In the summer, summer, summertime of 2010 or, a Happy List Plus Five.

Summer's flying by so damn fast - how is it July already?
{But I'm not really complaining.}
So far, this has been one of the best summers I can remember - full of love, full of friends and full of transitions.

Here's just a few things that are making me smile in this "summer, summer, summertime."

- Quoting the only Will Smith song I like (see above line, and the title of this blog).
- Air conditioning.
- Boneyard on Sirius.
- Fantastic daytrips.
- Deck parties with friends.
- Walking after the sun goes down.
- Blasting my newly declared summer soundtrack, The New Pornographer's "Together" nonstop.
- Ice cream. Often.
- Hot dogs. Often.
- Concerts, concerts, concerts.
- Endless sunshine.
- Going over to the dark side as an iPod user.
- Happy days.
- Happy nights.
- And of course my favorite footwear:

Happy Valentine's Day, friendos!

You know when, in a relationship that's in its infancy, you feel lit from within again for the first time in a long time?
Where you can't wait for your phone to buzz, for the doorbell to ring, for your next time together?

I'm in that phase right now, and it feels really good.
Like it's supposed to be.
He's chivalrous, kind, compassionate, just as affectionate as I am, hilarious as all get out, worldly and I daresay the first real man I've dated.

On this Valentine's Day eve, I wish you much love and affection - whether you're single or married, believe in Valentine's Day or not.

Thanks for reading Ramblings On.

A pearl of wisom was supposed to be in this spot.

I had all these ideas of things I wanted to blog about - things not related to diet and exercise for once - and as I stared at the black canvas in front of me, my mind just went completely and utterly blank.

Naturally this would be the first time in eons Blogger loaded* right quick for me and here I am with egg on my face.**

Oh well.
Some days you step in it, some days you don't.***

*You'll recall, I'm sure, that I still have dial-up, which is going to change within the next two weeks because I almost had an aneurysm of rage Sunday morning when I tried to blog. I need to get with the rest of the millennium already methinks.
**I love this saying and have no idea how it even started (and God forbid I try to open another window to Google it. My question is Why egg? Why not pudding? Ketchup, which seems so much more normal? Egg makes me think of an egg salad sandwich which makes me vomit a little bit in my mouth, even though I adore eggs. Egg salad. Eww.
***My evil grandmother had a magnet that said this, and it had a cartoon of a cow that stepped into a metal milking bucket. Anecdote has ended.

The klutz strikes - or trips - again.

While this week has been good (knock wood!), it's been one pickle after another.

For starters, I have a horrendous toothache that's been on-and-off for the last few days. I've never actually had a toothache before, so this kind of pain is new to me (and very uncomfortable).

As if that's not bad enough, yesterday I stopped at a local UPS store to mail something, and as I walked to the counter, I completely biffed and fell flat on my face.

Both leopard-print heels flew off and my purse went flying.
I. Was. Mortified.

The guy behind the counter started freaking out because he thought I killed myself.
{No, I just killed my ego for the entire duration of my transaction.}

By the time I got back to the office, my knee was throbbing so bad, I had to go home to put ice on it.

The silver lining of the whole damn Incident was I got to see a truly amazing hot dog show on The Travel Channel, so it was very nearly almost worth it.

Naturally, I wore flats to work today.
(and naturally, I hated it almost as much as Samson hated getting his hair cut ...)

A borrowed survey.

Oh, I haven't done a survey in eons so I thought, "Why not?"

I borrowed this from a favorite blogger The English Muse (see her fabulous blog in the list to the right).

