tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91951683457658679512024-03-13T21:47:33.413-04:00The Gauche LifeUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-17421736395041633522014-05-20T02:25:00.001-04:002014-05-20T02:25:17.778-04:00I'm Still HereI'm still here and I think that warrants a celebration.<br />
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I haven't thought about this blog in probably three years. I read my last updates with a sense of surprise.<br />
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I used to feel about the loss of my mother so deeply, so viscerally, that every time I thought about her absence, my heart would feel broken again. I didn't think it would ever get better.<br />
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And some days, it's not. I miss her with all of my heart and soul, and that's not going to change. The only difference is that instead of mourning her, I now try and celebrate her every chance I get. I'll eat a bowl of bruschetta for lunch: she loved bruschetta, even though I think she put more basil it in than needed. I'll go gardening. I just bought a rose bush to put in the front yard: she always wanted a rose bush but couldn't get one to thrive in Illinois. I slip a bay leaf into my spaghetti sauce, even though it's from Ragu, because that's what she taught me to do. My sweet mother. She left us too soon.<br />
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I'm going to Taiwan to spend time with my father, JUST my father, for the first time in seventeen years. My relationship with dad is fraught with uncomfortable truths and even more uncomfortable realities, but since the almost six(!) years that mom has been gone, I've reached an understanding with the old man. As much as I fight and deny ties, I am his daughter. He turned 70 in January. The idea that his time on earth is limited is not lost on me. I don't want to continue my life in his absence. I can feel him trying to make amends and show his love to us and I think it would be the ultimate cruelty to deny him a fulfilling relationship with us. My sister, I don't know how she feels. Being nine years apart, we grew up with different versions of dad. Maybe her reality doesn't allow her to give the forgiveness that he needs. I'm ready to forgive him all his actual and perceived wrongs and I want him to know that I think he was the best father he could be, and that I appreciate him.<br />
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It feels so good to type out my thoughts and feelings. I missed the sound of the keyboard and the pleasure of typing.<br />
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I am an underemployed 29-year-old attorney. I live in a beautiful house in amazing SE Portland. I have two dogs and a husband that I adore. I haven't been this fulfilled or happy in a very long time. I want to keep writing, and I want you to be there, but you don't have to be. This is just for me, really, although I don't exactly know what my end goal is.<br />
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I started this blog, after many old ones, when I was 23 years old. At the time, I had just started dating Tim. This June, we will be celebrating our four year marriage anniversary. I suppose it looks like the theme of this blog is "how time flies." Has time done the same for you?<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-71454786057479467732012-09-16T12:00:00.002-04:002012-09-16T12:00:34.797-04:00one hundred and six dayswe bought a house in SE Portland!<br />
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and i can't wait for you to come visit in 106 days, when I will definitely be moved in! </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-84054240276550293632012-09-04T15:43:00.004-04:002012-09-04T15:44:20.461-04:00Flannery O'Connor<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">“I can, with one eye squinted, take it all as a blessing.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Preach, soul sista.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-76799339093967426472012-08-12T20:32:00.001-04:002012-08-12T20:32:19.636-04:00Oh hello there2009 was a good year for this blog. 2012 has not been kind to it so far.<br />
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Timmy left for Orange County in March 2011 and I moved to Concord in May.<br />
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We are moving to Portland, Oregon in three days.<br />
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We will have moved six times (two moves to NH, one move in NH, one move to CA, two moves to OR) in three years. Lots of cross-country moving for us.<br />
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We are tired. But we have hope! Because we.. have BATDOG<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-77104146424397261342011-04-09T22:08:00.001-04:002011-04-09T22:11:31.708-04:00DFW"...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 28px; ">DFW was so damned <em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 18px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">good </em>at writing that you can’t really believe what you’re reading. If it renders you speechless it won’t be because the prose has taken your breath away, but because you suddenly feel unworthy to be speaking the same language as someone who has so obviously and completely mastered the art of bending it to his will. And if it makes you sad, it will have less to do with the book itself and more to do with the fact that <em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 18px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">The Pale King </em>is the last you’re ever going to get from the greatest American writer of this generation. That’s it. That’s all. Show is over, folks. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here."</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 28px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 28px; ">I felt the same way when I read Infinite Jest, but I am so very excited to read The Pale King</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 28px;">Blog from <a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/why-i-wont-be-finishing-the-pale-king/">Thought Catalog</a></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-23934692519231356962010-10-16T08:49:00.000-04:002010-10-16T08:49:00.338-04:00Today.Every fall I am again amazed by the passage of time. <div><br /></div><div>This October 16, Mom's been gone for 3 years and it seems like all of a sudden I'm married and in law school and living in New Hampshire and thinking about moving to California. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have no real insights to add this year, nor did I have insights last year. