Someday I shall post again
Someday I shall post again. Monday? Maybe Sunday. If only I could find a muse I would write all my feeling and views. This is all I can do for now, but until someday this is it.
I don’t remember the last time I flew. I do know a full body scan was not evolved.
lady crush
(via curveappeal)
Presh
Tonight I went to the Folk Festival. It was fun…and by fun I mean buzzed. Aside from my stupor I encountered a touching moment. While listening/swaying/watching a reggae band I noticed a very sweet moment between a family of three. Mother (drunk ish ((I’m assuming)) was getting down while father (prob buzzed as well) did his white man jam, WHILE HOLDING A BABY. The sight was perfect in my eyes. I so badly want to be that couple. Exposing my baby to art and music while showing it its okay to let go. Letting all of my cares take back seat to the moment I am enjoying with my family. They were such a sweet site. Dancing together as a family, loving with out judgment, with such pure love. I welled up. Yes I did. Right in middle of a rega show. I cannot wait till that is me.
Source: blogs.babble.com via Laura on Pinterest
I have semi beaten writers block
The most badass thing I’ve done this year is move to Richmond. Not because Richmond is badass, but because I uprooted. I loved the life I left, it was comfortable and all I had known for five years. I didn’t like that at the age of 23 I could visualize a clear picture of the rest of my life in a small southern town. Growing up my dad moved often (around 7 times in 9 years). Military? No. Republican businessman? Oh Hell yes! Seeing so many different places (during summers and every other holiday) structured my belief that staying in one place for long equates to failure. This fear of failure paired with the anxiety of becoming a small town type of bitch inspired me to leave. It’s easy to talk about moving but hard as hell to actually kick it into gear. The stress of completely moving my boyfriend’s life and mine was almost unbearable at times. Looking back I think, “How the fuck did you do that?” I left my job the last week of March, and moved into my house in Richmond June 1st. In two months my life was completely changed. The fear of uncertainty was killer. The worry I felt before bed often kept me up at night. The support of my boyfriend and my family was all I needed to get me through. Maybe not all, wine was also involved. The move itself felt like it would never come, but come it did. Now I live in this new and exciting beautiful city. I love Richmond. I love my mew friends and job. I love that my boyfriend loves his job. I love my house and my yard. I love the city its self. Every day on my commute to work as I pass the city and a feeling of pride washes over me. This is my city because I busted my all to call it that.
I swear I will write something tomorrow, until then watch this.
Fair Food Frenzy Feast….FUCK!
I am not ashamed of many things; however the shame I felt after eating my way through the Virginia State Fair will haunt me for life. As a child my love for carnivals was based strictly on the rides and nick knack garbage my dad would buy me (my parents divorce treated me well). As an adult my loving eyes strayed away from the rickety rides; put together by Billy-Jo and Dwayne Jr, to lit up food carts. Before I continue I want to put 42% of the blame on my boyfriend. He’s food lover and the eating comfort level in our relationship has reached “Bring on the troth”.
I went to the fair with a vendetta against my arteries and sex appeal. I didn’t eat all day in preparation. After entry we immediately did a lap around the food vendors to ensure we’d make the right choice. Everywhere I looked there was meet and teeth less carnies serving it. I was in heaven. One of the advertisement standouts was the “Pork Parfait”. Pork layered with mashed potatoes and god knows what else, proof that rednecks do smoke weed. Unfortunately No one in my party dared to try the meat cup, I guess there’s always next year.
My boyfriend and I started off the night with a Gyro. IT WAS AMAZING, and huge. Which it should be for 8.00! Meat mixture strips, lettuce, tomato and that cucumber sauce shit. It was perfect, but not enough. We paired our meat wraps with French fries. The fries themselves were typical; the man who served them was not. He had long scraggily hair, and missing teeth, all the qualities I typically look for in someone who is touching my food.
After we finished our “dinner” we moved onto desert. This is when the night took a turn for the worse. There are times in life we come to a fork in the road, chose the wrong path and say, “fuck it”. This was one of these moments. My loving boyfriend went to get us a deep-fried Twinkie. “lets split it” I called after him as he disappeared into a sea of “Tapout” tees and cameo hoodies. Minutes later he returned with one Twinkie and a fucking deep fried piece of fucking pecan pie. It was on a stick, a fucking stick.
So what I ate it, all of it. He enjoyed his dainty Twinkie and I demolished my golden brown pie piece. It was amazing. To my left a heard a woman say “Ew look at that” I looked up in horror as I realized she was looking at me. I stared her down until she looked away. “She’s just jealous” I thought as I returned to my pie. I felt instant regret and the on set of diabetes as I threw down my stick in victory.
After the fair feast ended, my endorphin level stabilized and the shame set in. We did a few laps around the rest fair ground. I thought about the amount of food in my stomach and how I must start exercising immediately. How I had just consumed all of my calories for the week in one sitting. How I would never do it again. Then I though, “I want a corn dog”. My loving boyfriend didn’t bat an eye as he paid for my hot dog second desert. He couldn’t judge me to harshly; he bought two bags of cotton candy on the way out.
Five minute craft.
Zombie apocalypse or new and improved life
Watching “The Walking Dead” (amazing) got me thinking what I would do if there was a zombie apocalypse. My immediate answer would be to just end it. I don’t think I could handle the constant fear of being eaten by rabid people. Pulse I don’t enjoy suspense; it gives me anxiety and makes me cuss extra. After thinking it thought I have come to the conclusion that it might not be so bad.
The post apocalypse diet would deprive me of readily available unhealthy food. Leaving me a lean and toned vegan. Being chased by mindless cannibals would ensure I ran at least three times a week. I would come across people I had once known in some abandoned hide out building and they would say “Can you believe this zombie shit. By the way you look good”. My clothing would become dirty, loose and miss matched. I would finally achieve the hipster look I could never afford.
Richmond wouldn’t be such a bad place to live during said end of world. The city is full of prepared people just waiting for the zombie apocalypse to kick off. The surrounding areas consist of rednecks and drug dealers who could protect us with their weaponry. They would come together and form a rag tag zombie killing militia. There would be an influx of hobbling crazy people walking the streets and sleeping on stairs, only now they would be dead. Bills and jobs would become irrelevant; I could finally have every weekend off. Once I got over the initial shock, things wouldn’t be so bad. In fact they might be better.
Source: piccsy.com via Autumn on Pinterest