1. Where is your cell phone: Right where it always is: within three inches of my person.
2. Your hair: Freshly blown out just this morning. Never mind that it's in desperate need of a color touch up.
3. Your favorite food: Cake - with buttercream icing.
4. Your dream from last night: I was smoking in the rain with Johnny at his house. His parents and a Times Leader editor and his wife were there and we were trying to be inconspicuous. {I quit smoking New Year's Eve 2007 and had my first cig since then two weeks ago at Tiffany's wedding. With Johnny. He's such a naughty influence, even in dreams it seems!}
5. Your favorite drink: Manhattan.
6. Your dream/goal: To continue writing until my last breath ... and publish my novel(s).
7. What room are you in: My home office. The tree right outside the window has the most gorgeous yellow leaves that look so pretty in the sunlight.
8. What are your hobbies: Reading. Writing. Blogging. Twittering. Journaling. Laughing. Thinking.
9. What is your fear: That something will happen to my family, God forbid.
10. Where do you want to be in 6 years: Still writing. Financially secure. Happy.
11. Where were you last night: Working at my part time job then eating the dinner I made in the Crockpot with Mommalah.
12. Something you are not: Fake. Good or bad, what you see is what you get
13. Muffins: I do love one on occasion.
14. Wish list items: Stability. Health for my family and myself. Happiness. Love.
15. Where did you grow up: near a pond on a gorgeous dirt road in Dallas, Pa.
16. Last thing you did: replied to a text message.
17. What are you wearing: black pinstripe pants, black turtleneck, gray cardigan and black stilettos.
18. Your TV: Is only usually on for "Always Sunny in Philadelphia," "Family Guy" and an occasional vampire movie or food show like "No Reservations" or something having to do with cake.
19. Your pets: I am godmother to the most delicious puppy Kasey, a scrumtrulescent Weimaraner.
20. Your friends: Are few, but fabulous.
21. Your favorite store: Barnes & Noble.
22. Your favorite color: Black. Naturally.

Down in the dumps plus a TV marathon and a Happy List.

I've been feeling pretty miserable.
On Friday, I took my first sick day ever - yes, ever - during my 3.5+ years at the Weekender on Friday. It broke my heart, too, because it was our annual Model of the Year party, the biggest shindig we throw. It's like the prom for us staffers, and what girl doesn't love her prom??

I had a horrid cold. Sore throat. Fever. The Works.
But even before that, I was pretty down in the dumps.
Fall is my favorite season and I always feeling so reinvigorated and ready to Go. Walk. Bask in the cool temps.
But these past few weeks I've been going through one of my Lonely Periods. (Plus one of my I Feel Fat periods. Ugh.)
The change of seasons made me yearn for someone to go pumpkin picking with. Someone to kick up leaves with. Someone to cuddle when the temperature goes below zero in the apartment (or someone who has a warmer house to crash at).

But enough about the lonely period.
He'd probably find it weird that, in between numerous naps on Friday, I spent an awful lot of time watching the Canadian teen drama "Degrassi." I fell right into its soap opera-y world and it was everything I knew it would be. I'm not even ashamed to say I watched it for the better part of 10 hours.
{The last TV marathon of that caliber was when I happened upon a "Ninja Warrior" on G4 a few years back. It, too, was an exquisite way to spend 10 hours of my life I will never get back.}

Now that you've snickered and judged my "Degrassi" addiction, what is your TV guilty pleasure?

And now on with 10 Things That Make Me Happy:

1. Sundays with Mommalah …
2. … especially ones when she lets me be all whiny.
3. A blue sky over the pond so dark that’s lined by vibrant fall-colored trees.
4. Fall weather.
5. Seeing leaves dance in my rear view.
6. A gorgeous Halloween-worthy moon.
7. Feeling better, finally.
8. A “Degrassi” marathon.
9. A new episode of “Family Guy.”
10. Looking forward to making Mommalah’s birthday special on Saturday.

The men I have loved.

I've only been In Love a handful of times in my 32 years, but I've been In Love With A Celebrity many times over.

Only three were serious:

{"The King of Cool" Steve McQueen whose blue eyes could make me weep. The license plate on the Bitch Pod is an homage to him and will someday be on a Bullitt Mustang just like he drove in "Bullitt," my favorite movie of his}
{Gerard Butler, who I named the Weekender's office plant after. He is the sexiest man that walks God's green earth methinks. And I know he will be mine someday, oh yes, he will be mine someday}

and
{Bret Michaels of Poison. What can I say? I'm a sucker for blue-eyed blonde boys. The above photo was my favorite of the 127 I push-pinned to my wall growing up}

Other men I've loved:


{Robert Plant, then and now, who I would let slap me with a mudshark any day of the week}

{Chris Noth, who will always be Mr. Big to me}

{Mel Gibson, because 1. He was my first serious crush; 2. I had my first sexual dream about him, and 3. He has McQueen and Michaels-esque blue eyes}

{Cary Grant because all woman should love a man like him, and all men should try their damnedest to be and dress half as debonair as him}

{Franklin D. Roosevelt. 'Nuff said.}

{Jack Kerouac because reading "On The Road" inspired me so much I went back to school to be a writer, thus changing my life}

{Dracula, because seriously, what's not to love?}

{And of course, the men who have always been there long after the others, my beloved older brother Michael and my beloved Papa. Long may the future men in my life try to live up to the standards set by the two of you}

One of Those Days. (Thankfully.)