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps my only one is that it's exhausting to never be able to stop missing somebody. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom, I love you and miss you. Kory is doing well as replacement mom, but he's not as pretty as you were. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wear your absurd wedding ring everyday. </div><div><br /></div><div>I carry your heart in my heart. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-67941292371282627822010-10-15T20:46:00.001-04:002010-10-15T20:49:06.970-04:00Two years ago, I wrote this.<span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">October 16, 2008<br /><br />The day came and went, and it was remarkably like any other day.<br /><br />My mood waxed and waned, and it was remarkably like any other day.<br /><br />All over the world, people went about their business, and it was remarkably like any other day.<br /><br />Last Thursday marked one year.<br /><br />Do I have to say more than that?<br /><br />I had been depressed most of Monday. Too much time alone leads to too much thinking leads to existential crisis and despair.<br /><br />I passed by the bench I was at when I first found out that she had cancer. I sat on that bench for hours, crying, and here I was, back on that goddamn bench, crying.<br /><br />Sometimes, the more things change, the more they stay the same.<br /><br />I thought of all The Lasts: The Last Time I Spoke to Her, The Last Time I Spoke to Her And She Spoke Back. The Last Time I Hugged Her, The Last Time I Hugged Her And She Hugged Back, The Last Time Her Eyes Were Open, The Last Time I Watched Her Cook Dinner, The Last TV Show We Watched Together, The Last Time She Stood On the Driveway and Waved Goodbye to Me as I Backed Out. This list could go on forever.<br /><br />The more mundane the memory, the better.<br /><br />Thursday arrived, as promised. No amount of personal anguish stops the steady march of time.<br /><br />I was fine until 10:30, which is the first time I cried that day.<br /><br />I didn't cry because I missed my mom, which I do.<br /><br />I didn’t cry because I felt like an orphan, which sometimes I do.<br /><br />I didn't cry because the world is a dark uncertain place, which sometimes it is.<br /><br />I cried because of two text messages I got about my plans for the day. I cried from joy.<br /><br />One was from Tim, the guy I’ve been seeing and it said: “Morning, sweetie. I hope whatever it is you have planned today turns out the way you need it to. I’ll be thinking about you all day. Xoxo.”<br /><br />One was from Sameen, my hetero life partner and it said: “What do you think about today? Do you want me to come with?”<br /><br />The former made me cry because it’s filled with the promise of a new relationship, the thrill that someone out there is thinking of you and your well being, and the realization that someone really cares for you, even though you just met them. It's a warm feeling that anyone is lucky to have.<br /><br />The latter made me cry because in that instant, I realized that if she wasn’t in my life, I would have killed myself long ago. When I went through everything, it wasn’t just me alone, she was experiencing them all with me in a way that no one else did. The constant phone call updates that I would relay, the first real conversations I had about the possibility Mom would die, the question, "Do I pack black clothes?," the support to change life paths, she was the first person I called after it happened. It’s a simple text fraught with personal meaning and understanding and warmth.<br /><br />The only way I can describe the rest of my day is to preface it with this statement: It was like I was a character undergoing catharsis in a novel.<br /><br />I left work at about 12:30 and took a long walk home without my glasses on, just thinking, internalizing, ruminating. At the very moment I reached my apartment, it started raining.<br /><br />I cried in the shower for an hour. I shivered, I was scalded, I sat in the bathtub sobbing. Moments of calm interspersed with hysterical crying, presented in a way only bathroom acoustics can provide.<br /><br />I died in that tub, and the water washed it away.<br /><br />A voice in my head simply said, "Enough." And it was.<br /><br />I went up to a Buddhist temple in Cambridge, lit three sticks of incense, paid my respects, and just talked to mom for an hour.<br /><br />I took another long walk to finish my day, and I did something I knew I wanted to do for a long time, but wasn't too sure of in the past.<br /><br />It's deeply personal, and while a few very dear people in my life do know about it, I'd rather not discuss it. Even I have my blog limits.<br /><br />The minute I left to go home, I said to myself, Today is a New Day, and so is Tomorrow. You can Do It, and you're doing it Right Now. And You Are Doing Okay.<br /><br />It was only one day, one day of 365 that she's been gone, but it was very important to me. It illuminated a lot... a lot of different things, some greatly outside the scope of her passing.<br /><br />Only two people let me know they were thinking about me on Thursday. Not that I expected everyone I've ever met to send a "I'm sorry yer Ma's dead" text, or email, or phone call, but it's a strange feeling to think that the people who used to be the closest to you are wrapped up in their own lives and jobs and responsibilities, and that Thursday was just another Thursday, instead of being THE Thursday. Some I didn't expect anything from, but some... some really hurt.<br /><br />But that's the Nature of loss, and grief. It is truly no one's but your own. I was incredibly touched by the two people who did take that one minute out of their day. One came from someone who I can't say I expected to hear from, but who I know can relate with me in the worst way possible. The other, someone I love and miss, who I know will always be there.<br /><br />Yes, I do get by with a little help from my friends, but at the end of the day, if most of that isn't from myself, then it doesn't work.<br /><br />I think I had the best day I could possibly have had on Thursday. The dizzying highs, the terrifying lows, the existential crisis, the long walks, the baptism, the pain, oh dear God, the pain, the catharsis, the beginning of a resolution, the healing, the future.<br /><br />I ended my day by having a nice dinner with Tim and then falling asleep to the Red Sox game. An ordinary ending to a really big day.<br /><br />I'd have it no other way.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-78540298764502579492010-10-15T20:42:00.001-04:002010-10-15T20:45:18.977-04:00Two and a half years ago, I wrote this.