Perhaps Happiness and Heartbreak

Perhaps happiness and heartbreak happen. Always. Together, or in ravaging separations.

This little suite I call home is full of loneliness and love. I will miss nights, second-hand sheets and pasta covered in cheese. Putting on a blazer and pretending to be the sort of person who carries business cards. Falling asleep on the couch to the sound of you struggling with a paper.

That's still away, I know. So this summer I'll lie in your arms in a yellow school bus, it's smell reminiscent of street Spanish and truck stops. And I'll sleep here by myself, on my side. cradling a new life growing inside.

It will be happiness and heartbreak. And maybe both together.

((Creotiv))

People

Brilliant. I got married and quit blogging. I'm a blogging statistic.

 I started out as a single blogger who read other single bloggers.

In all fairness, I was slowing down pretty good long before the conflict-free, recycled diamond ring.

I'm pretty sure I'll never write a Christian-wife blog or a mommy blog. But I guess you never know. A year ago I decided to pursue travel writing. And then I got married instead. I went to Australia, then took a couple courses and started writing full-time. Just not here. I love my job, but I think it hurt my love for rambling posts and Because or Why Not. Who knows what next year will bring.

Now at least three of my RL single friends have started marvellous travel blogs as they start changing the world in Uganda and the Philippines, or just explore the globe on their own terms.

I'm posting this because I still read your blogs. I do. Allison, Tabs, Risha, Alex... Sometime only every few months. But 20sb still taught me to care about people I've never met.

Google Reader is leaving us in July. And then I'm turning 27.

I miss this, but you can't have it all.

I will find a way to continue stalking reading your blogs.

And, Risha. How'd you do on 101? I thought it ended in April, only to find my cut-off was January. I will be making a new list this summer.

I'm not particularly fond of new years resolutions. Kind of hit and miss, depending on the circumstances. I do, however, like to use the new year for a little bit of introspection. This year, however, I haven't had the chance 'till now. I was tucked away at a refreshing winter camp. Then I was rushing home to rush through packing to rush back here to this mini-city. And, now, in the dying minutes of the third day of the new year, I want to think about the year past. I'm not particularly fond of memes, either. But every now and then I find one that's worth it.

What was 2011 for you?

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?

I travelled north into the territories.

I learned to rock climb, ice climb, and I repelled off a bridge.

I went to regular full-time class for a full semester.

I was part of a quality music recording.

I volunteered at a camp.

I made gnocchi.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

There were none, but I knocked a few off my 101. There won't be any this year, either.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Yes, Jenni had another beautiful baby girl. One of my best friends and closest relatives is also due very soon!

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No. A plight I've mostly been saved from so far in my young life.

5. What countries did you visit?

The US of A. 2011, you have not been a good travelling year...

6. What would you like to have had in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?

A fulfilling job. And, in a sense, I did. But it was part time writing and other freelancing. The full time stuff was duller than dishwater.

7. What dates from 2010 will remain etched upon your memory and why?

Actual dates? Sitting through the night listening to hippis play guitar, sing French folk songs, and dance around the fire, and tentatively holding hands. It will be remembered fondly.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Four A+s, and an A, mastering freelance, and learning to love.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Breaking a heart, not maintaining all the right friendships, working through summer.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Nothing serious. 

11. What was the best thing you bought?

The very best? Perhaps my motorbike... Good times were had!

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?

My siblings. All of them. I wish I could tell you how each has grown. How they've supported me. How I've loved them, even though we may fight on occasion.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?

There was some unfortunate summer drama. I made some poor decisions. And I've also been disappointed by a past room mate/best friend. Why do good things end?

14. Where did most of your money go?

School. And associated expenses. Blech.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

University. And a boy. Silly boys.

16. What song will always remind of you 2011?

You want the unfortunate confession one? No Getting Over You... That one with LMFAO, Fergie, and all those other pop stars. 2011, though, has been a marvellous year for music. 

17. Compared to this time last year, are:

a)happier or sadder? Happier

b)thinner or fatter? Thinner, I think

c) richer or poorer? Close to even... But soon to be much poorer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Travelling. 