Did you ever wake knowing today was going to be One of Those Days?
And you dread it, but begrudgingly rally the troops and dive in head first?
And though it was a crazy-busy day, you kept your head about you like Rudyard Kipling says, and it ended up being a really, really good day?
Filled with people (or person) who made you smile, who surprised you, who seemed to get right to the core of you in a really, really good way?

Today was one of those days.

A night with myself.

I don't know about other people who live alone, but I talk to myself constantly.
{I'm not even ashamed to type that on the Interweb.}
It's a fact of who I am, and I've never been good at hiding the real me.

I am veritably exhausted tonight, thanks to a hellish deadline day yesterday, thus rending me with that feeling of being drunk, though the only thing I've imbibed this evening is the homemade iced tea I shuttle home from Mom's every week.
{It truly is that addicting.}

I had to shut off the TV because I found myself doing what I sometimes do to my parents/friends/coworkers when I'm "being cute:" picking one word they say, and repeating it.

For example:
- When the douche baggy host on the Current network referred to Rick Sanchez in a snarky way, I said "Sanchez" aloud to, well, no one.

It's a fun game, I highly suggest you try it with someone you love now, if not sooner.

This is one of those nights where I am really enjoying the hell out of my company.

Is that abnormal?
Or admirable?

Instead of sitting at my desk, I'm ensconced on some pillows in my living room typing on the floor. I may or may not be trying to convince myself that if the laptop's not on the desk, it doesn't really count as time in front of the computer I could have been doing something more constructive.

Like reading.
Or singing along with Sirius' Classic Vinyl (which I'm doing anyway because I'm a "multi-tasker.")
Or talking to myself ...

Probably right, maybe wrong.

Had a most thought-provoking night thus far.
Whiling away the evening on my porch with "The Fountainhead," my skull-covered journal and my orange haiku/tanka notebook, I watched my neighbor and landlord working in their yards - and realized some things about myself.

And, when I came in and looked at the mail sitting on my desk - a cable bill and a booklet entitled "Bridal Bells" from a local jeweler - I realized some more things as I leafed through the blue book with shiny diamonds and sweet little sayings like:

"The icing to this perfect day"

and

"Sometimes love begins with a glance"

- I'll probably never be someone who relishes the feel of my hands digging in cold, fresh dirt, no matter how much I adore the scent of freshly-churned earth.


- I'll probably never feel the cold metal of a one-carat emerald-cut bauble I won't settle for less for.


- I'll probably never understand how people have a home they take care of themselves because they own it. (Clearly the words of a perpetual renter who can just call her landlord she affectionately calls "Mr. Roper.") (Plus, sometimes they feed me. Pizza. And sometimes ice cream cake.)


- I'll probably never be a really good singer. (This has already been proven true.)


- I'll probably never dance in my newly cleaned and spacious attic like I say I want to, despite taking ballerina lessons when I was 5ish, and clearly being a star Sugar Plum. (Nor will I ever be as graceful.)


- I'll probably never not paint my nails like a 5-year old.


- I'll probably never get tired of savoring a nicely chilled glass of bourbon whilst in complete and utter solitude in the midst of the noises of my neighborhood.


- I'll probably ... but maybe I'm wrong.

"She's a summer love in the spring, fall and winter. She can make happy any man alive."

Went the Frank Costanza route by creating my own "Serenity Now!" phrase.
Meant to:
- diffuse internal-self bombs.
- chant to myself to take me to my "happy place," if you will.

I tried the word "grasshopper" many moons ago, when I was mad addicted to "Kung Fu." But it didn't cut it, so I gave up.

Until now ...

I have decided upon "Sugar magnolia" as my "get happy" phrase.
If, yes, it does seem like I'm on a serious Grateful Dead kick, it's probably because I am.

After seeing the Jerry-less incarnation, The Dead, I really do feel changed.
{Almost like I'd love to do nothing with my life but follow the remains of the GD in this form, and any of its members' bands.}
Like a spark of self-awareness was lit.
Like now is the time to stop being my own worst enemy and start being me.

Something in me definitely opened, blossomed even - maybe it was all the second-hand pot I couldn't help but inhale but I digress. Since "Sugar Magnolia" is in my Top 5 All-Time Favorite Songs, what perfect phrase to capture my serenity? To take me to my happy place?