<span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">April 14, 2008<br /><br />When mom died, a lot of people told me that I was lucky, that she was lucky, because it had happened so fast and she didn't suffer much. I generally agreed with that sentiment at the time, but the more I think about it, the more I want to say, what about all the things I was supposed to learn from her? What about all those family stories I needed to be told about one more time? What about the things I was supposed to teach my own children? What about that one dish that you always made that I loved - how did that go again? What about those things that only mothers know about their own children? Will anyone know those things about me again? What? What? Why? WHY?<br /><br />An exercise in futility and frustration.<br /><br />The last time I saw my mom alive, it was right before dad was going to drive me to the airport to go back to Boston. It was early morning and she was sitting up in her hospital room looking out the window. I remember thinking how sad she looked, and if she was surveying her life.<br /><br />When I flew home to say my goodbyes, I accidentally caught the middle knuckle of my right hand on something and caused a small nick. The scar is still there today. Sometimes I look at it and imagine that it is the cause of all my misfortunes.<br /><br />I saw and I felt so much in those few days. Mostly things I did not want to see or feel. We laughed, we cried, we cried so hard we had to laugh, we laughed so hard we had to cry. We questioned, we accepted, we murmured, we graciously accepted condolences. We yelled, we screamed, I begged God, I became pious, I renounced God. We ate, we slept, we pissed, we shat, we were normal. And still, she died.<br /><br />Man is born, Man lives, Man dies.<br /><br />I was recently reading "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer and one of the characters said something that resonated with me.<br /><br />"That night I told her what I had seen. She made me promise never to speak a word about it. I promised her. She said, Why should I believe you?<br />I wanted to tell her, Because what I saw would no longer be mine if I talked about it."<br /><br />I saw so many things I would never wish for anyone else to see or experience and now its inside of me, festering, eating away at me, preying on my sanity, my own mental cancer. It's mine. And I need to get it out. I have so much I want to say, so much I want to share, but I find myself unable.<br /><br />I'm trying. I'm trying to get it all out. Put it down on paper, put it in cyberspace. This is real. This happened. Deal with it. So I write on here. God knows who reads it. Getting the phrases "When my mom died," "My mom died," "My mother is dead." into my head, into my mouth, rolling off of my tongue. Guess why, Michelle. It happened.<br /><br />I listen to music, I cry, I ride public transportation, I write, I deal, I think, I ruminate, I stew.<br /><br />I tell myself: It will be OK.<br /><br />Will it?<br /><br />Yes, Michelle, it will.<br /><br />You will be OK.<br /><br />Will I?</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-47036167901915340832010-10-15T20:37:00.002-04:002010-10-15T20:42:02.694-04:00Three years ago, I wrote this.<span class="Apple-style-span" >October 15, 2007</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >It was a ten days ago that I was back at home. My mom had had a minor heart spasm, and was getting a cyst removed. Nothing scary, but a bit worrying. It was a week ago that I was wrapping my head around the fact that my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer that had spread to her brain and lymph nodes and she was starting radiation. Right now, I am wrapping my head around the fact that she will be gone within the week. Day? Hour? I can't be sure.<br /><br />I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. Crying. The crying is pretty much a constant state. I'm angry, confused, and overwhelmed with a feeling that life isn't fair. What a surprise. Life sucks.<br /><br />We're in 4 West, the oncology unit. We started just across the hall, in 4 East telemetry, two weeks ago. In 4 West, the nurses are nicer, and tell you things like how they believe in "making her as comfortable as possible" and that you don't have to follow visiting hours. Our nurse found us extra pillows and a recliner. No one else here has visitors that stay the night, most people are here from nursing homes.<br /><br />I feel like a string of improbables brought my family to where we are today. An enlarged lymph node on her collarbone that resulted in her getting sick from a rare IV dye reaction. A dose of medication that was too strong for her, which made her feel terrible. A heart spasm brought on by that stress. An abnormal lymph node biopsy that lead to another CT and an MRI that revealed stage 4 lung cancer, with metastasis to the brain and lymph. Disseminated intravascular coagulation caused by the adenocarcinoma which caused bleeding problems with her biopsy site, her PICC line, and eventually caused a stroke. Can't treat the cancer because of the DIC, so her lungs are filling up with fluid. Can't cure the DIC because it's caused by the cancer. I saw her have a seizure tonight.<br /><br />My mother was.. well, she was my mother. I love her. What a stupid thing to say. Of course I love her. I spoke to her last Wednesday, and she was her normal self. We talked about how I saw Hillary Clinton speak and who she was going to vote next year. She yelled at me for having a cold, and told me that I should wear scarves more often. We talked about how when she got better, we would all take a trip to Europe. She had always planned on going to Europe when she retired.<br /><br />I miss her. I might miss her more now then when she's gone. I can see her now. And she's my mom. My little mommy. And she's not there anymore. She looks at you, but she's not looking at you. She shifts restlessly. She doesn't hear you anymore. She's just so tired and her brow is always furrowed. I keep expecting her to say something, or do something, but, well, its just not going to happen ever again.<br /><br />We moved out of the ICU ever since her doctor told us that she just wasn't going to survive this. Its not like we expected her to pull through and still be mom, its just that when a doctor makes it a point to tell you, well... shit just got realer. They stopped giving her IV fluids, took her off all the monitoring equipment, stopped the regular plasma and cryo she was getting to replace her clotting factors, stopped drawing blood from her, and started giving her morphine. At this point, its all about comfort. End of the line.<br /><br />So now, we wait. Won't be long now.