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Working at my first-half job.

20. Did you fall in love in 2010?

Yes. Yes, I did. I freaks me out, and makes me excited-happy all at once!

21. What was your favourite TV program?

Big Bang Theory. I've never watched a single episode... But I'm pretty sure I think it's hilarious.

22. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Hate... It's a strong strong word. No one comes to mind, so I don't believe so.

23. What was the best book you read?

2011 was a poor year for reading. To many I meant to read, and not enough that I actually did.

24. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Elllie Goulding, Florence and the Machine, Adele, Lindsey Stirling. Looks like my tastes are taking a feminine twist... How odd.

25. What did you want and get?

I wanted to leave my job and try something new. I wanted a solid relationship. 

26. What did you want and not get?

I wanted to travel. I wanted to snowboard more than I did. My wants didn't happen, but they were twisted and exceeded.

27. What was your favourite film of this year?

I watch very few movies... And it takes a lot to really impress me... Tangled was good ;).

28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 25. Somehow it phased me much less than 24. I entered it dancing in a barn loft with good people. I worked, another first ever, but briefly. And I got a stack of letters from the people I care for that I promised not to open until I turn 50.

29. How you would describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

Increasingly athletic and tomboy, but I don't shy away from the feminine things I like. More make-up this year than ever before, which isn't saying much. Longer hair than since I graduated. Some kick-ass boots. Oh, and fake glasses everyday to school... Something has to help maintain those grades.

30. What kept you sane?

My family. Oh, and chocolate.

31. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I believe last year was Channing Tatum... This year there was no replacement. I like to stay firmly in reality...

32. Who did you miss?

All sorts of people. Friends who's lives were part of mine, but who have moved on.

33. Who was the best new person you met?

My blue-eyed boy. We met on a hotsprings roadtrip early on but didn't get to know each other until summer months and carefree days.

34. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010.

Compromising because you damn well want to isn't usually worth it.

35. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

One lyric? I think not...

I picked this up on Lexi's blog. She doesn't know I exist, but I very highly recommend you visit.

Ladies Wear a Little Lipstick

I am a girl of very little make-up. Always have been, I don't imagine that will change. For the most part I think it's a construction of society aimed towards artificial impressions of expectation on females and surface beauty. I also think it causes a level of consumption that is both expensive and extremely harmful to the environment. Now that I've ranted that out I will admit that I have a tube of mascara and some make-up left behind by my favourite cousin when she was my room mate. I wear them sometimes when I want to feel particularly girly. Boys I've dated have always said (if I asked) that they prefer me without make-up, and I'm fairly confident they meant it. Works out well for me.

This weekend I went to visit my Grandma. She thinks it important, to this day, to put a little time into her looks. She looked at my face full of natural beauty and asked, "Do you ever wear any make-up?"

"Oh, once in a while. Not much. I'm not at the moment."

"I can tell." Gee, thanks Gram. "You should really wear some lipstick once in a while, you know. Do you ever wear lipstick?"

"No. I haven't got any."

With that my Grandma dragged my off to the washroom and opened her basket, the one that always fascinated me when I was but a child. She handed me a light pink shade. Once she'd admired that she told me I could wipe it off and try another. After trying five shades she decided I should have one, and narrowed it down to a deep shade, subtle if applied lightly.

"And now let's powder your nose."

She's from a different era, my Grandma. One that delights in lipstick and stockings. Girls that remember the rationing of the war, the hippis of the '60s, and the silly acid washed denim age that I was born into. They did the twist and they prayed in school. They were teachers, nurses, secretaries and housewives.

They faced it all with a tube of lipstick. Looking good, working hard, and caring for the men they loved.

I'm not a lipstick girl. I'm not even a mascara girl. I'm sure the woman from my decade will never give up on this messy, clumpy black paste. Maybe they'll demand that they're liberalized granddaughters paint their eyelashes black. (I speak for Canadians. If you're from too far south feel free to continue with your lip liner and non-matching colour)

Somehow I having a tube of lipstick in my pocket and a bit of colour on my lips made me feel like a lady. I don't think I'll ever signify glamour but maybe, once in a while, I'll tuck it in my bag for an evening out.