"Sunshine, daydream,
walking in the tall trees,
going where the wind goes
Blooming like a red rose,
breathing more freely ..."

I hope I don't give myself a nosebleed in excitement!

I have been so ugh all week - it's just been crazy busy.
{And I may or may not have been a teeny, tiny bit of a bitch today.}
But I am bursting at the seams in excitement for this weekend. I kind of resemble a 12-week-old Labrador puppy.

I'll be taking a gloriously rare day off on Friday and heading to the City of Brotherly Love - Philadelphia to non-Pennsylvanians.

I've only really been to the heart of the city twice, and for very short amounts of time, including one when I was in 8th grade.
I'm definitely much more of a New York City kinda girl. Don't hate.
{Speaking of hate, if I hear one person chant "E-A-G-L-E-S" I'll counter with a "S-T-E-E-L-E-R-S." We've got the six rings bitches!}

My weekend will consist of:
- The Dead at the Spectrum. I can feel so strongly that I'll hear my all-time favorite song "Sugar Magnolia" that my tooth hurts. And believe you me, I will dance like I'm dancing in a ring around the sun.

- A Philly cheesesteak. From Geno's because I will be ordering in English. And because it's been featured on every food show I've ever seen about Philly.
- A tequila bar - and its Southwestern wrap. {Of course I already cased the menu, what kind of foodie do you think I am?}
- Lewis & Clarke playing in a church which I am hoping I will have some sort of eye-opening transcendental epiphany that will change my life. If I don't, I think there may be no saving my soul. {Listen to them, you'll see what I mean: www.lewisandclarkemusic.com}

I hope it all plays out like I want it to.
I tend to have make events so much more spectacular in my head than they could ever be, meaning I expect a lot, and then kind of disappoint myself.
But knowing is half the battle, according to the old "G.I. Joe" cartoon I so loved as a tomboy.

If I get myself so excited, at least I have something(s) to be excited about, right? Some people don't let themselves look forward to anything.
I'm happy I can look forward to what I have planned - and what I don't.

Ramblings on rambles on.

Sitting here deliciously half blitzed from two vodka-heavy martinis.
I love how I get that teeny bit lit and all of a sudden I feel like Doing Things.

Like organizing my home desk at last. And making my calendar kosher with my day planner, which I just updated yesterday. Never mind that I never look at said planner because I fully believe in the sticky system and/or e-mailing myself reminders, but I will feel more Efficient if I do so.

Switching Gears

It is so windy here in Northeastern Pa. tonight.
It was a crazy day of darkness, sunlight, pouring rain, misty rain and wind on and off. Seeing such black black skies against sunlight made me think it was the end of the world or something.

The house was rattling so much before that I cautiously peeked out through the blinds to see if houses were flying about.

Instead I saw something gorgeous: an abandoned umbrella dancing in the wind.
It was like that plastic bag that the creepy hot kid next door in "American Beauty" filmed.
If I felt like putting my galoshes back on, I would have gone out and taken video of it to share.
Instead, use your imagination.

Switching Gears

Sometimes I get so angry I just want to scream.
Or break a pencil, if I used pencils and not solely blue PaperMate pens.

I chalk it up to being Sicilian. Or psycho. I'll go with the former, thank you kindly.

Switching Gears

Sometimes I think I'll never get it together - then I remember that nobody has their shit together. And if they do, they're a God damn liar. That's comforting.

Switching Gears

It's safe to say that I think about food way too much, and exercise way to little for how much I like to eat.

Switching Gears

I hate being an insomniac. The worst part is I just lay in bed waiting for sleep to come, instead of getting up and reading or writing.

OK, now about that calendar project.
It's an Anne Taintor joint.
I shall leave you with April's fitting quip, as I got blonder just last night.

Some things I love, in random order.

I love the rainbow array of my stilettos.
(introducing my newest addition: canary!)
I'm sure my back will hate me 20 years (or less) down the line, but damned if my legs don't love me right now.
What is more powerful than a sassy pair of leopard pumps? Or patent black? Or or or?
Nothing, my friend.
N o t h i n g!


I love that I can totally dress down on production day Tuesdays, since I am chained to my desk until the cows come home. I was so uber comfy today that I had to take a photo of my outfit this morn:

It consisted of:
- Jeans that are getting too big on me (yay!).
- A gray thermal shirt.
- My fabulously soft red cardigan cable-knit sweater.
- My Uggs which I know now I cannot live without, and consider them probably the most worth-it Christmas gift ever.
- A fleece leopard-print scarf since it was chilly in the morn.
- And natch, my bookish spectacles.