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-88212659018689089092010-05-20T15:22:00.001-04:002010-05-20T15:22:06.343-04:00Hypercaffeinated thoughtsWell, it was time for our daily trip to Starbucks and I decided that instead of an iced coffee I would get an Iced Americano with an extra shot. Four shots of espresso later, I feel like I can barely contain my blood within my veins. So what better time that now to ramble for a little bit? Certainly, there is much work to be done, but the crayon rings are packed and I shouldn't be let near a sewing machine in this state.<br /><br />Timsters and I were in NYC last weekend, and it was overwhelming. Even being in Boston can be overwhelming these days. We had a vision of our future and it's most likely set in a remote part of Maine. New Hampshire turned us into country people.<br /><br />I was thinking about how Tim, and all of the people who I met/saw this weekend are makers (like vampire Bill in True Blood, am I right???) and they just assume that everyone else makes something too, when in reality, most normal people don't make anything. Makers have always impressed me. Like when I first met Sameen and she had a purse that she crocheted herself. I mean, thats impressive. Point being, I've never been a maker, and now Tim's kinda got me into the mindset that basically anything you see, you can make yourself. It's a slippery slope (see: Tim deciding he could rebuild a whole van in two months).<br /><br />I made a 15 minute quilted iPad case last night and although yes, I will probably be making a more polished one, this one serves the purpose quite well. It's weird for me to think that I can make things on the sewing machine now. <br /><br />And yes, I bought an iPad. And yes, it's just like a giant iPhone that can't make calls. And yes, it's awesome. Unfortunately, one of its main functions is to help facilitate studying for the patent bar. Booooo-urns.<br /><br />Can you believe LOST is ending? We've been together since 2004, doesn't that MEAN anything to you, LOST?? Also, upsetting that characters keep dying at an alarming rate. <br /><br />Okay, Mr Madman Timmy needs van help so I gotta laser outta here PEWWWWWWWW <br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-64140713166478771522010-05-09T20:07:00.003-04:002010-05-09T20:50:12.251-04:00Ma's DayTo my mother: <div><br /></div><div>Thanks for everything, I love you. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wish you could see how things are coming together. </div><div><br /></div><div>I miss you every day.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTBoDDq63bU_22bXWQ-8dGMrXszk6-daRKhdEIlWDvqAAbEzp_cfVNqGc4zik6qUi9fuTdSbknf_QQAkFIEE6mgKT14erPVoOg-NZtVlEx6vDqeDlHWPnMa-yab9obAHiaDkmAazGcTwB/s1600/IMG_0002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTBoDDq63bU_22bXWQ-8dGMrXszk6-daRKhdEIlWDvqAAbEzp_cfVNqGc4zik6qUi9fuTdSbknf_QQAkFIEE6mgKT14erPVoOg-NZtVlEx6vDqeDlHWPnMa-yab9obAHiaDkmAazGcTwB/s400/IMG_0002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469436475228961378" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-9755884173090285902010-04-29T19:39:00.002-04:002010-04-29T19:46:06.054-04:00Yayyyyy!Time is flying by. We leave May 13th!<br /><br />Forgot about the Steve Powers murals in Philadelphia and remembered them today and got super excited to see them in person :)<br /><a href="http://www.aloveletterforyou.com/"><br />A Love Letter for You</a><br /><br />This excitement reminded me that one of my favorite artists, Kelsey Brookes, is based in San Diego, but no current shows :(<br /><br />I can't afford either artist's original works but prints are fair game.<br /><br />I already have a Kelsey print from RVCA, but now I'm saving up for an Espo print...<br /><br />It's only 99 Pounds! ... only?<br /><br />Ahhhh my brain is too excited right nowUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-86265045540569369102010-04-19T14:54:00.005-04:002010-04-19T15:08:22.899-04:00No compromises works! (maybe)One thing I learned from Tim was that sometimes you have to throw a tantrum.<br /><br />Through a variety of mistakes (theirs) and my penchant for last minute EVERYTHING, I was going to be short 5 yards of fabric for the van quilt I'm making.<br /><br />While letting the news sink in, I put on makeup to calm me down. Ugh, I'm such a girl.<br /><br />I went outside to tell Tim the quilt wouldn't be done and then threw a tantrum about how I didn't want to change anything and that's that.<br /><br />I went inside, felt better, and called the fabric company for more information on who sells this particular fabric.<br /><br />They directed me to a place in Oregon, I gave them a ring, confirmed the fabric by checking the color of the selvage edge (maroon/pink, NOT blue), gave them my debit card number, and that was that.<br /><br />Thanks tantrum, and thanks VISA.<br /><br />I'm exhausted now.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-51129726210417187332010-04-15T14:20:00.005-04:002010-04-18T19:54:33.448-04:00APRIL??!?Well, one indication that you haven't been up to date on your blog is that when you go to type in the address, you type <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">tha</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">guache</span> life instead of the gauche life. My b. Although, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Tha</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Guache</span> Life does have a ring to it...<br /><br />By the way, it's the middle of April, how did that happen???<br /><br />Athens was good and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Santorini</span> was better, but I'll be honest with you, I don't <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">forsee</span> another trip to the Hellenic area. On Santorini, you get to ride ATVs on the road. ITS THE BEST.<br /><br />Here's a picture of me with a dog that followed us from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Syntagma</span> / Parliament to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Lycabettus</span> Hill. I wanted to take him home :(<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT47eFaY4DSLrdFnQZ841EEY7JFw3ybqMLpuG6LYcM9zi7dve1QCgIMDJgFWP7JwBTziByHvwDOKH_KvVHOnpsmgUW_0HbquTcrF68XZPtQ-iUsAdFIr4heN0PkNdiLeYY-NcQrgI20djT/s1600/doggie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT47eFaY4DSLrdFnQZ841EEY7JFw3ybqMLpuG6LYcM9zi7dve1QCgIMDJgFWP7JwBTziByHvwDOKH_KvVHOnpsmgUW_0HbquTcrF68XZPtQ-iUsAdFIr4heN0PkNdiLeYY-NcQrgI20djT/s320/doggie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461619637222787010" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We even visited some young Greek designers at Greece is for Lovers and bought some <a href="http://www.greeceisforlovers.com/products/athens-sucks/gifl-athenssucks-3.html">souvenirs</a>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Heh</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">heh</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">heh</span>.