Sometimes it’s 11 p.m. and the boy you’re smitten with emerges from the office, where he’s been studying, and says, “Want to go for a drive?” because he’s got to run some fancy magic juice through his gas tank so he can pass his emissions test in the morning. And that is how you will find yourself going east, east, east, and telling him to drive you past your very first Memphis apartment, which gives…
I remember that peach jogging suit. I was 10 or 11. I was doing the tango with puberty. It was an ugly, lumpy time. I have been up all night scanning old photos with the new fancy scanner that doesn’t even need me to draw boundaries around photos before saving them. IT JUST KNOWSSS!!! Technology is the best. A metric crapload of what I uploaded tonight got transfered to Flickr and Facebook; blame the booze…
While digging through old photos today to scan into the new scanner I recently introduced to my other electronics (they are getting along swimmingly for now), I found a photo of the boys in my fifth-grade class, their names labeled on the back. And I remembered I went to school with an Elvis. Try and figure out which kid is named after the King: Click the picture to be taken to Flickr to see the…
Last weekend I traveled to my hometown to reunite with two of my very oldest friends, Tamara and Crystal. We were thick as thieves in high school (with bouts of adolescent spattiness throughout our friendships, of course), and then went our separate ways after graduation. Tamara and I — with the exception of some months of no communication because we are sometimes stubborn, foolish girls — have mostly kept in constant contact, but I lost…
My grandmother broke her shoulder during a fall a few weeks ago, and now she’s living in Decatur County with my aunt and uncle until she regains control of her arm and can once again perform all those awesome arm functions that differentiate human adults from human babies. Ass wiping, mostly. (Grandmaw, if you ever read this, I hope you will laugh at that joke and not be scandalized. I love you and the internet…
My yard — hell, my entire neighborhood — smells like honeysuckle right now. The entirety of the western fence in my back yard is draped with the stuff. I snuck two licks of nectar the other day and thought about all those times as a kid I’d been out in a pasture somewhere and felt like I’d found some exotic delicacy when I came upon a clump of sweet honeysuckle blooms.
Lately I’ve been listening to a lot of Built to Spill. I’ve loved that band for years but for some reason recently their sound fits neatly into my life in ways it did when I first really got into them. I used to steal all kinds of their lyrics for blog post titles back in 2003 or so. There is something about their music and Doug Martsch’s voice that will always remind me of my…
From ye olde Formspring: I’ve never introduced myself to you, in person at least. I think you are intelligent, attractive, a wonderfully acerbic wit, creative, enviable, enigmatic, intriguing, and constantly searching. What’s an ideal fella to you? Hot dang! I like fellas who heap on the sweet words. That’s pretty much ideal. :) (
One of the fun things about moving is the slow and steady trickle of the former tenant’s mail that you get to receive for a few months (or, if you’re super fortunate, years). When I moved into this house, I suddenly became the recipient of fashion catalogs from stores I literally had never even heard of, all of which were peddling stretchy, layery black things for exorbitant amounts of money. My house’s previous occupant was…
Because I do. Er, did. When we were babies. Before he had a beard. Thanks, Grandmaw, for the awesome pics of Dad you sent me today!
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