I love blue PaperMate pens and the pewter pen box I got as a gift from a friend. It's inscribed with a quote from one Ernest Hemingway:
"The writer must write what he has to say. Not speak it."

And I especially love Mint ChapStick. I have one at work, on my desk at home, on my nightstand, in the bathroom and in my purse. It's safe to say, since I am always within at least five feet of the green stick of minty goodness,
"Hello. My name is Nikki and I'm addicted to Mint ChapStick."

And I super, duper love when it's time for bed.
Ciao!

To Twitter or not to Twitter: A conundrum.

I make no qualms about being three months shy of my 32nd birthday.
I embrace it, actually, because I am in a place in my life I never thought I'd be, or be lucky enough to be.
But enough about that for right now ...

I get so much flack for not having a Facebook. Just the word Facebook makes me want to yell and/or break something.

Isn't it enough that I, in addition to my work blog (shameless plug No. 1: http://www.theweekender.com/blogs/mascali), have this blog, my beloved MySpace page (shameless plug No. 2: www.myspace.com/nikkimm) and my new LinkedIn page (shameless plug No. 3: http://www.linkedin.com/in/nikkimm33)??

Isn't it enough that I do those four things to be in contact with the outside world and work a job that relies on me having contact with said outside world an a daily - and sometimes hourly - basis?

I've been able to outrun the Facebook hounds (read: friends and coworkers), but then a little something called Twitter came along.

I really don't need it. I really don't want it. But that doesn't mean I'm not just a little tiny bit interested in it. It just seems so easy. And a little irreverent. And I really like its "Partridge Family"-esque bird logo.

I've heard people complain that Facebook is information overload, that people know what you are doing at every hour of the day.

But don't people know that info because ... that's ... what ... you ... tell ... them??

Part of me kind of feels like I am way to old for this stuff - all of it. But if people in the media didn't sway with the breeze, where would we be? I'll tell you: I'd be blogging on tree bark about that dang Gutenberg and his new-fangled movable type! Trees that don't bend in the wind, break.


It seems like Twitter is exactly the same way as Facebook - way too TMI - yet here I am creating an account.
My inquisitive nature got the best of me - there's the rub I guess.
Here's shameless plug No. 4: http://twitter.com/nikkimm33

But don't you dare try to strong-arm me onto Facebook because that branch just ain't budging.

And the winner is ...

God, I adore the Oscars.

I love the pomp, the circumstance, the history.
I've walked - as a tourist - up the same steps that the stars walked up this evening at the Kodak Theater and gawked at the names of past winners hanging on the scrims. I've been in the ballroom of the Roosevelt Hotel where the very first Academy Awards were held.
It was such an awesome experience to see those things for myself, and even pretend for just one second that I was an Oscar nominee, much to the chagrin of my brother who took me to those places.

I even kept my burgundy sequined senior prom gown for "when I go to the Oscars." Believe me, it'll never go out of style.

Right now, we are about 35 minutes into the show and I have to say that I am more enraptured than ever before. And not just because the sexiest Aussie ever, Hugh Jackman, is hosting. He's so refreshing a performer.

Also take the stage set up, so classic, like a '40s-era club, complete with the band on stage, that floor design and all those sparkly crystals hanging from the ceiling. It captures the very best of the movie industry, that by-gone era when men like Cary Grant walked the earth - devilishly handsome and classy - and the ladies were, well ladies.

This is true Hollywood tonight.
It's an homage to those that came before Brangelina (who I adore just as much as the next person), Meryl Streep, Heath Ledger, and even Kate Winslet (who happens to be my favorite actress ever).

Side notes:
- The speeches always make me feel a little uncomfortable for the speaker, but I can only imagine how I'd feel being up on the stage. I'd probably be the first person to vomit at the podium if - no, no, WHEN - I win my Oscar. ;)

- J'adore the clothes. I mean look at how fabulous SJP looks right this second on stage. Say what you will about her, the lady knows style. And Daniel Craig standing next to her ain't bad either ...

- Is anyone else sick of "Slumdog Millionaire?" Honestly.

- And speaking of "Slumdog," which was nominated for not one, but two songs, I am terribly peeved that Bruce Springsteen's Golden Globe-winning song "The Wrestler" wasn't nominated for Best Song. WTF was the Academy thinking?? It is an incredible and goose-bump inducing song. For shame!