<br /><br />I was home for a few short days, and then I was off on a Caribbean cruise with JP, Jaclyn, Craig, and Rob. It was glorious and I got five years worth of Vitamin D. We went fishing, touched sea turtles, snorkeled, got seasick, got sunburned, went river tubing, swam in an Emerald Pool, sang an amazing rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody, had the BEST hot sauce, and in general, loved life.<br /><br />I can't wait to get back on an island and spend some real time there... <3 you, Caribbean.<br /><br />And now, now our days are filled with trip planning and quilt making. Timmy has been working like a crazy man and you can often hear loud noises and swear words emanating from Vanpira. She's looking good though! Tim wrote a post about his progress over on <a href="http://vanpireweekend.blogspot.com">Vanpire Weekend</a>.<br /><br />It's been rainy rainy rainy here for the past few days. Sad town. But yea, I know, April Showers, blah blah blah.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-75869478182108894222010-03-16T21:38:00.002-04:002010-03-16T22:01:22.497-04:002ND ANNUAL KIANG FAMILY VACATION!!!!!!!We're like the Griswolds except not as hilarious and more drunk! And we're going to Athens and Santorini for ten days!<br /><br />But yes, it's that time of year again. Family vacation time!<br /><br />Pretty soon after Mom died, all of us knew that we would no longer really be a cohesive family. We were living in three different places, and when you lose the glue that binds you together (well at least the glue that binds Cindy and I to our father), there is much less incentive to gather at holiday time. This last Christmas, Dad didn't come home, and while Tim and I spent pre-holiday time with Cindy and Kory, I spent Christmas with the Liles in New York. We're not stupid, the Kiangs, although we are silly, and we knew that the only way to motivate us to gather at least once a year was a family vacation.<br /><br />It's sad that a death was the only thing that jarred us into spending more time as a family, but sometimes, that's just how life is. You never realize how important things are until something comes along and challenges it.<br /><br />Last year, we invaded London & Barcelona. Our stay in London coincided with the protests / riots against the G8. We bonded as a family over lots of jamon and a shared terrifying hooker fight in the streets.<br /><br />This year, our visit to Athens coincides with the um.. collapse of the Greek economy. I hope we can bond over olives, spit roasted meats, and liquor. And, Timmy is coming!<br /><br />Next year, if you have any suggestions for a country you would like ruined in some way, feel free to make a suggestion.<br /><br />ALSO! Feel free to make suggestions as to what to do in Athens and Santorini (I'm asking you, the Greekest people I know, Mr M William Panek and White Michelle)<br /><br />So goodbye forever, jerks. Have fun in America.<br /><br />Just kidding. I'll be back. And I don't think you guys are jerks. You are all wonderful, lovely people.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-75483900345587056962010-03-03T22:13:00.002-05:002010-03-03T22:30:20.403-05:00Pew pew pew laser noisesI've been making a lot of laser noises recently. No idea why, but I am definitely wishing there was some sort of dance song out there that uses laser noises. Um.. anyone have any leads on that?<br /><br />Tim and I started a blog about our road trip! I've been writing about things we want to do and see and he will start writing when van remodeling gets underway. Check it out at: <a href="http://vanpireweekend.blogspot.com">Vanpire Weekend</a><br /><br />Whenever we tell anyone the name of the blog they always have the same deadpan reaction: oh. I get it. Like the band. That's clever. We meant the lame pun, I swear. Nothing funnier than puns, right?<br /><br />February was a busy month, well as busy as a month could be when a person is unemployed and doesn't want to contribute to society in any way. We got a new puppy... and then had to give him back due to my allergies :(:(:(:(:( which is probs good because then we would be weirdos with two chihuahuas. I finished my first quilt, which was a delight. I'm getting started on my second one right now. I also went ice fishing, which was awesome. I started going to the gym, as I am prone to do during the cold months, when my ass gets to unbearable proportions.<br /><br />Oh yeah, maybes the biggest news of the month is that I decided to stay here in NH for law school instead of going to California. Turns out I kind of like the winter. And that I can be bought rather easily with some scholarship money. More the latter than the former.<br /><br />So it's at least 3 more years here for the Kiang-Liles-Freddie clan and rest assured, we will be living free for all 3 of those years.<br /><br />And as for the thorniest of all months, Smarch, there is also much planned. Smarch is always the first month that people remember that spring is coming back! YEA! So there is more excitement in the air. Damion is having a show in Portland and we are going to hang out there for a weekend, we're going to a Celtics game (still kinda exciting? even though they lost to the Nets... eesh), I'm attending an orientation at Pierce Law, and we're going to Greece mid month! Before I know it, it'll be time for a Caribbean cruise (early April) and then gigantic road trip (May???)<br /><br />Spring is coming! Spring is coming! Spring is coming! YEA!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-16522456271828536012010-01-13T16:26:00.003-05:002010-01-13T16:32:14.247-05:00Listen...I know that I was in AmeriCorps for a year, and that gives me a gigantic sense of "fuck you, I never have to volunteer again," but how can you not donate anything to Haiti right now? When I was tutoring in Boston, my favorite students were from Haiti and always spoke about how bad things were there but how much they loved it. You don't even have to get off of your gigantic red sweatpanted ass to do it (that refers specifically to me. I bought red sweatpants with elastics on the legs from Target for 7 dollars and I love them)<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-XInjA976N5MUIZ0fQs4QZ95vPtaWJzKw72tNCwGIhJ1Jn9y-tC_UmKZg4woqoJe4MFlgZZ58dq5W1chBpmj4-epFkAHknl55SGUIPLAQKdtdDvMR-9FBplfv960fEQE8kk_DjoL9Ooea/s1600-h/iphone.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-XInjA976N5MUIZ0fQs4QZ95vPtaWJzKw72tNCwGIhJ1Jn9y-tC_UmKZg4woqoJe4MFlgZZ58dq5W1chBpmj4-epFkAHknl55SGUIPLAQKdtdDvMR-9FBplfv960fEQE8kk_DjoL9Ooea/s320/iphone.