What to Wear for Rainy Days

I’m going to start with a quick note about how jealous I am that it’s snowing for some of you. I wish this was a what to wear for the snow post! Although I’d probably wear almost the identical outfit, albeit a thicker coat and cotton tights.

When I was a freshman in college I remember this crazy awesome free spirit who was a year older than me. She was wearing a short skirt with tights one day when it was raining and I remember calling out to her, teasing her for no pants on such a blustery day. She gracefully retorted that tights dry faster than pants anyway.

And thus my fashion was born. Seriously, guys, up till then I wanted to be someone who wore skirts. I wanted to be someone who dressed the way they felt no matter who was staring or judging. I wanted to be someone a lot more free than I was. Instead I was someone who wore jeans and tshirts, mostly black, with a black jacket. College really was when I started my journey with self confidence–dressing the way I wanted, letting myself let go of all the fears and anxieties that revolve around ‘fitting in’.

Besides, tights really do make sense for the rain. They dry faster. This is my I’m going to catch up my word count a bit outfit. I’m walking through the very rainy weather to go to Starbucks and I’m hunkering down. Time to write.

Wish me luck, and you guys should totally check out these great ladies for their What to Wear posts. Especially Lisa’s from Not Ladylike, because her excuse is adorable.

Sondra: Abhaya Yoga

The Lines of Acceptance

Body acceptance is my favorite hot topic on the internets. So many bloggers make it their mission to promote healthy perspectives of beauty, full of love and acceptance. Despite it all, though, we all have random things we like to hide. No matter how much anyone proclaims to love their own appearance and feel comfortable in their own skin, there’s always still one or two things creeping in the background that they’re rather not admit to.

I work hard on liking my own body. It’s hard for me to feel comfortable in my own skin, but I work on it. I may not be happy with my size, but I’m grateful that I have a body that works mostly properly, takes me places and bikes me everywhere I need it to. What I’ll never own up to liking, or accepting, though are my cold sores. I’ve had them for as long as I can remember, although my mouth breaks out much less than it used to. They used to plague me a couple times a year, but now the last one was three years ago. Woot! Still, though, my mouth is broken out with a new and gross cold sore. So till that heals and goes away, I’m skipping over the body acceptance and pulling up my scarf whenever a camera is nearby.


If you say it out loud, then you’ll think my title is rather clever! Seriously, though, guys, this is going to be the next big thing. Trust me.

Truth is I don’t have Instagram or a smart phone. I used to have a Droid but it’s suffered a damaging blow and I haven’t had time to get it checked out by a phone doctor yet. Still, not being inspired by the fun and quirky little effects of Instagram is difficult so I’ve used it as a jumping off point for some silly edits. It’s been a really fun and strange way for me to force myself to get to know Gimp better which really is a fabulous program, as long as you’re not too Adobe-brainwashed.*

Everything but the swirl I used in the lovelove image is something I pulled off a different photograph I had, or made myself. The bokeh effects were from some late night traffic pictures I had, and the speech bubble was a quicky vector I made. See? I don’t need no stinkin’ Instagram or Adobe…

*I totally used to be, so I’m not judging. It took a long time for me to be willing to relearn a photoediting program, though, and I’m so glad I did

Burning Sunset


Driving back from Oregon during the sunset, David and I shared a moment admiring how beautiful it was. I grabbed my camera and started snapping away. I fiddled with the aperture and shutter speed to play around a bit with the picture. I feel like Bob Ross would approve of this photograph, since it was a happy little accident. This is definitely getting printed and framed for our bedroom.

This Film Is Not Yet Rated

I’ve been watching This Film Is Not Yet Rated while I’m working on Christmas decorations and presents and it just slays me. First, I’d say watch this just for the John Waters interviews is worth it, because that man has the most amazing mustache ever. But in reality, it’s an important movie because it talks about an organization that has such a pervasive and all-encompassing influence on movies. They’re influencing America’s highest form of entertainment, and knowing more about it is a good idea, if you ask me. The discrimination and blatant censorship is just kind of crazy. I think watching this really makes clear the problems with our society when we fear sex, and specifically female pleasure, way more than we care about showing kids violence. That’s so wrong to me on a ton of levels.