Broken Pieces

I think of you like yesterday,

(ElifKarakoc)

a smile on your face.

An array of broken pieces

all but dappled shades of gray.

I think of you as everything.

Deception that was chance.

The thought of what we used to be.

Fading error, trip and dance.

I think of us as nothing,

just the stories that we told.

The passion of a summer's morn.

Open water, flakes of gold.

I ponder.  Pensive.  Carefully,

a thought I should forget.

The heavy rest of midnights past

a glimpse I should regret.

For tightly tangled, hidden now.

Leather boots, my thoughts, this kiss.

The comfort of an autumn day.

So much I must dismiss.

Worth Having

Come Autumn I need change... and things. 

It's been a summer full of fun, confusion and living like I was free.  It was rope swings and barbeques.  Rock climbing and iced coffee.  It was boys and camping and a star spread sky.  To much rain and not enough lightening.  Best friends and family, the two of those combined.  Long talks, happiness and the world beneath my motorbike.  It was mistakes for all of us, decisions among us and more good relationships than I could possibly have hoped.

It was a summer worth having.

And now I'm here.  In a big empty beige house with no furniture.  And in classrooms discussing Philosophy, Psychology and knowing I'll be struggling through homework.  Learning how to write creatively.  Because I've never dabbled in that before.  Thinking about taking on more freelance journalism through this all.  With a blue-eyed boy I care for.  In a city I've always thought was unattractive discovering hidden places where beauty exists.

Feeling seventeen sitting on the back step drinking lemonade out of mugs because we don't have chairs or glasses.  Holding hands, smiling lots.  Opening crisp new school supplies and learning my way around.

It's more change than I could possibly hope for.  It should be a fall worth having.

Exciting Stuff. Unexciting Presentation.

I've seen a few of these around these days.  These brief and simple updates to let you know what's going on in everyone's lives.  Let's blame summer, shall we?

It's the depressing irony of blogging:  when things actually happen you don't write.  Anyway, I'm going to  list.  I am sorry.

1. I am 25.  I know that's a big number but I'm completely unfazed.  Weird, I know.  23-24 seemed a much bigger jump to me.  I'm not particularly accomplished for a 25 year old but I'm exactly alright with where I'm at.  It's been a while since I was this fine with getting older.

2. I'm going back to school!  I know, about time, right?  Quitting my job and getting heading to university...  Probably.  Stay tuned.

3.  I just got back from a road trip to Alberta.  It's was awesome.  I'm always excited to spend a little bonding time with my brothers.  I'm also learning to rock climb.  'Cause I'm hardcore like that.  And also I have to much money to throw away on gear...  Apparently.  Yeah right.

4.  I'm going to camp!  To counsel.  14-17 year olds.  The easy age group, don't you think?  Out trips and all.  Yup.  101, you are going down!

That's all for now.  In short I am ridiculously excited about life!  I have to go camping now and I will be away sailing next weekend.  I will update you in the future, though.  I might even write properly once in a while.  Cheers!

I Try

She was from Stats Canada ("Or elections B.C.   Or something like that...").  My sister was pretty much her choice demographic.

"Did you vote in the last election?"
"Errr.  I was out of the country."
"So you didn't vote?"
"Uh...  No."
"You weren't aware of alternative voting options?
"There are alternative voting options?"
"Alright, thank-you.  How did you hear about last election?"
"Facebook."
"And your primary source of information?"
"Ummm, Facebook."
"Did you receive your Elections Canada voter's card?"
"...My parents might have..."
"How did you know you're registered to vote?"
"I'm registered to vote?"
"So, have you ever voted in a national or regional election?"
"Umm...  I don't know.  I don't remember.  I don't think so?"

They say change should start at home.  I try.  Really, I do.

I am Canadian. I am Embarrassed.

