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the concert bug;

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{because i am obsessed. and because this video is amazing}

i am a very faithful person. i can listen to the same song for days on end (it’s the only way i can write, to be honest. meaning i have listened to “simple song” over 300 times, yes). i obsessively have to make every concert for every band i’ve relentlessly listened to, even if i haven’t listened to them since i had braces, a live journal account, or wore snarky, cartoon-y wristbands from hot topic.

concerts and music, as i’ve found, are another reason why i’m 99% sure i am not a dirty hipster. phew. rather than feel a false sense of pride over knowing that band eons before you did, i’m SUPER pumped you listen to them too, so that way we can dance in annoyingly wide circles in a crowd of strangers at a concert for that band. and braid each other’s hair. and talk about boys. i mean, go to more concerts. yes, that.

i know now that when (not “if”! positive thinking! empowerment! believing in myself! yay!) i write books for people to read, it would be silly to not include a cd that captures the mood of the book in itself. right now i’m writing the nubs and giblets of what will become my bfa thesis for next year. i have a title (“i’m allergic to you, and other misadventures”). 98 pages of awkward stories. and a playlist of 24 songs that capture the stories’ feelings (okay, maybe i am a dirty hipster). i daydream often of giving my 200 (hopeful) page thesis to my advisor and as i close the door to his office i say ,”oh, there’s a cd taped to the back cover, too.”

and the daydream also ends in my advisor loving the josh ritter tracks on the cd a lot and we dance in circles at one of his concerts. and talk about boy (non-fiction authors). and braid hair (in a non-literal sense).

because i’m not a dirty hipster, listen to these gems:
“to the dogs or whoever (live from juan’s basement)”
“change of time” 
 (amazing video as well)
“good man” 

goodbye girl, a playlist;

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it’s that time of the year again. or rather, time of the week for me.

i get that itch to get going. i’ve gotten to the point that i check bus fares before i check my phone or facebook notifications ($5 trips to nyc?! free rides to montreal?!) my head spins and my duffel bag (that i asked for for christmas. yes, i asked for a heavy duty luggage for christmas) peers at me in fear.

daydreaming about prospectively taking a two-week road trip by bus down the east coast (75% sure at this point! eep!). about what items in my apartment i could sell off to pay for bus tickets.  about the fact that my friend canceled on our plans for tonight and i immediately checked to see when the next train to rockport/manchester/gloucester/anywhere-by-the-ocean at all was for today.

i’ve primed myself for a disgusting amount of  bus-travel and baby-wipe showers by cutting even more hair off and by making this playlist for those of us who find wanderlust to be a daily concern.

whose friends usually preface any conversation with a “so, where are you exactly right now?”

who get giddy by the sight of a well-packed suitcase (rolled shirts to save space + a full kindle + mustard boots + johnson &  johnson’s lavender lotion).

who love dramatically and thoughtfully and wistfully peering out of the windows of buses/trains/cars/airplanes.

for those of us who still don’t know how to sit still.

dear boston;

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dear my beloved boston/broston,

it is may.

you should not be 48 degrees outside . weather that is overcast, gloomy, and not conducive to bike rides over the charles is a major bummer.

i should not have to wear thick socks around my apartment. or daydream about hot showers. or still have to use my electric blanket.

i am begging you. please warm up soon?

you’re making me so homesick that i’ve spent many nights sitting in my college’s gym sauna that mocks my homeland’s warmth. and buying anything that is orange scented or flavored.

i’ve been waiting since last july to wear my bright green swimsuit.

and have sassy dance beach parties listening to bridgitte bardot.

and drink sangria on my stoop with friends. because stoop sangria is the best kind of sangria.

get your act together, okay?

sincerely,

me.

