An update, now with 67% of your daily requirement of statham

SUP CHICAS. Here's the run-down on the life of ye olde mouse.

I have a job. It rocks. I love it. It is kind of stressful but damn do I love it. Volunteered my time (or my time was volunteered is more accurate because when your boss says 'hey there's a race coming up, you should tend the booth and bring the massage table, "no thx" is not an appropriate answer) at a 5k run for the local theatre. That was cool. I felt that I really made a difference, even if it was only for twenty or so folks.

Things are still going well with Mike, too. He has rekindled my desire to create! I have been writing little snippets of stories every day, even when I'm tired or listless. I've come to realize that I won't have time to do the things I want, so I have to make time which is less about time travel and alchemy, and more about gritty determination to get something done. Like a classic American cowboy or Jason Statham in CRANK 2. Because life will try to poison you, cut out your heart and replace it with an artificial one, and you will total some cars, and people that you thought were your friends might betray you, and people that are your friends will stick by you in bloody shootouts, BUT BY GOD, when your precious time is limited, all it takes is a mess of determination to get what needs to be done, done.

And if life lights you on fire? PUNCH IT TO DEATH.

Tl;dr I am happy with my job, I am writing and drawing again, and I am setting aside to SEE YOU FOLKS AGAIN. So beware, the mouse runneth over.

Welp it's 2a.m. and I've stayed up writing this so I guess I'll post it even though it's ridiculously overdramatic why do you guys put up with me the music's in the links

I have not been doing too much. July was a weird blur with some lovely colorful bits of wonder mixed in. Like a Passion Pit song. I avoided some responsibilities. I made a habit of sleeping too late. I worried over the question of what I’m going to do with my life (no really oh my God what am I going to do with my life). But I also wandered about a twinkling fair ground and ate delicious food with some of you lovely people. I traipsed about the city with some more of you – someone tell the story of the parking victory! Maybe I will next! – and we danced together in the street with strangers. Here, have some Foxy.  

And suddenly it is August? And suddenly it is 67 years since Nagasaki was nuked? So I am Even More of An Adult now?

Or something? Birthdays, man. I never know what to do with them when they are mine. But I came home, poked at another email, checked the blog and realized that I haven’t written in a while and I don’t know what else to write about so here, hear about my day?

It was a quiet birthday, but a good one. I got some Official Stuff done (writing thank you letters for scholarships, emailing about visas, stuff like that), plus a bit of cleaning, and ironing which I actually find quite calming. Ironing, I mean. Cleaning only sometimes. And I listened to a couple chapters of The House of Mirth which is so fucking Edwardian and shit. Like damn it's so Edwardian you feel like you're drowning in Gibson Girls and dapper gentlemen. 

Thursday birthdays are weird, especially when there are Things That Must Get Done to do, but even though it was a normal-ish day, it felt special anyhow. Like, in addition to the usual electronic b-day wishes (I love you all by the way), I got a card from my next-door neighbor who is an old, tiny, Austrian lady. It contained exactly 21 dollars and was signed “love Ann and Oliver.” Oliver is her surprisingly talkative, very friendly orange tabby cat. She was not a cat-person a year ago when she got him and now he co-signs her b-day wishes and is her constant companion. We go over to visit her and she brings us up to date about his kitty life, as if he is her third, furry child. Ugh. How is life that gorgeous?

And the sky was so lovely today. Like the ocean had dissolved into a mass that hugged this little bit of world for the day; it was faintly rainy and gently cloudy, cool and clean but not exactly crisp. It smelled beautiful and felt like a waking dream.

It was one of those strange days where life seems balanced and you smile because you’re happy for reasons that exist, but whose exact specificities elude you. Where you feel effortlessly at home in your own skin without realizing it until you suddenly don’t feel that way anymore. Where there are things you should be freaking the fuck out about, but instead life seems do-able.

So I made dinner and polluted half of the block with garlic fumes – and all for nothing because the green beans burnt but oh well the crab cakes were delicious – and then my mom got home from work and we ate the edible food before I was whisked away.

I poured funfetti mix into tiny ice cream cone, slapped some more paint on my little wooden box, and molested Amy’s couch. So there were crafts! And baked goods! There were twins! And adorable movies! Which was excellent! And a tequila shot! Which was not quite as excellent actually my throat hates me now BUT WHATEVER MAN IT WAS FUN. I GOT TO PUT THE SALT IN… what was it again, nature’s snuff box? Hehehehe!