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426340156815733922" /></a><div>So text to donate. What is 10 dollars to you? It's 3 lattes, 2 beers, a bottle of wine, one pair of red sweatpants, or you know what? Just think of whatever asinine thing you are next going to spend 10 dollars on and know that you can do without it. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-78695107756610305792010-01-05T19:09:00.003-05:002010-01-05T19:11:59.607-05:00YikesFor a long time, I was totally paranoid about someone cutting off my ponytail on the subway / bus because I had read about assaults like that happening. Everyone I told this fear to denied the existence of this horrifying crime. WELL. <a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/wire/sns-ap-us-odd-bus-barber,0,3414093.story">READ IT AND WEEP BITCHES. </a><br /><br />So glad I don't partake of public transportation on the reg anymore.<br /><br />Also, I need to get a haircut. I'm below the belly button and my hair is even melted into the snow on our front step. (gross, I know)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-89467298644122127372009-12-08T01:52:00.003-05:002009-12-08T02:32:39.655-05:00Can't sleep, clowns will eat meSometimes you talk to someone and you say something like "can't sleep, clowns will eat me" and they just look at you like you're an insane simpleton. I would rather those people not be in my life. <div><br /></div><div>It's one of those nights where I am sleepy but not sleeping. When I lie in the bed, I just stare at the ceiling. Even my glow in the dark bear keychain has lost its phospholuminescent glow.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm really not sure phospholuminescent is a word. </div><div><br /></div><div>Timmy is tossing and turning and dreaming about something that causes him to laugh derisively every fifteen minutes or so. The other night, he rolled over, said "I dont like that, I like this" and a few nights before that, it was sleep snapping of the fingers. Makes you wonder what you are mumbling about in your sleep and who knows the secret thoughts of your dream mind. </div><div><br /></div><div>Up here in Portsmouth in this alternately cozy and freezing house, I feel very content. And I guess it surprises me. A year ago, I wouldn't have believed that I could be happy hanging out around a small house with a boy and a pup all day, sans job, in a New Hampshire town. A year ago, I was a different person, we all are to some degree. I feel relationships drifting apart and bobbing away, but I'm not worried for a few reasons.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's the problem with contentment... where's the hunger? Once you stop wanting and desiring, you settle in and get mossy. I of course use the terms "settle in" and "get mossy" instead of "rust" and "become stale" to try and convey the comfortableness of the entire situation... I'm not sure many people are looking for that kind of contentment in their life.</div><div><br /></div><div>And neither am I, well I mean, I don't want this forever, although I am very fond of it right now. So I'm writing this as a way to remind myself: Michelle, there are more things ahead, more paths and more work. Enjoy this time to the fullest before real life comes in again. </div><div><br /></div><div>We talk about how one day, we will look back on this time and shake our heads... did we really stay up all night cutting rings and gluing boxes only to miss the shipping date? did we really live in that tiny house with that tiny dog in that tiny yard?</div><div><br /></div><div>How many things do you think that about now? </div><div><br /></div><div>What a nice, universal human thought. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, where was I going with this? </div><div><br /></div><div>I just took a five minute interlude to think about how this applies to everyone, re: why it is only nice to hang out with your old friends for brief times. What I mean is this: when you are with someone from your past, you already have a concrete idea of who they are and what they like. When you see them, you first find out what's new in their lives and then you immediately get back to reminiscing and trying to convince yourself that not so much time has passed since you knew that person. The longer you are with them, the more differences you start the notice. New unsavory habits or newfound sainthood. This is always refreshing and wonderful at first, but then ultimately disturbing... where is the person you knew before? You can't get over it. The only way to get over it is to get into Plan: Prolonged Rekindling, where your old friend becomes your current friend, and you stop noticing changes and start noticing how they are the same. I don't mean the same in a "stale" or "rusty" way, I of course am talking about that familiar and comforting same way. </div><div><br /></div><div>That was a rant that had no purpose or redeeming qualities to it and I will leave it up, even though I think I will read it back to myself in the morning and think about what an ass I am. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know what I was trying to convey with that. Except for I love all of my friends because I know that we are simpatico, even if we don't know what's going on in each others lives 24/7 (although the internet certainly helps)</div><div><br /></div><div>I know that I am afforded many luxuries because my mom died, and I don't mean in terms of an inheritance or her jewelry, but that I was given last year and this year for myself, instead of scrambling for a job or finishing a masters in a program i hated. I was granted the luxury of knowing my friends are family, and I don't mean that in a neglectful way, when I say that my friends are family, I mean that no matter how long it's been, when we all sit on that gigantic Kiang Family wrap around couch, no matter if you have been there before, we are all family together and warm together and covered in dogs together (the last part is very true. anyone who hasn't been to the house in a while would be appalled). I was granted the luxury of knowing that my family is like a ride or die chick... my analogies are getting weak.</div><div><br /></div><div>So that's it. I didn't have any intentions of saying anything like this, but I suppose that was what was on my mind. </div><div><br /></div><div>Back to bed I go, I hope sleep finds me soon. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even though I really want to put my cold feet on Timmy when I get into bed, I won't. