Fresh backpacks, new fall clothes, squeaky clean sneakers…the new school year is upon us and I am inspired. While I’ve taken Bruno Mars’ “Lazy Song” to new heights with my shuffling back into bed post-bus stop dropoff, even I realize that I don’t want to hit October 1 and look back on the previous month as Sleptember. It’s time to get the lead out of my ass and get started on a new project. And a writing one at that… Continue reading
Month: August 2011
Seven Sentences for Sunday: The “I Have to Pee” Edition
- This is gonna be like mad minute math–quick and to the point because I have to pee–and yes, I realize I can leave at any time and return–I like challenges, even if it means a little dribble.
- You know when you put a cup of orange juice in the freezer and leave it until it gets not-quite-frozen, just slushy, orange-juicy goodness? That’s a cup of happiness right there.
- After getting that sinking feeling from seeing Jolie’s hand-carved name on my solid wood bedroom door, I would like to humbly, and sincerely this time, apologize to my parents for getting ink from my Hello Kitty stamp pad on their new carpet when I was 8. I get it.
- I think I might like to take Prof. Snape’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class…I bet I could get some mad parenting tips while picking up some demon-fighting skills!
- Do you think Alanis Morissette really did go down on Ryan Reynolds in a theater, or was she just taking artistic liberties?
- In a sorta sneak peak at my September writing challenge, I’m touting my clever captioning skills with Wednesday’s Artist a Day painting: I call it “A Pirate Looks at Forty Winks.”
- I like turtles.
I love you all, some more than others.
Naked No Longer
Not quite as decked out as the old lady who has gone to her grave, but still sporting some independent rock band love. Now, if only I could get some PA speakers and a big ole Red Wanting Blue flag like they suggested…then I might qualify as a real Band-Aid. 🙂
Seven Sentences for Sunday: The “Crap It’s Tuesday” Edition
- I want an OPI nail polish named after me: Destiny Digs Rockstars, and it will be iridescent purple.
- Roadtrips always make me question my parenting style…at least this time I didn’t throw a disputed toy out the window.
- My baby sister is 30, a fact that doesn’t freak me out nearly as much as my impending 34th.
- Said baby sister is the best party planner ever and she is officially in charge of planning my funeral when the time comes…it’ll be rockin’!
- It looks like we’ll be moving again…same town, cheaper rent, yet another address to add to our files.
- I’m considering an art-inspired writing challenge for September–perfectly timed for our move–nothing like a little pressure.
- I’m entering a Destiny First phase and it’s both refreshing in that my unfettered passion remains solid beneath my surface and sobering in that it can be so easily misplaced. More lessons from my thirties in my back pocket.
Seven Sentences for Sunday–The Do I Really Want to Start This Again Edition
- Vanilla Almond pancakes with Nutella spread on them are served at the head table in heaven’s dining hall–I am certain of it.
- A week of solitude followed by back-to-back events with grownup conversation can make you realize how easy it is to become a dullard if you’re not careful.
- I miss my metaphors–the really good ones that everyone loves–so if you find them, please send them back.
- After a craptastic summer, I’m doing alright–thanks for asking. 🙂
- Paisley walked by me today and brushed her arm along my shoulder. When I leaned in for a kiss, she whispered softly, “I farted” before meandering past.
- If you haven’t found “Spotify” online, find it.
- I went to church today…don’t shit yourself.
By the Light of Saturday’s Sun
“The angels visited me again last night,” I say, barely lifting my head from my arm. “They called me seraphim and played with my hair.”
“Mmm,” he says, kissing my bare shoulder. We’ve slept in, and he’s found a place tucked behind me as I lie on my side facing the early afternoon light. My squinting eyes filter the rays into starbursts of light through my eyelashes, a daytime fireworks show displayed just for me. He traces his palm along the valley before my hip, and I look over my shoulder, watching him watch me. Continue reading