And then, sometime around the Taking Leave of the Werner Residence and the Drive Home the weather and the date on the calendar and the conversation about Second Thanksgiving and New Years and my own overdramatic nature – everything sorta hit me.

I got to wear a sweater today, guys. Sure, yeah, it was paired with jean shorts BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT IT WAS STILL A SWEATER. And I layered that sweater. And my little sister got her class schedule and is starting sophomore year next week. And I keep day-dreaming about hot chocolate. And my tumblr dashboard keeps giving me pictures tagged #autumn, featuring fiery, sunlit trees in all their September glory. And slow songs with acoustic guitars keep caressing my earlobes.

And I keep pressing the replay button.

The way I feel is like when you bite into a blackberry; it’s fucking delicious, but hell if there isn’t a bittersweet aftertaste. So you reach into the plastic carton for another one, but the minute you’ve devoured the thing the deep purple shade of want and regret has stained your tongue.

The way I feel is a half-embarrassed echo of June, a half-whispered wish for December, even though I can’t wait for September to come and close. The way I feel is that day-dream with the hot chocolate, except expanded. Like, not only have we all got a cup, but the picture’s hazy edges are widened to encompass an old Victorian fitted with a wraparound porch. There’s a swing and a white wicker rocking chair. There’s a bowl of plums in the kitchen. I don’t know who owns the old Victorian.  

I know there’s a word for it – or maybe a made-up word for it – the way I feel, but leaving it unnamed does the feeling more justice than if I cracked open a dictionary with the intent of pinning down every syllable. And I feel like I should be able to deal with all of this shit that my weird, overdramatic nature is harping on about, but despite the date on the calendar and the inner calm I felt all day, I do not feel like Even More of An Adult now.

But I guess that is normal or something? Or I will adjust?

In the meantime, please, somebody take me dancing.

ALSO! Rachel, your adventures sound magnificent and I look forward to the stories you will tell me. Because you will tell me. What day are you coming back and when are you leaving again because Things Need to Happen while you are here.

AND! Those who are going back to school etc should post dates of when they are leaving AND returning for fall breaks, weekends, Turkey Feastings, ETC.

I am leaving September 19th and will tearfully Skype you all at Second Thanksgiving. So the etc. up there includes addresses because I want to send you people letters. So enable me? Maybe? 

This has been a ridiculously long-winded, all-over-the-place post. I have to get up tomorrow. We'll see how that goes.

A Strange Morning

You know the sounds that houses make? Apartments make them, too. Things settle. Things creak. The air conditioner kicks on with an almost vehement force if you bother to pay it any attention. What's unique about apartments, though, is that you can sometimes hear what your neighbors are up to. You can sometimes catch the murmuring undertones of a television set. The muted slam of a closing door. The stampede of footsteps climbing up and down the stairs, the jingle of keys in the hallway outside your door. It's comforting, actually, those noises, those presences of other living, breathing people all around you. I suppose it's more comforting if you know your neighbors (I know not a one). But for those like me who never bother getting chummy with the people who live literally on the other side of your hallway or even walls, the comfort comes from the ability to blame certain things on the activities of those other people.

It is therefore intensely uncomfortable when you find that you cannot.


I woke up at one of my usual wake up times (I think it might have been arounddddd 7 am? That sounds about right. The sun was most definitely up). I don't know about the rest of you, but whenever I wake up I have to immediately use the bathroom. Every time. Like an imperfect clock. So I grabbed my phone, shoved my glasses onto my face and wandered into the bathroom.

I knew that my mother was already gone, it being Saturday and all, and she'd mentioned that she'd be heading to work even earlier than 5 am because we had somewhere to be in the early afternoon. So that left me, my step father--who was out cold, sleeping in their room--and the cat.

So I was very, very puzzled when, as I was in the bathroom half-asleep, I heard a distinctly familiar tune. At first this did not bother me. I barely recognized the tune at first, but the more I thought about it, the more familiar it became. I strained to listen--had it just been my imagination?--and it played again. I frowned. I blinked. I knew that song all right--Twisted Nerve. A song used in the Kill Bill series, and more recently known as Tate's theme from American Horror Story.

I thought, well, that's odd. But it didn't trouble me, not then. I was still half-asleep, you see, and I rather liked that song. It didn't even occur to me to find it strange that it did not, in fact, seem like it was coming from any of the neighboring apartment units, not even the people above us (who I tended to hear most often).

The TV, I had assumed. Mine or perhaps my mother's. Or a phone.