This argument about showing violence versus showing sex is a really familiar argument in my world. growing up with divorced parents always has some sort of funny side effects, and one of the more noticeable ones in my world involved movies. My parents had different ideas about what types of movies were appropriate for my sister and I to see. I remember the big discussions about our first R-rated movie and they went in two different directions. My mom let us watch The Blue Lagoon, a movie who earned its R rating with sex. Sex that was depicted as loving and emotional. My dad showed us Little Big Man, the most violent movie I seen at the point and it gave me nightmares for weeks. Which parent made the right call?

Kevin Smith makes one of the best arguments in the movie. He talks about the top priorities for what should be censored, or what should be taken seriously. His top wasn’t murder–it was rape. He also listed violence against women as a top priority. Yet when you look at films that get censored–it’s predominately censoring out female sexual pleasure. We watch so many films that have women demeaned, beaten, and taken advantage of, yet it’s offensive to watch a woman actually enjoy herself.

You can watch the trailer here, if you’re interested, and I know the movie is available on Netflix.

/end rant

Motivation from Charlie Bucket’s Mom

This song gets stuck in my head more times than I can count. I don’t think I’m done playing with the poster design yet, but I definitely want a large poster with the quote hanging somewhere in my apartment. Right now it looks, for lack of a better term, very ChristianWhich doesn’t have to be bad thing, but it’s not really what I’m going for.

NaNoWriMo Week 4

Oh man November is almost over and I’m no where near finishing this story! If you guys are interested, though, I’d be down to keep sharing clips on Friday even through December. I’m so friggin’ determined to finish it! Anyway, today’s clip feels like a bit of a cop out BUT last week I hear some grumblings from the peanut gallery about the cliffhanger. This is the ending to that story, and it’s the first time I’ve ever written an ending quite like this. So if you didn’t read last weeks, I’d definitely recommend reading it again


You’re wrong.”

He leaned down and grabbed her feet, pulling her back towards him. Sara screamed loudly this time as she felt his hands on her bare skin. It was as if he was reaching through her boots and jeans. He dropped one of her feet and smacked her across the mouth—not hard enough to hurt badly, but enough to stun her into temporary silence.

“You’re so wrong,” he repeated, placing an emphasis on the last word that sent an icy shiver of terror down Sara’s spine. You reek from it. I have to fix how wrong you are.”

Sara regained enough sense to scream again, but by now it was too late. The branches created an unsolvable maze above Sara’s face as she lay where he dragged her, to the base of the strong solid oak. He kneeled above her head, using her knees to pin her arms agains her body. She traced useless exits from the branches’ pathways as his hands tightened around her throat. Brilliant red stars burst into life on top of her maze, making her lose her place for a moment. She could still hear him muttered to himself frantically, like he was still trying to appease the demons in his head.

“You are so wrong. I’m fixing this, I’m making this better. You need to be fixed. You reek but I can fix this.”

Sara fought to keep tracing a way out of the branches’ labyrinth, fighting through the distracting bursts of stars. Even as the walls of the maze grew thicker and threatened to trap her inside she continued to fight. Her eyes traced a possible escape from the gith. Her eyes traced a possible escape from the branches and refused to look away, to even blink. She could feel his hands as they crushed her windpipe the way someone could imagine collapsing a cardboard tube. None of it seemed to matter as much, though, so she stopped noticing it. She stopped hearing his desperate ravings and didn’t feel how her face filled with blood, boiling against her skin. She didn’t notice the black empty space from where she once was connected to her body.

Instead, Sara raced against the collapsing walls with her eyes. In the last second she reached the open blue sky before that, too, went dark.

I was curious what the link would do

Humans have strong scent memory. What’s your favorite smell, and what does it make you think of?.

I started to write a new post, topic in mind and everything, and there was this little link that said “Looking for inspiration? Inspire me!” So I let it, and then that quote was on the top of my post. After all, who am I to question the ways of the universe?

