the happy list.

Have you ever put so much effort into something good in your life that you unwittingly turn it into a NOT good thing? So much effort that you grow lazy when it comes to all other good things in your life? Without going into TOO much detail, this is how I'm feeling as of late...like I have somehow developed a crushing and stressful case of tunnel vision, spending months and months pouring all of my focus and energy and attention into one of the good things in my life, only to be shaken into reality and discover that the good thing has soured into something marked by pressure and obligation and stress and that all of the other good things just OUT of my narrow field of vision have grown dusty, rusty and forgotten.

I find it almost hard to remember the "other" good things...even though for the vast majority of my life they've been all I had...but a few obvious things stick out. My family and my friends. Extensive writing and reading. Extensive traveling. Music. New experiences in general.

Here's what my relatively recent life has been like for the most part: Get up, go to work. Come home. Put on lounge clothes. Fix something to eat. Settle onto the couch. Watch TV, surf internet. Have perfunctory phone conversation with some combination of family members/boyfriend. Go to bed. Repeat.

I can't do it anymore. To borrow a line from the Vampire Weekend song referenced in my last post, my soul has grown old and rusty, and before I just accept that this is who I am now, I have to do something (or several things) to remind myself of who I REALLY am.

And so I'm making a list of things that will provide me with happiness. Just the act of making a list gives me a bit of happiness, so it feels like a small start in and of itself. I don't necessarily intend to share EVERYTHING that is on the list or that goes on later, but here are a few initial entries:

1. Clean out my closets and filter out the things that I don't like, that don't fit, that are stretched out/stained/frayed/worn out, or that just frustrate me for reasons I can't even explain.

2. Take small weekend road trips much more frequently to see my dear friends in Memphis, Jackson, Tuscaloosa, Birmingham, New Orleans, and Nashville.

3. Get a serious haircut, just for a good shake-up.

4. Cliched, but make walking/running outside part of my routine as soon as the weather is remotely warm enough to do so (which should be happening very soon I hope!)

5. Start that budget I mentioned months ago in earnest...

6. ...mainly in order to start saving enough money for plane tickets to visit friends in LA, NYC, North Carolina, Dallas, Denver, etc.

7. Give up at least half of the TV shows I follow. In other words, turn off the damned TV and listen to music, clean, read a book, go out to eat, go or a drink, etc.

8. A little more detail on the previous entry I guess...but get out of the house at least one weeknight each week.

9. Give my Charlie dog a little more attention...more playtime, more car rides, more baths.

10. Do all of the girly grooming things I've mostly abandoned...manicures and pedicures, new perfumes, experiment with makeup, and so on.

I'm open to further suggestions or advice, gang.

what do jake gyllenhaal, a jonas brother, and lil john all have in common?

...they're all in Vampire Weekend's music video for a single from their new album, Contra. Hmm. Random?

The song is Giving Up The Gun, and I like it. But I haven't met a Vampire Weekend song that I don't like. They're all just so soaring and bouncy and comforting. Anyway, you can find the video here....

poem for the day (as stolen from a friend, who stole it from The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor)

Cleaning up after the Dog

by Jason Tandon

Pull plastic bag from pocket
and wave it like a flag

or diploma. Make sure many people
congratulate your care
for the community.

Check bag for holes.
Double check.

Inspect stool for odd hues.
Greens, blues, blood.

Evaluate consistency.

You don't want to leave smears
on the sidewalk or grass—no prints.

Getaway must be clean.

Prepare to go in for all of it.
Hold breath.
Grab, clamp, reverse bag, twist, knot, cinch.

Smell hands.

Hold loaded bag high in the air,
assure onlookers that Everything is Okay.

If a cop should cruise by,
his crew cut bristling
in the sun,

hold that bag higher,
so he, too, can salute
your contribution.

The bomb diffused,
the world a little safer, a little cleaner,

will not offend the deep treads
of someone's shoes.

In response to this poem I'll just say...thank you, Katie O., for a reminder that I should be grateful to A) not live in the city with a dog; and B) own a dog who prefers to back up into any handy bush or clump of underbrush and use it as his personal toilet rather than go right out in the open.

Check out The Writer's Almanac site for more interesting tidbits...

why I hate living alone.

When my little sister graduated and moved out, leaving me living alone for the first time, it felt like the most blissful thing imaginable. I could prostrate myself on the couch with dirty hair and no makeup without fear of my roomie having company over. For the most part I could go to sleep in my preferred state of blissful silence. Ceiling fans were permanently turned off, which meant that I was never chilly and never had dry contact lenses.

