Tag Archives: boys

{berets and bongos} 96;

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{buddy brews. tampa, fl. january 2012}

“i woke in a gold dress
you in jeans.

morning filled
wine bottles

in the kitchen
ashine with

fine mica glitter
of fish scales and salt.

it was quiet.

we coiled in scarves
outside –

me sugar, you milk.

you said: that went well,
don’t you think?

sun behind you

i kissed the hole in the light
and said, yes.”

-rebecca lindenberg, “aubade”.

almost too pleasant;

{me with the most perfect pea while dinner-making with bff. it was a good night, the glitter effect suggests}

two jobs that i absolutely adore; i end up exhausted at the end of the day, covered in cupcake frosting and filled with stories about cute things that little kids ask me for.

a boy that takes me late night pool-hopping. and into forbidden libraries. and on carousels. and didn’t even complain those times that i spent an hour describing the plot of “point break” and “harry potter and the deathly hallows” to him. he was living in ignorance, after all.

late night homemade dinners of pad thai and san francisco style ramen noodle bowls with best friend. especially when air bud comes on when we sit down to gorge ourselves on noodles.

getting the financial aid i need for school for fall. which means i get to browse course catalogs at my new school with glee. and get school supplies. and color code everything. and hopefully get some lisa frank folders, just for good measure.

 

i’m almost afraid to jinx all of this pleasantry. it’s almost too pleasant. but i’m going to run around the city of boston with it clutched in my hands. because for now, it’s all mine.

classiness and the fourth of july;

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broston 052

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i had the great pleasure to spend my fourth of july on a frat house roof overlooking the charles river.

i should mention that this frat house was filled with boys from the massachusetts institute of technology, because for some reason the combination of “m.i.t.” + “frat house” cracks me up every time.

i imagine they have drinking games that involve graphing calculators. or play beer pong with graduated cylinders.*

needless to say, it was the greatest. and if the sloppy video of me adjusting my chair while watching fireworks, meowing at the end of it, and yelling the phrases “aw heeeelll yes” and “that was the foreplay[of the fireworks display]?”** doesn’t prove it, then i don’t know what will.

 

*i crack myself up.

**i never said i was classy.

inching slowly;

 

-image via

today is one of those days.

it’s been raining for over forty eight hours.

my shoes and heart feel a bit heavy.

i can’t seem to figure out how to go about making advances with a boy in my acting class. or whether he swings for my team. (and isn’t that one of womankind’s greatest challenges?)

i know that my dog is wondering why i haven’t walked in through the door in over ten days. and that hurts my heart a little bit

and this is the point in all of my crazy adventures that i’d be packing up ready to go home. but this time i’m not. this is a one way trip to something better.

but that being said, i’m all out of sorts.

i love boston. i really do. any city that allows for the wearing of trench coats in late june is a winner in my heart.

but sometimes i wonder where the missed glance and grins toward the direction of cute men on the t will get me anywhere.

sometimes i wonder when it will feel like home.  when i hopefully get a job at a bakery? when i finally get myself a puppy of my dreams? when a lovely boy on the subway might walk my way? when i actually have my own room and bed in which to sprawl out? when the leaves turn crimson and i can walk arm in arm with someone special?

who knows.  that’s all a part of the adventure.

but i do know that i’m inching towards home slowly but surely in my trench coat.

hello again, future man friend;

-via

the other day i was pondering to myself about a subject i find most disturbing.

yes. ideal attributes in a man friend.

yes. i know it sounds innocent enough. it’s not like i was talking about world domination, and the like.

but i shuddered to think i would sound like one of those women. you know the types. who so casually list their ideal attributes wanted in a mate, like the world’s longest grocery list.

and they basically end up listing these perfect frankensteinian prototypes. without a flaw or quirk in sight. or jesus.

and i thought to myself. but man, wouldn’t it be great to find a boy who conveniently has aaron sorkin’s brain, andrew bird’s diction, and jake gyllenhaal’s beefy forearms?

but i had to catch myself before i even let myself dwell on daydreams about jake gyllenhaal’s dreamy disney prince physique.

because i’m more interested in being surprised. because i don’t exactly need constant witty banter capable of being captured on “the west wing”. and i don’t exactly need a boy whose words could earn a million points in scrabble (although “oxen” is a great triple word score).  and i especially don’t need a disney prince. hard abdominal muscles aren’t the ideal pillow for my head, anyways.

so i’m shredding that grocery list before it’s even started. and excited about the surprise.

sincerely,

lady friend of your (hopefully not too carefully detailed) dreams.