Alright, so we lost.

That doesn't even really matter right now. I admit that I never invested very heavy emotion into this series. Regardless, any disappointment in the loss is severely overshadowed by disgust in what followed in Vancouver last night.

I turned off the t.v. And went for a walk with a friend. I'm glad to say that every fan I know, personally, handled themselves with decorum, even congratulating Boston. Unfortunately, the gathered "fans" in Vancouver's streets had other ideas.

I'm embarrassed for Vancouver. They're going to have reason to wake up hungover and embarrassed for themselves. It's a beautiful city. I know that what I say won't have any neutralizing affect on international headlines but I want to say that the vast majority of us are appalled, anyway.

Maybe Canada needs to learn what it is to have something worth rioting about. Because apparently some of us think our tax dollars and reputation are worth burning away with RCMP cruisers and frustration of a lost hockey game.

If Evil Lady is the Look You're Going for...

We all know someone who thinks they're rocking this hairstyle right now.  Yup, I'm talking about the two-tone-blonde-black whatever you want to call it.  I'm actually not sure what "look" it's supposed to convey so if you're in the know please fill me in.  Is it punk, emo, trashy fashionista?

 If you have this hair you can make plenty of excuses to over-ride my opinion.  I'll actually nullify it for you.  Here: First of all, I know a hair student who currently has a  frizz bouffant in white-blonde that features black bangs.  Hair students clearly know more about hair then I do.  Me with my boring brunette curls.  Clearly leaving my hair healthy and the close to the way it grows out of my head can't be very cutting edge.  Then there's also the selection of decent looking celebs who've tried this out.  Rihanna, Christina Aguilera, Shakira...

Even though I'm pretty low-maintenance I don't really care if you want to experiment with your image.  Whatever.  turn your  hair purple.  Defy gravity with the assistance of products called things like "hair glue."  Dye it white-blonde or black or flaming red.  Cover yourself with ink or poke holes in your tongue.  I really don't care, life can use a little variation.  But, quite frankly, this particular two-tone comes across as the opposite of class.  It's not evoking a rebellious image.  Ditto edgy, unique or young.  

Maybe I'm the only one who consistently makes a connection between this "look" and this particular literary character.  Probably not, though.  Which makes me wonder, what kind of world do we live in when Cruella De Vil is a trend-setter?

She gave my sister nightmares for about eight years

The Granola Temptress

I can't buy granola bars.  Well, I mean, I physically can.  It just never works out for me.

Before I go a little farther let me admit that I'm well aware that "granola bar" is actually secret code for chocolate bars you can justifiably eat for breakfast.  I've had ones called things like, "Peanut Butter Caramel Chunk."  or maybe "Decadent Double Chocolate."  The term Granola and about eight flakes of oatmeal means they can market to mothers who don't want to feel guilty about what they're sending their kids to the bus-stop with.

All this taken into account you'd think I could be an adult about granola bars.  Sometimes I think I can.  I walk down the aisle and think to myself, "okay, well, I'll just buy this box and take one in my lunch this week."

...Right.

Here's what really happens.  I get home, open the box, and eat one well I unpack.  That evening I'll eat two before bed.  Chocolate for supper anyone?  The next morning it's two for breakfast and that leaves one for work.  Which I'll eat on my coffee break.

I'm actually well versed in nutrition and follow that a majority of the time.  I was, however, raised having desert after dinner.  We always had homemade cookies or cake.  From scratch.  My Mother is a housewife.  And now I can pass on those.  It's those darn processed granola bars that we only got twice a year when my Grandma would give them out as treats.

So now I can't buy them.  I suppose I could just go through fifty boxes in a month and wear the learned novelty out.  Also develop diabetes, gain twenty pounds and get out of breath walking up stairs...  On second thought, I'll just walk past them when I'm picking up a box of cereal.

Because when they're in my cupboard I turn back into a buzzed little kid with a severe sugar craving.  Only this time with no imposed limits.

Never Lose

Insinuate that I'm less than you.

I'll hate you.