{sounds like} the onset of summer + warmed up oceans;

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i had the pleasure of going to a concert for one of my favorite bands, tennis, a few weeks ago. get this: main guitarist and his wife (the lead singer) spent an entire year on a boat, sailing up and down the east coast. and then they wrote an album about it. now if that doesn’t get hurt your ovaries, i don’t know what will. i’m a bit obsessed with them, to say the least.

their music has basically been my bostonian summer playlist. when i first moved here they sounded like what i thought cape cod would be like. warmed up oceans. scaldingly hot, white sand. aloe after a sunburn. my mom and i used to buy the following two snacks whenever we went to the beach in florida: coca cola and that “smart food” white cheddar popcorn that came in the crinkly black bags. and i swear to you, my pavlovian response to tennis and their music is to get a huge 20oz coke and a bag of white cheddar popcorn. it’s that good.

and their opening act? amazing! i ended up making two friends during the opener, hospitality. frank and herb were my new friends, in their polos and chinos. they were both most likely fathers of three children and for some reason a lo-fi, obscure band seemed like the perfect way to start their friday night off. we guessed what song tennis would open with (i won) and herb told me he was going to see the kooks next month, but only if his son lost his basketball playoffs, and i told him i would cross my fingers for his team to lose.

ergo, the beauty of going to concerts by yourself. frank. herb. summer jams. and white cheddar popcorn.

{sounds like} a midnight-moonlit-bike ride through the city;

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down massachusetts  ave. you pedal towards mit’s stoic east-berlin-esque buildings. wind rushing through the hair of what’s become your spring-time-winter-boredrom pixie haircut. that one building always smell like a milky peppermint tea, why does it always smell like a milky peppermint tea? you resolve to figure it out, your inner boxcar child is itching to know which store among a collection of bike shops, falafel stands, and a vietnamese food truck smells like peppermint. and it’s always at 7:30 am on your way to your psych class. never at midnight, of course. midnight is dew on the commons grass you walk across to mount your majestic steed of a bike to pedal back home after dancing. it’s the glow of the light that illuminates your apartment stoop. midnight is getting splashed by a few hidden puddles on your ankle-grazing skirt that you daintily tie up in a rubber band so it doesn’t get caught on your spokes. midnight is when you go to sleep, glistening (“ladies don’t sweat, they glisten”, says every old woman in the south)  and resolve for peppermint tea in the morning. extra milky. and this is what it sounds like.

don’t worry, i will;

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tomorrow i am going to visit my lovely bff in california!

brb, gonna go sob of happiness in a corner somewhere.

this song is essentially my song-motto for the trip. take my time coming home, boston?  don’t mind if i do! at least until i can expose my limbs once more.  because my attempts to protest winter (which boils down to me wearing shorts +knee socks and hating everything while being outside. and drinking a lot of lemonade/orange juice/ anything citrus-related.) are proving to be meager at best.

so until then, boston. i’ll be back soon.

don’t worry.

i like your cobblestones, and creepy churches, and bros too much to leave you.

high-fiving;

i seem to have my most vivid daydreams while on the elliptical. usually it pertains to what song i’m listening to, and it usually ends up with me on a road-trip with paul simon to graceland. or playing a trombone with paul simon. basically, paul simon makes up most of my daydreams. i have no regrets over this fact.

but recently, i’ve gotten a wee bit obsessed with this song:

because it usually involves daydreams of people approaching my elliptical and giving me high-fives and telling me i’m awesome. and then paul simon comes in. and we have a dance party.

which is really all any 20.9 year old girl needs, right?

and one more part;

silly me, i forgot just one integral part of happiness.

this song. if i could describe the most pure form of happiness, it would be this song.

i want to live inside of it and never come out and i hope it makes you feel the same.

a nice little thursday reminder;

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smile.
it’s free. it’s painless. it’s pretty. it makes others do the same.

my battle cry;

is this little gem:

 

and anything by nicole atkins for that matter. what’s not to love?

praise pandora for putting her music right in front of me. and for the song “neptune city", “maybe tonight”, and "cool enough".

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