I've often wondered since then if I would ever be able to share a home with another person without major issue. It's been quite a while, and I am awfully used to having it my way. Are these throw pillows a little too girly? Eh, who cares. Should I paint the inside of this cabinet bright turquoise? Why not. Stash all of my pretty/fancy kitchen things in separate cabinets from my old/ugly things, even though it's completely impractical? What the heck, it's my kitchen anyway.

Those are the pros of living alone. Putting things wherever you wish. Leaving your home clean or dirty, depending on your mood. Temperature set just the way you like it, colors just as you selected them. But there are also, unfortunately, some major cons. I'd be lying if I said I'd never experienced that cliched moment of seeing a news story about some poor person choking to death in their lonely apartment and thinking "Oh crap....that could happen to me..." Every now and then I'd give my right arm to have someone else around the house to let Charlie out at lunch when I'm too busy. And finally, there is the ultimate con....there's no one else around to help you catch a mouse.

Yes. A mouse. In my bathroom. I'd like to think that I've actually made it pretty far in life before having to endure a face-off with a wild warm blooded creature in my space, and to tell the truth, this creature was pretty adorable... but that certainly didn't provide me with any assurance in the moment. In the moment I shrieked and cursed and jumped back as if I'd happened upon a viper. I had enough presence of mind to quickly block the mouse into a corner with items from the room, and then to curse my property manager and maintenance man for not sealing the gap underneath the bathroom vanity that just happens to back up to a crawlspace. And then, when the mouse apparently decided he'd rather live in the new habitat I'd created for him than crawl back from whence he came, I freaked out a little bit again. A cute mouse in a pet store is one thing. A cute mouse who may just happen to run across my toes while I'm brushing my teeth is quite another.

I picked up the phone and realized that I was going to have to choose one of two cliches....either call my boyfriend and interrupt his card game with a ridiculously girly problem...or call my daddy and provide him with further proof that his 30 year old daughter still can't take care of herself. Having pestered Ben enough for one week (and having at least a little respect for the sanctity of guys' card night), I went with Option B. My dad only jokingly asked if perhaps it was someone's pet and then told me it wouldn't bite and to grab a shoebox. Great.

In the end I armed myself with a tupperware bowl and an issue of Marie Claire, took a deep breath, and then removed a section of the barricade and nudged the mouse through it with a plunger. One loud curse, a clap of tupperware against the floor, several scampering steps outside, and one mouse flying off into the thick pile of leafy underbrush across from my apartment later, the rodent problem was solved. Well, after all of that and a few minutes spent stuffing the open space with old washcloths.

You'd think that in the end I'd feel confident, proud, content. As if I'd single-handedly managed to cross one big Con out on my Living Alone list. I didn't feel that great, though. Not at all. A little proud of myself, sure, but when I texted Ben about what I'd done and remarked that I'd be glad when he was around to catch the mice, he texted back that better yet, he'd make sure all the walls and spaces were sealed so that I'd never have to find them. And that just made me even more sick of living alone than I was to begin with.

NOLA vacay.

As previously mentioned, Ben and I took a little post Christmas trip to New Orleans over the holidays. I know a lot of my readers (as in, 6 out of all 8 of you, hah) have been to NOLA or spent extensive time there. I've been a few times myself....as a little kid, as a high school student mortified to be with my parents, as a wild sorority girl on a wedding weekend trip, and most recently as a single working girl thrilled to be out on the town during Mardi Gras. My trip with my guy was definitely a laid back couple getaway. These have all been great trips, but they've also all been very different trips, almost like they each took place in different cities.

That's one of my favorite things about New Orleans...it somehow manages to feel new and familiar at the same time. On this particular trip, I got the new experience of sharing New Orleans (or part of it, at least) with Ben for the first time. Not to brag or anything...but I think I did a pretty decent job.

After checking in at the Hotel Saint Marie on Toulouse, we wandered over to Pat O'Briens for a hurricane in the courtyard...a must for a NOLA trip. Then over to Jackson Square to take in the sights, including some pretty hilarious dancing street performers at the amphitheater on Decatur Street. After climbing up to check out the river we walked across the Quarter over to the Royal Street Oyster House for dinner...really a split second choice since we didn't have a plan, but we had a GREAT experience there. Then back to the room to bundle up against the cold before heading back over to Cafe du Monde for some dessert beignets and coffee and chicory (of course). A nice evening walk around the quieter parts of the Quarter was followed by drinks back at the piano bar at Pat O'Briens. Definitely seems like a pretty generic touristy NOLA day, but between watching Ben's reaction to everything and getting to indulge in a few things I haven't enjoyed in awhile it was a pretty perfect day.