- I love how they're having past winners talk up the current nominees. It's such a nice touch.

- You know how the winners always seem to have that note they pull out at the podium? Well, how about those non-winners feel about having that unused speech in their pocket? What do you do with it? I'm so ridiculous I'd probably keep it. It'd probably make one hell of a grandchildren story, non?

- Best line so far: "You look like you work at a Hasidic meth-lab," said Natalie Portman to Ben Stiller acting like Joaquin Phoenix on Letterman.

- I have to say that I'm loving the little lead-ins for the categories. It's making the show not drag, but we all know why we're all watching. Best actor, actress, supporting actor, actress, song, director, picture. Just give them to us please. I don't even understand what that comedy short guy just said but hey, he's now an Oscar winner and I've got an unfinished screenplay. I'll stop talking now.

But you be on the look out for me someday - I'll be the one purging at the podium in a burgundy sequin dress with a slit up to there.

C'mon get Hallmark.

Everyone has at least one - at least one talent that is all their own.
Be it writing, painting, singing, piano, ukulele, whatever, everyone has something they are good at.

Naturally, I'd like to think that I have several veritable talents (thinking naturally and oh-so-modestly, LOL). Like my horrid singing voice, which I use constantly to just about everyone's dismay. Or my inherent clumsiness. Or my uncanny ability to pick what person another person is a doppelganger of.

All kidding aside, one of my greatest talents is picking out the absolute perfect Hallmark card for my loved ones.

It's taken years to get to this level of Hallmark shopper (and probably close to a million Gold Crown Points) and I do revel in it. I will have you know that I have been a Gold Crown card carrier since 1997. A Preferred Gold Crown card carrier, thankyouverymuch.

I just love the whole production of scouring the card racks for as long as it takes to find that a perfect display of my affection for said loved ones.
(Tonight's Valentine's Day purchase took well over an hour. I only had to buy four Valentines and one birthday, BTW).
I just seem to always hit the nail on the head, and can proudly boast that I have made my mom cry on more holidays than I haven't made her cry. It's an art form really.

I love the smell of Hallmark (especially the Dallas Shopping Center one). I love writing my own little blurb under the card's message. I love putting the shiny gold foil sticker on the back (and not only because it saves me from tasting icky envelope glue). And I especially love the reaction someone has to their perfect card.

It just makes me happy to Hallmark ... and especially when I get my members reward coupon. Hey, even card freaks have to be economical these days ...

It's starting to hit.

Spring fever.
It has sprung its ugly, yet hopeful head.

It hit me yesterday when it was so brilliantly sunny and bright, and I could hear the staccato drip-drip of the snow melting into colossal puddles on the front walk that I had to leap over.

It hit me this morning as I walked around the school in the spring-scented-yet-chilly winter air as I remembered seeing those same types of rays of sun coming down to earth in stripes through back lit clouds as a kid and thinking, "They're taking someone home to heaven" - how innocent and kind of profound for a young Catholic school girl with a crooked smile and vast imagination.

It hit me sitting at my parents' kitchen table with the sun pouring in around Mom and I as we read the papers and caught up, not needing the little heater for warmth for the first time in weeks.

It hit me as I ran out to my car before I left their house, as the moon - high and bright in the sky - ricocheted off the snow refreezing from today's defrost.

And it hit me when I got home and didn't have to crank up the heat too much to keep this drafty old house comfortable. (An Eskimo would fare well with me, me thinks, or a narwhal at the very least.)

That's the magic of spring fever I guess.
It's like a mirage - just when you are fooled into thinking "It's over!" and get the itch to crack open a window or stop wearing a jacket, you remember that it's only early February - we've still got a lot of winter left.
[Deep sigh.]

Bored ... or not??

Oh, I am so very bored and so very cold.
But I am really, really, really liking the fact that I am already in my leaf-printed Old Navy jammies and it's not even 7 p.m. on a Saturday night.
Sometimes, these boring nights are the best nights of all ...

So many better

things I could do, but much less

comfortable, yes?

Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa ...

Wow, I knew it's been a while since I've blogged, but I didn't realize it's been this long!
I've just been in my own head lately, writing a lot of dark haiku/tanka, what I oft do when I am working through something that I just don't want to share with the world yet.

I guess it's like when the Talking Heads say in "Psycho Killer:"

"When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.
Say something once, why say it again?"

I firmly believe that if I don't have anything to say, I don't.
(Now if only I could make that be relegated also to my mouth and not just my writing! LOL!)