{berets and bongos} 11;

                                      -via

"love? be it man. be it woman.
it must be a wave you want to glide in on,
give your body to it, give your laugh to it,
give,
when the gravelly sand takes you,
your tears to the land. to love another is something
like prayer and can’t be planned, you just fall
into its arms
because your belief undoes your disbelief."

                                          -anne sexton

oh, and future gentleman caller;

dear future gentleman caller,

i just wanted to let you know, that i am a packaged set. i come for free with all of the following:

- sleep talking in foreign languages, or so i’ve heard. talk back.

-sleep walking, as i have also heard. (beware, i’ve been known to steal remote controls when i sleep over at friends’ houses during these sleep walking episodes.)

-only getting cranky when i am very, very hungry.

-inability to make plans unless they are less than three hours ahead of time. plans scare me.

- finding a clever way to wear tights at any possible opportunity. i’m sorry when it gets too hot outside for them and you realize i wore them so much because i was procrastinating on shaving my legs.

-magical plate-clearing abilities.

-professional autumn leaf pile jumper-inner. amateur puddle jumper-inner. expert jeopardy! player. novice dish-washer. advanced interesting-factoid spitter-outter. beginner nail painter (it shows.)

-singing katy perry songs loudly when i bake. when i craft. when i have private dance parties in my room. when i shower. when i make my bed. and in my head when i take hard tests, for motivational purposes.

-killing basil plants. burning candles for hours on end. collecting garden gnomes.

-buying you harry potter-related t-shirts. because that would just be dreamy.

-wearing noisy shoes that will click-clack all over our wooden floors. because they make me feel like a lady.

 

and you can get all this for 50+ easy yearly payments of….your undying affection.

would that be okay?

 

sincerely,

me.

 

 

 

just because it’s christmas, future gentleman caller;

blueridge                                                       blue ridge mountains circa summer 2009

*this post was brought to you by the fact that i listened to too much mumford and sons this morning and thus got extremely sentimental.

dear future gentleman caller,

i know you’re out there. i know you’re not just a kennel full of cats, like some of my friends joke about. i know it i know it i know it.

i know you’re out there, celebrating christmas with your family. giving noogies to your younger brother and last minute christmas shopping. sloppily gift-wrapping, and slapping on a shiny bow just  for good measure.

not to insult you, but despite all of this knowledge of mine, i’m not looking for you. i don’t search for your face in crowds, in facebook pictures of my friends.

really and truly. because i know you’re there, and each day the universe and the cosmos and that big man upstairs brings us at least a few inches closer. or possibly you’re right under my nose and i’ve just not noticed it yet (in which case touche, god).

and that’s enough for me. the knowledge that you are out there is enough to make my eager eyes simmer down a bit. that and the daydreams of things and events i cannot wait to experience. hopefully this doesn’t creep you out. but then again, if you find me endearing in any shape or form, you will have had to have found my awkward creepiness endearingly precious….hopefully:

i can’t wait to be your biggest fan. cheering you on at church softball games, when you slide into first base like the meek, oh-so humble show-off i expect you to be at times (or endearingly douche-baggy) . and the same from you. as i stand on any stage, whatever performance art i choose to pursue (or all of them, i do have that goal of being a ‘jill-of-all-trades’ after all). and if i do choose all of them, i do solemnly apologize for the lack of space in your schedule, and the loss of your voice from cheering me on.

i can’t wait for you to be interrogated by my brother. i’m sorry. this is just the secret sadist in me. and i just know this will be an incredible sight to behold. and i’m not going to lie, he might corner you in a dark room, with only a flashlight in his had and ask you what your whereabouts were on november 24th, 2007 at 8 pm.

i can’t wait for us to go to the mountains, the blue ridge mountains preferably. throwing snow in your face and running away coyly. but then waking up the next morning for snow in my boots. thanks a lot, douchebag.

oh man, and france. and montreal. and san francisco. remind me that we need to go to normandy and see mont st. michel. this is very important to the future of our relationship, i can assure you.

and though it sucks to be single during the holiday seasons for most people, i find it freeing. because i’m not with someone for the sake of having someone to drink silk soy milk  nog with. or shop for presents with. or have someone to sit with me at christmas eve mass at midnight. all of those things would be nice, but not important.