Day two started with a quick walk-through at the French Market. When I was younger I always wanted to speed past the produce and foodstuffs in order to dig through cheap sunglasses, scarves, jewelry, mardi gras masks, etc. As an adult the trip is precisely the opposite. Afterwards we popped into a hole in the wall bar called Turtle Bay on Decatur to partake of a great deal on beers, and then discovered that the bar menu sounded too good to pass up. Thus lunch became loaded nacho french fries (amazing) and sweet potato fries with maple syrup and powdered sugar for dessert (also amazing). A little more wandering and a quick rest break later, we were headed over to get in line for Acme. The chargrilled oysters made the meal for me, but I have to say...I am only a fan of community style seating when it's in a spacious and relaxed atmosphere. Being tightly packed into the middle of an 8 top table and having to yell across at each other was a little stressful, to say the least. We bar hopped in and out of a pretty relaxed spot that I unfortunately can't name before landing BACK on the same section of Decatur Street at a bar called Pravda. Definite old school Russian theme, but somehow done in a phenomenally effective and comfortable way. I'd dashed into this bar on a previous trip while watching the Krewe de Vieux parade and even then had made a mental note to come back. Ben and I settled in and stayed awhile. I LOVE the red shaded table lamps...it makes things so cozy.

For our last full day we made a strategic decision...hit up a few spots suggested by folks, but only long enough for a snack and a drink at each spot (to avoid post-lunch sluggishness). We stopped into a pretty touristy restaurant on Bourbon called LaBayou. I was quite hesitant, given the wealth of negative reviews I'd found on my Yelp application, but between a good solid Bloody Mary, pretty darned tasty boudin balls, a not-too-crowded or noisy space, and a really awesome waiter...my experience was nothing but pleasant. Our next stop (after an indulgent stop in at Urban Outfitters, so sue me) was the Crescent City Brewhouse, which was very...average. I might have had a different reaction had we been able to sit on the balcony, but in spite of a few tables eating out there during obvious lunch hours, the hostess bluntly informed us it was closed and started walking toward an inside table without giving us the option of a further request. The inside decor kind of seemed like we could have been in any American restaurant in any city, and while the house crafted beer was good, I don't know if it was worth a stop in on limited vacation time. As we neared Bourbon again Ben finally gave in to the desire to try a hand grenade (seems like you can't make a block without seeing that tell tale tall neon green cup). It occurred to me that I'd never had one myself, so we ducked in to the correct spot (too much neon, too much tropical print, too much loud music, too much everything) and grabbed a couple to go. Were we younger the drinks might have been the kickoff to a wild night...but for us the only real result was the need for some rest time before heading over to the Marigny for dinner.

We didn't have a set plan on where to dine in the neighborhood, but since Lisa had previously suggested we visit Snug Harbor for the music, I decided to check out their food on Yelp. I discovered that people LOVE it...and a couple hours later, Ben and I were in love as well. A wonderfully cozy spot that doesn't take itself too seriously, with great patrons, great staff, and a dish called Fish Marigny that was possibly my favorite of the trip. Ben was pretty thrilled with his fried oyster sandwich (more like a platter that happened to have a bun and dressings) and loaded backed potato (larger and with better toppers, like sauteed mushrooms) as well. Full and content, we moseyed down a few doors to d.b.a., a bar that was recommended seemingly by everyone I know in Oxford, and had the best bar experience I've had in awhile. Our petite bartender was wonderful, paying attention to our preferences and making suggestions for future rounds. A group sitting in one of the window areas had a couple of great doggies on leashes. The man in his fifties sitting a couple seats down was easygoing and friendly. The New Orleans Cottonmouth Kings played perfect happy Dixieland jazz. Hah, and my white russian concocted with vanilla vodka and Mint Chocolate Baileys? One hell of a dessert.

Before leaving town on our last day we popped into Coop's Place, THE spot for jambalaya according to a few locals. The food was great, the bar cat residing in the window just beside our table (and occasionally hopping over my lap and bounding off the corner of the table to reach her windowsill) was hilarious, and the bloody marys were the best of the trip. Our last stop was at Envie, a coffee shop a couple of blocks down with the best cast of NOLA characters you can imagine, a wonderfully clean but character packed interior, and fabulous coffee. These two places were ALSO on Decatur, in the same area as the previous bars. I think that this stretch of street will become a pretty standard stop for us in the future.

Hope y'all enjoyed a few of the nine billion pictures Ben took during the trip...

bad blogger. bad.

Yes, it's been awhile. A long while I suppose. I would say that I've been waiting for inspiration, but recently my significant other referred me to a podcast aimed at debunking the idea that "waiting for inspiration" really works. The basic point was that if you're trying to produce something creative, just sit down and do it, whether you feel like it or not.