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-37550765303126007912009-10-25T12:46:00.002-04:002009-10-25T12:57:43.336-04:00It's already the end of October, sometimes I don't understand where all the time goes. <div><br /></div><div>I've been thinking about how I ended up here, and if I'm supposed to be doing all of this. Is there a life plan or is life just a series of coincidences whose outcome is determined solely by timing? What is multiverse Michelle doing, the one that chose the opposite as me?</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know. I've been having trouble with the Truth, capital T.</div><div><br /></div><div>I guess everyone is troubled with the Truth sometimes. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-78742837756093373492009-10-11T00:35:00.000-04:002009-10-11T00:38:46.634-04:00Saturday Night LiveOctober seems to be an important month in my life, what with the last two delivering me my mother's untimely death and my first date with Timothy, respectively. As it is also the beginning of fall and a reminder of our imminent delivery into winter, Octobers are a bit sad.<br /><br />To try and head off the frownies, here's what's been making me smile:<br /><br /><div><ul><li>My family who gets crazier every year and loves to fight about where we go on vacation. <br /></li><li>My babe who is on his way to great things<br /></li><li>My pup who is getting handsomer every day<br /></li><li>Old friends and big hugs<br /></li><li>A windy fall afternoon at the Modern Wing of the Art Institute<br /></li><li>Makers Manhattans</li><li>Conan on at 11<br /></li><li>Gorgeous fall colors in the neighborhood<br /></li><li>Sunny afternoons in the backyard<br /></li><li>Bill Hader</li><li>Long late afternoon family naps</li><li>Portsmouth, NH</li><li>Florida on Monday! 90 degree weather! AHHHHH</li></ul></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-44160675158761540212009-09-23T16:11:00.003-04:002009-09-23T17:18:43.740-04:00Tim told me I should blogAnd since I refuse to study for the LSAT any more today, here I am! YAY!<div><br /></div><div>...</div><div><br /></div><div>It's only been a year since I've been out of school and I've totes forgotten how to study. That and, I'm not sure I am 100% in the "I Care About This Test" mindset. Maybe I will become more focused tomorrow (probs not). Um also I just found out I have been constantly scoring in the 97th percentile, which is the worst piece of news I could have possibly gotten at this point in studying. </div><div><br /></div><div>The computer is in the spare room that Timmy set up and I am blogging while Fred sits in his bed, chewing a toy and intently staring at himself in the bottom of the full length mirror. Fred is a narcissist. Earlier today he was licking the mirror where his nose was and then went behind it to investigate where that handsome pup really was.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh man I've turned into one of those crazy people that only talks about their dog aghhhghghghghg sorry. I'm a dog person now. Cats can suck an egg</div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPQUoOXlOe8OzY_A7x1uYg93rePgJnF41YzpLm318DMVsAnhy4AonRn37m4mRDzo_V8EjHv6z-k0TWh9O8Zx6kkdeEVlZboV7F0Y6CKOAbUzx4USEZAig4HDXvxBHsqppkVdKHN3OA-5U/s1600-h/why-i-hate-cats.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPQUoOXlOe8OzY_A7x1uYg93rePgJnF41YzpLm318DMVsAnhy4AonRn37m4mRDzo_V8EjHv6z-k0TWh9O8Zx6kkdeEVlZboV7F0Y6CKOAbUzx4USEZAig4HDXvxBHsqppkVdKHN3OA-5U/s320/why-i-hate-cats.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384764081882933730" /></a><br /><br />Just kidding, 1 out of every 10 cats is still okay in my book. Maybe. TBD. <div><br /></div><div>I've been making espressos in the morning, which has been a pretty nice replacement to that bad vietnamese coffee habit I picked up last year. Anyways. I just put some cream in it and then a dusting of cinnamon, rendering this coffee drink not an actual coffee drink. I also haven't grasped the concept of cinnamon "dusting." I like to go with a dainty cinnamon HEAPING on the top of the coffee. Sigh. I'm trying here guys, I swear. </div><div><br /></div><div>Latest crazy dog lady thing I just did: uploaded two videos of Fred whining and barking at himself in the mirror. Yes, I know I have a problem. That being admitted, why don't you be my enabler and watch them <a href="http://flickr.com/michellekiang">here</a>? He looks big in the videos and thats cuz he is. Mr Fat Ass here is up to 5 pounds, 14 ounces. DISGUSTING. Immediate diet. BUT SERIOUSLY FRED IS SUPER CUTE SO WATCH THESE VIDEOS. </div><div><br /></div><div>WE'RE GONNA BECOME INTERNET FAMOUS YALL.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hey remember in the Daily Illini, there was a comic called Ninja Please? And another one about some guy named Matt and a bunch of line drawings? Those were pretty good. I miss those. I would post some examples, but I really can't find them. :( </div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-81530388506152404202009-09-08T17:56:00.003-04:002009-09-08T18:00:16.133-04:00Happy Birthday to my TimmyIt's strange to think that one year ago, we didn't even know each other. And now, 11 months later, I'm waiting for you with our dog to get back to our home in New Hampshire so we can go out and celebrate. <div><br /></div><div>Love you so much. You deserve all the best in the world</div><div><br /></div><div>xoxo, kees kees</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0Lrw2E_De77ic6PDHE2xnlrRCbY4pxEaKJQYppdXnuIdhtDPJl31rj9ewtX7ZvxcW6QN4HuTZnnMqTwOFW-wL2FKyLptD35GSRdf9cpIDktU1YlXzWI095dYRcP7MCn7XCqmUZX8Xl97/s1600-h/Photo+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0Lrw2E_De77ic6PDHE2xnlrRCbY4pxEaKJQYppdXnuIdhtDPJl31rj9ewtX7ZvxcW6QN4HuTZnnMqTwOFW-wL2FKyLptD35GSRdf9cpIDktU1YlXzWI095dYRcP7MCn7XCqmUZX8Xl97/s320/Photo+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379219615426831826" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-57230872345097364852009-09-03T22:42:00.004-04:002009-09-03T23:15:42.864-04:00Life in the ATL(antic Heights)I can't believe an entire blog entry about jorts was what I left up for three weeks while real life happened. SORRY.<br /><br />I assume everyone who read that is now currently wearing jorts. Right guys? Uhh... right?<br /><br />Just kidding, it's already fall. Sorry to break it to all of you. It was 48 degrees here a few mornings ago. Ten trillion thumbs down.<br /><br />OH MY GOD I MOVED TO PORTSMOUTH AND FORGOT TO BLOG ABOUT IT. But yes. We're here! We did it!<br /><br />An insane amount of whatnot has been going on here. INSANE. WHAT. NOT.<br /><br />Apparently I am really enjoying the caps lock tonight.