Call it insecurity and see if I care.
You might be right.

(Eonn)

Lonely Again

My room mate is leaving tomorrow and I'd be lying if I said I'm not even a little bit sad.

(Aly-Wan)

Not because she's the best room mate I've ever had.  She's not.  Not because we spent a lot of time together.  We didn't.  I alternate between sadness and very glad that never again will she eat all my food when I'm not looking.  Never again will I have to listen to her boyfriend and her at 2:00 AM through cardboard walls.  Never again will all the dishes and the salt shaker end up in a pile on her bedroom floor.  Never again will she leave the toilet paper empty and the lights all on.  Never again will....  Umm...  That's it actually.  She's a beautiful (and incredibly hot) seventeen year old who's sweet and mostly pretty considerate.

She makes me want to mother her.  Not to worry.  I never treated her as anything but an adult.

I'm also kind of excited for her.  Because she's excited with the excitement of a seventeen year old who's never headed out on her own.  And I'm a little bit jealous because she's going on a road trip with the boy she loves to plans she's optimistically thrilled about.

Oh, to be seventeen again...

But I'm sad.  Because I'm not nearly as optimistic as she is.  Because we'll never eat popsicles for breakfast and talk about travel plans together again.  Because I never met her brother, never saw her step-dad's straw house construction, never talked to her about things I think are most important.  She taught me I'm not quite as confrontational as I think I am.  Especially with someone I don't know and wish I did.

And I'm selfishly sad.  Because I know in two weeks I'll be talking to myself again.  I'll be sitting on my couch eating a meal I cooked for myself.  I'll realize I'm more comfortable if I know someone else will come home.  Or that, even if she rarely emerges, there's someone else in my other room.  And I'll realize How much I don't like living alone.

Seventeen 'Till I Die

Today my room mate turned seventeen.  I told her, as I always tell people who turn that age, that seventeen is the best year.  In my mind I could fairly happily stay seventeen forever.  But why?

(xCoffeeAddict)

It was actually a pretty crappy year.  I was lacking direction and fought to no end with the school I'd chosen to graduate with.  This ended in tears and the principals office.  As well as fantasies of judo-throwing her incompetent self through the floor (she got fired the next year, and had been shuffled around repeatedly because she can't do her job).

I got kicked out of home.  It didn't last long, but was something of a reflection of my family situation in general.  I never got pregnant, did drugs or assorted rebel behaviour.  My parents just didn't get down with my lack of respect for imposed authority.

I spent three assorted months house sitting.  Nothing seemed more magical then a place to myself.

I questioned the beliefs I was raised with late at night, realizing they'd have to become mine, and not sure if they could.

I built.  Houses, with my Dad.

I passed my road test and took to driving like I was made for it.

I dedicated myself to judo, and subsequently reached my peak.

I struggled to establish a social group after the six month trip earlier that year threw a massive friggin' wrench in the one I was supposed to have.

For whatever reason, all that compiled into a belief that seventeen is independence, freedom and life more abundantly.

In the month before I turned eighteen I bought my own little car that I learned to love.  I also graduated, put a down payment on a place, moved out and got a full time permanent job.

Maybe it's just that I never much cared for being an adult.

I Hate the Fact

I hate the way he whispers

(AvrilkaTff)

in your hair when I'm around.
I hate the way you close the door
And pretend there's not a sound.
I hate the way you giggle
like you're happy, 'cause you're not
I hate the way I tell myself
I won't give this a thought.

I hate that this is temporary,
everything will change.
I hate the way you look at me,
you think that I'm insane.
I hate his twisted eyebrows
and his soft but piercing stare.
I hate that you convince yourself
you make a perfect pair.

I knew you as a child,
yes, I knew you better then.
Getting to know you better, now,
is something I intend.
It's hard, though, when he holds you close,
and knows I know the truth.
It's hard, though, when you hold his hand
and won't accept the proof.

I've made my own mistakes, you know.
I'm not one to pretend.
I'd take my own advice, you know,
if I could do it all again.
I've learned a few hard lessons,
guess they shaped me as I grew.
I think about it now,
the same will happen to you.