So, since I'm a writer, I suppose that means I should write. But while I do believe that the above point is correct, I also figure that easing into it isn't a terrible idea either. So I'll call this enough writing for now and share some of my favorite photos instead...taken by said significant other, who is obviously better at just doing it in his particular medium. The above picture, by the way, was taken a few months ago inside what used to be The Gin in Oxford, Mississippi. Very, very creepy, if you're one of the folks who used to practically call this place home on Monday nights. Aaaahh, penny pitchers.

The second photo features Mamasita, a local Oxford cat who calls Off Square Books home. Sometimes you'll find her demurely curled up on a chair or posing in the window, but more often than not she sets up camp right on top of a stack of books. So far I've been lucky, but I've always wondered if anyone has ever scurried into the shop on a deadline, seeking out a particular book, only to find Mamasita sleeping peacefully atop every last copy. What would one do in this situation?

I just love the photograph of O'Neal Bridge. It may not be so interesting to everyone else, but to me it's just wonderfully warm and rosy and familiar. It also makes me long for a nice warm day on the lake in the Shoals.

The last one is me, as you might have guessed. It seems kind of narcissistic to post a picture of myself when I'm sort of bragging on my fella's photographs, but as he'll readily tell you, I very rarely approve of any photograph of myself. So the fact that I enjoy this one makes me feel like it surely has some artistic merit. Obviously I'm a little biased, but I find it hard to believe he's only been shooting for about a year. It's pretty nice to have a personal photographer around to document life, especially when life contains so many great things. Like a post Christmas trip to New Orleans, which I'll post on soon (complete with more pictures from my guy...and maybe a little more writing from me). I'm appreciating the little things in life much more these days for all sorts of reasons, so I'm going to try to check in more often to relate the good stuff.

dirty thirty.

It's funny how the sum of all of the little details of your life affect your outlook on the big traditional landmarks. Last Saturday was my 30th birthday. It passed with a surprisingly small amount of fanfare, and with none of the angst and depression expected. Not a lick. A few days beforehand, a close friend emailed to inquire about my mental state. She noted that "I always make the best of everything." This is interesting, because I've never really seen myself as an upbeat or overly positive person. In my own head I am too often a depressingly realistic, angsty, glass-half-empty sort of girl. Yet for some reason not too many people believe me. On a plane several years ago (back when I was still CERTAIN that writing would be a significant part of any future career), the nice gentleman sitting beside me pronounced, after a couple hours of chatting, that I was "not screwed up enough to be a writer."

I wonder why I was offended by that assertion, and why for some reason my friend's statement didn't land in the synaptic web of my brain as the generous compliment she had intended. Maybe some part of me fears that with contentedness and stability comes a loss of creativity, excitement, drama, etc. I like to think that I come across as a more positive person than I really am when I communicate with my friends, that it's my way of shielding myself from judgment. After all, if I'm bouncy and upbeat about my job, my future, my finances, my appearance...it doesn't really leave many windows of opportunity for criticism, to my face or otherwise. "Well, yeah, she's making a lot less money than if she'd bucked up and gone into practice, but she's so happy that it's obviously worth it."

So what does ANY of that have to do with my 30th birthday? I figured that out when I sat down to reply to my friend's email. I wrote...well, I wrote the following, which I will post in it's entirety, since said friend said afterward that I should do so:

It's weird, because I've been dreading turning 30...pretty much ever since we graduated from college, when I still believed that there was some social "rule" of sorts which dictated that by 30 I needed to own my own home, be either in my dream job or getting close to it, have a great marriage with an impossibly perfect guy, and maybe even have a kid or two. I'm pretty much over THAT, but I gotta say, if I were where I was two years ago, I'd be depressed as hell. So I guess now it feels like...well, I haven't knocked it out of the park when it comes to the things I wanted to have or have done by 30, but I've also come a hell of a long way in just two short years. I'll be turning 30 in a career field that I've discovered I LOVE, even if it is on the beginning end. I won't be living in my own home surrounded by nice things, but at least I'm living a completely self-sufficient life with a hell of a lot less (quickly dwindling) debt than most people in my position, and amazing job benefits to boot. I'm not married with kids, but after what feels like a lifetime of trying out males who were never going to truly respect me or provide what I needed, I've formed a stable, long-term and possibly lifelong relationship with someone who is real and fallible, but who makes me laugh, and thinks I'm worth fighting for, and makes me feel genuinely happy and safe. And of course, to top it all off, I have seriously amazing friendships that have been strong enough to endure distance and adulthood and time. It could be a lot worse, right?

So I performed what was essentially the keyboard equivalent of "scribbling" all of that down. And hit send. And walked away. And then I remembered that one little bit from the Royal Tenenbaums, where Royal says something uncharacteristically heartfelt and then the narrator intones: "Immediately after saying it, Royal realized that it was true."

And if it's true, then...well, crap. Maybe I AM a positive upbeat person after all.