Then I wandered back into my bedroom, and what I saw woke me up far more assuredly than the first few bars of Twisted Nerve.

My blinds were open.

They weren't open entirely--maybe about five inches. But still. I had not done it. Had they been like that before I wandered into the bathroom? I honestly couldn't remember, but I feel like I would have noticed, seeing as they are right next to my head when I sleep.

Maybe my mother did it when she came into my room this morning (something she always did before she left to work, whether I remember it or not). I immediately dismissed this as possible. My mother hated it when I left my blinds open like that when I was still sleeping. She certainly wouldn't have done it when she left at 4 am, with the sun not even up.

Still, I called her. Asked if she'd been in my room (she had). She had no idea what I was talking about with the blinds--maybe it was Frankie? she'd asked. He did like playing with the strings. But Frankie had been in the sink when I'd gone to the bathroom, and he'd been in there with me the whole time--and her solution for the music--perhaps it had been John's phone?--did not make any sense. His phone is old. He does not know how to put ringtones on it. And if he did, I seriously doubt he would have used Twisted Nerve.

Maybe it was the people upstairs, she suggested. Maybe it was your TV.

The TV was the likelier cause, and when I turned to consider it, it was indeed still on. But the volume was on low. Even standing two feet away from it I had to strain to hear what it was saying/playing. There was no way I would have been able to hear it all the way in the bathroom so distinctly. My mother's TV? No dice. It wasn't on at all.

But like I said, I was half awake. Maybe the whistling tune wasn't Twisted Nerve at all, but had jostled something in my brain to make me think of the song, and my memories, in cohoots with my half-asleep brain, played it again for me. Maybe I just imagined it.

But that doesn't explain the blinds.

(I know, I know, I posted this song already. Here, have another:)

I'd also like to add that my strange morning probably was a result of my being not-quite-awake. It is entirely possible that I opened the shades my self, and just didn't remember. Either way, I just wanted to write out how it felt cuz why not.

An Invasion of Cats and Other Potentially Exciting Things

Firstly, Frankie:

Cat, what are you doing.

Other Potentially Exciting Thing:

Giulia and I have contemplated different versions of this for like a year and a half now (though originally we wanted to do something more in the vein of 4 Player Podcast), and have finally decided to band together and make a site (via wordpress and tumblr) dedicated to reviewing/discussing/highlighting books, video games, movies, TV shows/miniseries, and whatnot, through written posts, podcasts, and videos. If this sounds like a thing you might be interested in doing, let me know, and I will add you.

Wordpress: http://stirfrynoodles.wordpress.com/

Tumblr: http://stir-frynoodles.tumblr.com/

Nothing is on there yet, though. But soon. Soon.

GANGNAM STYLE

GUYS SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO THIS SONG I AM LEARNING THIS CRAZY HORSE DANCE. SHHHH. SHHHHH. If you can't stand it, you must skip to 1:55 because it kills me every time.

Where is everyone?

Why don't I ever hear from you?

I miss you.

On Doing Nothing

This summer has largely been uneventful and relatively unproductive. Turns out my brain works better when I have something to consistently do every day. Shame the job market sucks (though kudos to you clever folk who managed to beat the system and stay employed this summer!) but school will be resuming soon and hopefully then my mind won't seem so utterly stagnant.

Let's see...

Daytime television is the worst.

Thank god for DVR.

The horror movie franchise is more lacking than ever.

Despite the fact that superhero movies kind of suck (seriously, they're all set-up movies and you can TELL that they are!), I have been enjoying them of late. Saw the Hulk back when it came out because of Reasons (okay, because of Edward Norton) and thought that would be the end of my Marvel-inspired movie watching until Certain People insisted I see Thor, Captain America, and at least the first Iron Man. I have finally done this, and now I can FINALLY see the Avengers. So that's good. Also, Dark Knight Rises was a relatively satisfying end to the trilogy. Not as good as Dark Knight, of course, but still! I thought it was going to be uber shit-tastic, and was pleasantly surprised.

Also I kind of want to write about superheroes now. But where to start! And lord knows I don't need another project on my plate, but when have I ever been reasonable?

Alrighty, hopefully this is a sufficient enough post for Rachel to not feel awkward about posting her Very British Adventures, which is what we all really want to read about, right? :D


Musics:


This is not a new song for any of you (I hope!), but Jen showed me thissss weeks ago, I want to say, and I LOVE IT. Howl's Moving Castle and Florence+The Machine? Yes, please!!