, Dr. Banner. Matt Flamhaff. Mark Ruffalo gets better with age. This one isn't quite a secret or a surprise, I suppose. But another dude who isn't conventionally attractive that is completely gorgeous to me.
Harry Styles
Something is seriously wrong with me. This dude is probably a fucking douche. And he can't write his own music. Whatever. THOSE DIMPLES
Louis CK
Louis CK is hilarious. Hilariously sexy? Sexily hilarious? I don't know.
I decided to air my secret celebrity crush dirty laundry. Because I'm transparent that way. This will definitely expose my weird ass taste in dudes. I'm okay with that. Again, I'm transparent.
Sam Rockwell
Let's choose to ignore the teeth he had to wear as "Wild Bill" Wharton in The Green Mile. Sam Rockwell chooses roles that are unique, and frankly, fucking bad ass. Choke and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Yes. All of it. Again, ignore those fucking teeth.
Scandal's Huck
Okay, understand me here. Huck is crazy. Batshit, PTSD, homeless crazy. At some point in Season Three, he finds sexual excitement in torturing the woman he's secretly in love with. That's kind of hot. Hear me out. He's dangerous. He's raw. He knows how to hack the Pentagon network and pull out someone's teeth like pulling a knife out of soft butter. Don't judge me, huh?Mark Ruffalo
Hello, Dr. Banner. Matt Flamhaff. Mark Ruffalo gets better with age. This one isn't quite a secret or a surprise, I suppose. But another dude who isn't conventionally attractive that is completely gorgeous to me.
Harry Styles
Something is seriously wrong with me. This dude is probably a fucking douche. And he can't write his own music. Whatever. THOSE DIMPLES
Louis CK
Louis CK is hilarious. Hilariously sexy? Sexily hilarious? I don't know.
Kevin Spacey
Because, you know, Kevin Spacey.
And boys and girls, that's all you're getting out of me today! Never you mind that I offered these up freely. Please comment below (I adore comments!) and tell me who YOUR secret celebrity crushes are!
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