and besides, you’re too busy giving noogies to your younger siblings. and i’m too busy watching “bedknobs and broomsticks” with my mother on christmas night under my hot pink snuggie blanket with sleeves.

and i know that on that christmas, we will have a fight about what is the best christmas song ever made (it’s ‘hard candy christmas’ by dolly parton, by the way. ‘last christmas’ by wham is a close second, but nothing comes close to d-parts). and when we do have that christmas in the mountains, please don’t put too much snow in my boots.

because i will, i repeat, I WILL, make sure an epic snowball will find its way square between your eyes. point blank. i take no prisoners, buddy-boy.

and that’s my way of saying merry christmas to you. enjoy your day, boy. and i will mine. as i know that it has me inching my way closer to your noogie-giving self.

and that’s enough for me.

 

sincerely,

me.

currently listening to ‘the cave’// mumford and sons

to my future gentleman-caller;

                                                                                                                  -via

Okay, so here’s a little confession:

I keep a journal where I write incredibly dorky, sometimes humorous, most of the time nerdy, love letters to my future husband gentleman-caller for life (the word “husband” weirds me out. it’s like “cankles” to me).

Which, in the context of all the other journals I’ve ever filled, should not sound as weird. Whenever I write in my paper journals, I almost always address them to someone, either animate or inanimate. My favorites are the funny ones addressed to my future mother-in-law and children. 

Which, I’m now realizing might make me sound much more delusional than ever before, which was the opposite of what I was trying to do…

But without further ado, here is a snippet of one of my letters. I hope to do a series of these, but then again I’m not sure of how much shame I will have left after this one gets published.

dear future gentleman-caller,

when I think of you, i’m filled with images of trendy townhomes in various metropolises. labrador puppies tripping over their paws ,  affectionately scratching its vintage wooden floors.  we will laughingly, and slowly but surely realize we will never get our security deposit back to said townhomes.

and that’s okay. ‘cause we will cause a raucous wherever we go. and we will be used to the fact that no one will ever give us our security deposits back on the various places we will inhabit. and we will be flattered by that fact. we were just too much fun.

we will sing and dance like fred and ginger to the high heavens as we make endearingly-burnt-to-a-crisp pancakes on sundays at 11:37 am. annoying all the neighbors with our games of tag up the stairs, stomping our shoes up and down each flight.

the soggy uneaten pancakes left on the end-tables will bother me at first, but when i realize you allow me to debate about the harry potter books (and win), i will forget that they ever existed. when you get quiet and won’t want to be my arm-candy to parties on fridays with our friends, but will prefer playing black-ops, i won’t get mad; ‘cause i’ll remember that you watched ‘amelie’ with me, and didn’t mind that i mouthed all the words in english and broken french. for two hours straight. and demanded you kissed me on the eye-lids like nico does in that movie. i’ll stay home with you and play black-ops too. because living up to the movie ‘amelie’ is really damn hard.

you’ll go on lots of adventures prior to when you meet me. i’ll try not to get jealous that i didn’t get to go on them, of course. as it means i still have a guaranteed hour of you telling me stories about that time you got mugged by a czech gypsy in a cab in prague . your face lighting up when you get to the punch line of the story, so proud that you could make me laugh as you think it an honor. but i will go on lots of adventures too, so please be patient with the fact that when i start a story about them, i usually never finish it. i just remember eight other stories and start those. bear with me, i’m probably just excited to talk to you. take it as a compliment that i can’t finish my thoughts when i get the chance to tell you a story.

we don’t need to watch ‘the notebook’. in fact, i’d very much prefer we don’t. that movie makes me sleepy. and it makes me angry that it has messed up so many thirteen year old girls in the head about love. let’s watch ‘when harry met sally’, instead okay? please? i’ll make you cookies?

but really, please don’t make me watch ‘the notebook’. that’s just unforgiveable and worse than soggy pancakes left out on the end table.

sincerely,

me.

p.s. make sure you have sweatshirts that you don’t mind never wearing again. as i will be stealing them. sorry, it’s just a girlfriend rite-of-passage, and i’ve been wanting to steal my future gentleman-caller’s sweatshirts for years. i like the really old and faded ones, by the way.

 

 

 

xo, m.

 

currently listening to ‘airplanes’//local natives