When I think of smells, my brain pretty much runs in the opposite direction of nice. I initially think of stinky things and unpleasant things. Unfortunate but true, regardless. If I let my brain relax, though, and I let the thoughts bubble up to the surface of my conscious, my answer is really clear.

I think of hairspray, and I think of fast food mixed with plastic toys. Which, in its own crazy and beautiful way, means I’m thinking of my family.


I remember the way I would dawdle in my mom’s bathroom while she got ready in the morning. I still do, on occasion, when I’m visiting. My sister is so so so not a morning person and this was the time that I had my mom all to myself. We would talk. I would ask random questions and she would give random answers. I would tell her whatever strange idea was bubbling in my brain and she would feed my momentum. Sometimes I would just sit there, watching the most beautiful woman I had ever seen as she transformed into an elevated, magnificent version of the figure I trusted and loved more than anything. An essential part of the morning routine was that she always uses hairspray. Not in epic, Southern proportions, but enough that it would smell like hairspray once she was finished arranging her coiffure. It’s a nice smell, and very indelibly linked to early morning memories shared with my mom, one of my all-time favorite people in the universe.

I remember the way my sister, who has the privilege and burden of being older by two years, dragged her untrusting and scared four-year-old little sister in the closet of their playroom with the promises of something really cool. I was terrified of the dark when I was little. Okay, let’s be real, I still am. Her attempts to cure this fear backfired pretty traumatically in the past but have turned into some hilarious family stories but this one was the best. She had gotten back from spending time with a friend and they had gone through a fast food drive through–a very rare treat for us. I could smell what she was about to show me in the dark, even before she uncupped her hands. It smelled like plastic mixed with greasy french fries–a smell that my brain still associates with calm and trust. Opening her hands, she revealed a tiny glow-in-the-dark troll. It was simple and plain, but it was the first time I had ever seen anything glow in the dark before. She let me hold it close to my face and I stood there, breathing in the probably toxic plastic grease and felt amazed that something could not only survive in the dark, but thrive–the darkness gave that toy its real purpose.

My family will be the first to tell you that I’m not a fan of Thanksgiving. It goes a long ways back and is a blend of rational, political, emotional, and personal reasons. They’ll argue that a lot of them are irrational, and I get that they don’t really understand why I don’t like this holiday to the extent that I take it. It’s okay–I don’t really get it either. They do, however, love me regardless. I’m not spending Thanksgiving with them. I’m actually spending it with David’s family which is a step up from my usual plan of moping around by my lonesome.

I may not be spending it with them, but I am thinking of them, and of how much I love them. Those two ladies are a vital part of my core, of my me-ness and I love them with a mighty powerful strength. Even more, I am very very very grateful for them.

Guitar Store

Over the weekend we checked out a nearby guitar store. David is slowly building up his awareness of the new town we’re in. Since his work is a two hour round trip commute, he’s not really able to explore our nearby surroundings until the weekend. It was fun, though, to pop into the guitar store, and it’s really fun to see how much he likes the area we live in. It goes on the We Made The Right Choice column of our Big Move checklist.

He has a dorkyy face that I kiss a lot.

The variants on the Jesus Fish always make me giggle

The shop had some amazingly beautiful guitars, as well as old banged up ones with plenty of stories hidden away

It was a cool amp. Trust me.


And now for something completely different

I guess it’s not completely different. I’ve brought up politics before, so social & cultural conversations fit just as easily in this space. I debated back and forth about sharing this as a blog post, but I really think it’s a worthwhile video. I know a lot of IRL people–good, open-minded people–who more than likely be turned off by his approach. It’s loud, it’s angry and it’s almost accusatory. But I’d argue that’s almost the point. It’s an angry, frustrating topic. His approach makes sense, and it’s worth watching, no matter who you are or what your background, skin color, gender, or political affiliation is. So please, turn up the volume and work on dishes, or painting your nails, or reshelving your books, and have a good listen.

I’d love to hear your responses to this, and I really do hope you’ll share them. And I’ll reserve the right to delete the hate.