<br /><br />We moved in less than two weeks ago, uhhhhhhhhh whatttttt it feels like so long ago that we were still in Boston. <div><br /></div><div>Less than two weeks and now I am sitting in the living room typing this entry while Tim and Fred are sitting on the couch watching tv :)</div><div><br /></div><div>If maybe you don't know me or maybe you aren't paying attention or maybe you have cooler things to do than creep on my <a href="http://www.flickr.com/michellekiang">flickr</a>, Tim and I got a little long haired chihuahua pup!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_MR-dvaV58H4LUeKmoJwP7CCGWGD3qki0RSioJ98MtJkgEJ4jau74KqVjf8BCWjvWVuZMgIgIcSwOEe0gokO3Rzm8uM2Rr6KHjfgbehPdYl2DlNgnGNr_gfeJ9n_4aIIZoAELcnAwlcjq/s1600-h/DSC_0446.JPG"></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_MR-dvaV58H4LUeKmoJwP7CCGWGD3qki0RSioJ98MtJkgEJ4jau74KqVjf8BCWjvWVuZMgIgIcSwOEe0gokO3Rzm8uM2Rr6KHjfgbehPdYl2DlNgnGNr_gfeJ9n_4aIIZoAELcnAwlcjq/s1600-h/DSC_0446.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 320px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_MR-dvaV58H4LUeKmoJwP7CCGWGD3qki0RSioJ98MtJkgEJ4jau74KqVjf8BCWjvWVuZMgIgIcSwOEe0gokO3Rzm8uM2Rr6KHjfgbehPdYl2DlNgnGNr_gfeJ9n_4aIIZoAELcnAwlcjq/s320/DSC_0446.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377440623095460594" /></a><br /></div><div>His name is Fred and he is a 5 pound kissin machine. Seriously. This dog loves to lick your face. It would be kind of gross except for he doesn't slobber. </div><div><br /></div><div>He is adorably pathetic and he loves the couch. Couch fiend. It's insane. He's sleeping all day just burrowed up in these blankets </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUnQrvyGX7MwtJkFu1kT2S2FfWHxWplhYXxhez1yu20o7jjE5xvrxu_bBklIOKgRKOT2-lGLZgHpdepfwllp3NO1CV9dyLwVEd-asCe6XGqx_iM7jj2m-OcVDT0_OmkP3FE6DGeCxluvi/s1600-h/DSC_0488.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUnQrvyGX7MwtJkFu1kT2S2FfWHxWplhYXxhez1yu20o7jjE5xvrxu_bBklIOKgRKOT2-lGLZgHpdepfwllp3NO1CV9dyLwVEd-asCe6XGqx_iM7jj2m-OcVDT0_OmkP3FE6DGeCxluvi/s320/DSC_0488.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377442322921651346" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>This picture was not staged. Fredster will play for an hour maybe and then will pounce onto the blankets and use his nose to flip the blankets to burrow into them aaaaaaaaaaaah its so cute I could die. </div><div><br /></div><div>He is also really pretty pathetic, which makes him very cute. Tim is trying to toughen him up and make him a man but with me its snuggs and hugs all day. AALLLLL DAY. Snuggs, hugs, naps, and yard time.</div><div><br /></div><div>My family also came up to visit and we ate lots of delicious food and delicious lobsters. Joey is a crazy man. CRAZY. Also, I went candlepin bowling for the first time. Why do New Englanders insist on everything just being sliiiiiightly different?</div><div><br /></div><div>There is still an absurd amount of stuff to be done around the house and a lot of stuff that I'm still getting used to... like emptying the dehumidifier in the basement... but it's really nice. I really love it up here with my little family in my little house in my little piece of New Hampshire. Even if our dog is afraid to go outside. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195168345765867951.post-48469175979885125582009-08-17T23:20:00.000-04:002009-08-17T23:42:33.956-04:00Jorts All DayI just tweeted about this, but I would like to take a short blog moment to say: I would really and truly love a song about Jorts. Jorts. Jorts all day.<br /><br />First of all, what are Jorts?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=jorts">Urban Dictionary</a> defines jorts as "Jean shorts. Worn mostly by children and douchebags. Jorts are perhaps the easiest way to recognize people you will not like."<br /><br />I would define jorts as the single greatest piece of summer denim wear in existence.<br /><br />My struggles with jorts goes back to my beginnings (<a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/84314/its-always-sunny-in-philadelphia-kitten#s-p2-st-i1">much like Charlie and cats</a>) but now, all of my repressed feelings about jorts are coming back.<br /><br />Namely, I LOVE THEM but i was just ashamed of it before. I have three (3!!!!!!) pairs of jorts. A black pair, a medium colored pair, and a dark pair that I just cut up today.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFGf8UQ1sXGDAK2Y0LCKZg812_OtSgyuoTvcbdg6RFVff1pnOokrh38Gc-EPk_fT99TDWybLYRq6B2UNSadk8MPtHD6EtLSVWE62CbEG4ga2WVC0SFwMBvkCpMevj5Py6nksTTSv2OKAl/s1600-h/photo(2).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFGf8UQ1sXGDAK2Y0LCKZg812_OtSgyuoTvcbdg6RFVff1pnOokrh38Gc-EPk_fT99TDWybLYRq6B2UNSadk8MPtHD6EtLSVWE62CbEG4ga2WVC0SFwMBvkCpMevj5Py6nksTTSv2OKAl/s320/photo(2).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371133772550169042" /></a><br /><br />This is Jorts "Patient Zero," eg: the pair that started it all. They were a pair of Lucky Brand Dream Jeans, from 2003 (maybe 2002?). These jorts were with me through the good times and the bad times; the fat times and the skinny times; the American times and the European times (I wore them for almost 4 weeks straight while backpacking); the cold times and the hot times (remember how I said I didn't use to wear jorts? I was a jeans in summer kinda gal). In fact, these could possibly be the jeans that the best selling bookseries and popular movie "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" was based on. <br /><br />Like so many things that you love to death, I eventually forgot about these jeans, forgoing them for darker washes and different cuts. UNTIL THIS SUMMER. AND NOW THEY'RE BACK. With a vengeance? But seriously. Love these jorts. The jorts have a lot of history in them. All that distressing you see is actually natural. <br /><br />If I get a pair of light jorts and WHITE jorts, I will have completed the jorts pentfecta. Yes, I just made up the word pentfecta.<br /><br />BUT : white shorts are always, always, ALWAYS an indicator of a trashy girl. The shorter, the trashier. That being said, I have no problem with trash.<br /><br />I love my jorts and I wear them with pride. Live free or die! No greater expression of American Freedom than DIY jorts (...right?)<br /><br />I was talking with Tim on the phone today about how I can't pack all my clothes yet since we aren't making the move until Saturday and he reminded me all I needed was a pair of jorts and a few tank tops / t shirts. Occam's Razor. Forget about dresses and skirts and what not. All you need are the basics: jorts and tops. One pair of jorts + 5 tops = Michelle is set until Saturday. Tim is the smartest.<br /><br />Anyways. Jorts. Try them! You'll like them!<br /><br />PS: I am not vouching for cargo jorts. Cargo jorts are the third trimester abortion of the jorts debate. I'm no radical!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2