I hate him for the way I know
he'll let you down one night.
I hate there's nothing I can do
to help you learn to fight.
I hate the fact I care to much,
I just can't help you see.
But I know you're just becoming
the beautiful woman to be.

---

Hello to any awesome new followers, and welcome!  Don't worry, I only rarely inflict my "poems" upon you all.

Bitter New Year To You

(dinudey1985)

New Years isn't something that was ever tradition when I was growing up.  I remember bitterly spending it with my family.  Or, even more bitterly yelling it in with our lamps defiantly on and my sister's wrist watch reminding us the rest of the world was partying.  Once we avoided a party because the adults were going to have one upstairs, and us kids were going to party in the basement.  Family first.  I was bitter about that, too.

As I got older we spent New Years eve playing pool in our church basement or watching the ball drop in New York through my Grandma's television.  One of the more memorable was being at the top of a pine tree.  My sister and cousins perched on branches below me.  Driving around town and trying to set off car alarms.  I was bitter then, as well.  My friend group had intentionally uninvited me.  Or fighting on an Israeli beach at midnight in a country that doesn't really acknowledge the holiday.  Or getting slurpees on a volunteer program that required us back by midnight.

I've kicked off too many of my years bitter and lost.  My toughest break-up happened on a New Years day.  Despite all this I still anticipate the holiday with a sort of respectful admiration.  Maybe I have a little glimmer of optimism that insists on the possibility of fresh starts, dynamic celebration and successful resolutions.

Or maybe I'm just a fool.

The Middle of Nowhere in the Middle of the Night

Dec. 31st, 2009, 11:30 PM.  I needed change.

11:30 PM and someone said we should climb the lookout.  In the middle of a wildlife reserve.  In the dark.  We were in the middle of this nowhere anyway.  We were tired of flying down an icy hill on over-sized tubes and throwing gasoline on the fire.  I was tired of chocolate Christmas baking and being the oldest in the group.  I was tired of doing doughnuts in empty parking lots and hours spent running in a mild winter out of pure frustration.

twenty five of us piled into four cars and sped down to the empty reserve and a clear starry sky.  We ran down clapboard paths over dead winter marshes and up the four flights of steps to the open top.  We made it, breathless, by midnight.

I screamed at the emptiness and my small town's lights in the distance.  I grabbed my blonde friend and we looked at each other, jaws set.

"Get lost, 2009.  We're so done with you!"

She was going to Calgary.  I was going to Arizona.  I haven't seen her since.  I miss her, but I know her life has gone the way she wanted.

And myself.  I just didn't know.   I'm not my brothers that were hugging me, lifting me, threatening to throw me over the rail.  I'd given up construction long ago.  I was twenty three.  I'd seen the world.

Twenty four of us yelling in the new year.  Crammed in an open look-out tower blindly hugging and looking forward to 2010.  And me.

The Biggest Role Boobs Will Ever Play on My Blog

I want feedback.  I specifically want feedback from my male readers out there.  I'm sure you guys exist.  Even if I never do post boobs for real (sorry for the tease).  But I have a very specific question.

First of all, I've never watched Jersey Shore.  Not even a little piece of a little clip of the show.  But the general impression I've formed about the show made me think it would fit this post well.  Here's what confuses me.  I know girls who channel Jersey Shore with all their might.  You know.  Pale lipstick, excessive eyeliner, trashy hair extensions, that disturbing orange hue, single line eyebrows.  That kissy face.  I wish I was rude gutsy enough to snag some of their ten million pictures off Facebook and show them to you.  But I'm not, so these shots of Jersey Shore are gonna have to do because, frankly, it's pretty much the same thing.

So, the thing is, I've never heard a guy say they like that crap.  As a girl I honestly think it's a little disturbing (and I feel the same way about the fake orange males wearing Ed Hardy and trucker hats).  It's trashy.  Period.  So, guys tell me they like girls who act like ladies.  They say they like girls who can rock the natural look.  They say all sorts of stuff, and then chase after girls who leave the house looking like, well...  Check attached images.  Then...  then they get all over these girls like their the hottest things their poor horny selves have seen all year.  I've seen it, and I know you have too.  

I have three theories.

1.  Boys are shallow.  They think they like genuine girls because they like the idea of a genuine girl.  They also don't quite understand how much of the Jersey chicks are fake.  

2.  They actually like genuine girls.  However, the thing is that genuine girls take a little more work.  The Jersey chicks are easy.  What other kinda girl would put this out there?  And, really, why go hard when you can go easy?

3.  The Jersey chicks just know how to play they guys.  They know when to smile, when to flash boob. And, oh yeah, they know how to flirt.  Flirt like you'll get somewhere.  They know how to make any boy feel like he really matters.  Like sex is the biggest objective in their life.  And, yeah.  It probably is.

So tell me, guys.  Why does this work on you?  And girls, do you get it?  Or are you a little bit Jersey yourself (in which case I do apologize).

Don't be surprised if this post only survives a week or two.  I doubt I'm brave enough to risk the Jersey chicks in my life eventually stumbling across it.

A Brief History of Because or Why Not

Honestly, this comes up if you Google Image Search
"Because or Why Not" 

That's right.  I named a post after my own blog.  It's a devious plan of mine, actually.  I'm a little upset that I can't google my own blog.  All sorts of other useless stuff comes up, but not Because or Why Not.  So part of me thinks that if I write a post with "Because or Why Not" in the title and scattered frequently throughout then maybe It'll eventually show up in the first twenty pages that I'm willing to look at.

Yes.  I'm confessing that I've googled my own blog.

Of course, it's my own fault for choosing a title like Because or Why Not.  I still really like the new title, I just am realizing no one will ever find it through googling "Because or Why Not."  Although, what kind of an idiot would google that combination of words anyway?  It's an ego thing.  There's cheaters out there like Stir-fried Dinosaur or Your Ill-Fitting Overcoat who get, like, the first suggestion.  Of course, they're also very interesting bloggers who have more to say then I do.  But other then that...

Because or Why Not spent years as Barefoot in Summer.  It was (another confession) The Cherry Life of a Tomboy for it's first two weeks.  Forgive me, I was sixteen.  Also had a brief stint as Cayenne or Vanilla.  Apparently at three AM I couldn't make the foodie connection.  It's used to be a clique blog complete with endless haloscan comments.

Late 2009 I came back to blogging.  Late March 2010 I discovered community blogging, and haven't looked back, yet.  I'm glad to have you!  Oh yeah, here at Because or Why Not.


Because or Why Not.  Because or why Not.  Because or Why Not.  Get it, Google?

So, I was gonna be all manly and post the first image that came up with a Google image search for Because or Why Not.  But then it ended up being this, and I realized there were much better looking ones available a few pages down.

July

(SynSlaughter)

I'm in love with summer thunderstorms.  They fill me with energy, and I'll shout out loud.  I love standing on the deck in the rain.  I love the powerful roll of thunder, or the dance of lightening.  I've been guilty of lying on my tin roof and watching the sky light up around me.

I've realized I don't very often write about what's actually happening in my life.  At least not often and not directly.  July has been brilliant to me.  I've camped like a gypsy in a field of wildflowers with people I love.  I've managed to get in every trip despite having a real job.

I spent a week at a music festival.  I saw bands I've listened to for well over a decade.  I acted a little bit fifteen.  I turned twenty-four.  Oh, did I forget to mention that?  This age jump seems more significant the the ones surrounding it.  I've dealt by ignoring it.  But I think I'm actually pretty at peace with it.  Other then the fact that I'm no closer to being set in life then I was five years ago.

July is never long enough.  I haven't hung out at the river, and I haven't dived into the lake nearly enough.  I haven't harvested a single cherry.

And now I sit and type towards the end of a summer storm.  The sun is coming out again.  It's the end of the July where I turned 24.  It means more to me then New Years.  More reflection, more need for direction.