There's something about the autumn. I honestly think it makes me into my best possible self.
Pulling loved and worn, nubby sweaters out of storage to start sharp, bright mornings.
Brisk walks through myriads of color dancing on a breeze that turns my face cool and taut before tingling over pumpkin-spiced lattes.
Flickering flames.
The sound of leaves crunching under my feet.
It's strange- as a woman, that I despise the word 'cuddle'. With a passion. I’d punch men who used the word frequently in the face- you know, if I wasn’t too busy throwing up. To me autumn embodies all that this word immaturely and obnoxiously tries to convey- relaxing atmospheres, an unhurried mentality, a created (snug) sense of security, and of course- the desire to be inescapably tangled up in someone. I’ve never had a summer fling. It’s called fall for a reason.
But is it a time to start over or to pick up where one left off?
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Cosmic Lattes
I love vanilla lattes. (Vanilla chai lattes with nutmeg, if you’re buying) I haven’t had one in ages...
You know when you eat or drink something hot too fast? Yeah. I got burned. Real bad. From my beloved vanilla latte. Anticipating that fabulous first familiar sip- waiting for it, dreaming of it... instead! completely and unexpectedly scorched.
After the pain wore off- which took quite some time, I was left with this tasteless dissatisfaction. Eating became perfunctory. Spices became a grey ash- ginger, mint, cinnamon... indistinguishable to my palate. Nothing had a flavor.
Slowly, my taste buds started to heal. I started drinking chai frappes instead- a poor (though a cool and soothing) substitute and my prior fancy became a whimsical and very vague remembrance.
(I *will* get to the point... eventually;)
So yesterday I finally ‘went’ to check out the Tea Garden on Hennepin- somewhere I’ve been pretending I pretentiously hang out all the time. I decided to take a quick stroll there in the rain because Hennepin should only be one block away from Nicollet and I know that’s not too far.
About 2 miles later I discover that Hennepin veers away from Nicollet once you leave downtown and is actually *8* blocks further than I though. Oh, and did I mention it started to downpour? Yeah. It did. A strange teeny hispanic dude has been following me in his Compensator 2008 for most of the way, too. I think he’s convinced he met me at some dance club the night before... or I might have just made this up as I can’t speak spanish. Confusion, comprehension, slight panic, then flattery follow in this order.
I get to the address I’ve written down (which is now sodden and mostly unreadable) and I discover it’s. not. there. What? I stroll up and down the block for 15 minutes. I stop at an intersection and look up and down- hoping to see something I’ve missed when a bus drives by and hits Minneapolis’s biggest pothole. I do not possess a bucket big enough to hold the amount of water I was doused with- and neither do you.
People under awnings point and debate whether or not to laugh. I take one cowboy boot off and watch incredulously as the water *pours* out of it. ::wait for it. wait for it:: And then it starts- a deep bellylaugh that doubles me over and almost has me crying. I can’t stop. I just walked 3 miles in a hurricane to nowhere yet I can't stop laughing.
It’s then I realize, I can taste life again.
Tomorrow- you guessed it, I’m going to get up early, read the paper, and make some blueberry pancakes and a vanilla latte.
Yes, I’ll have to get up earlier.
Yes, it’ll cost me more.
And yes, I might even get burned again.
But... it’s worth it- it’s my *favorite*, you know?
You know when you eat or drink something hot too fast? Yeah. I got burned. Real bad. From my beloved vanilla latte. Anticipating that fabulous first familiar sip- waiting for it, dreaming of it... instead! completely and unexpectedly scorched.
After the pain wore off- which took quite some time, I was left with this tasteless dissatisfaction. Eating became perfunctory. Spices became a grey ash- ginger, mint, cinnamon... indistinguishable to my palate. Nothing had a flavor.
Slowly, my taste buds started to heal. I started drinking chai frappes instead- a poor (though a cool and soothing) substitute and my prior fancy became a whimsical and very vague remembrance.
(I *will* get to the point... eventually;)
So yesterday I finally ‘went’ to check out the Tea Garden on Hennepin- somewhere I’ve been pretending I pretentiously hang out all the time. I decided to take a quick stroll there in the rain because Hennepin should only be one block away from Nicollet and I know that’s not too far.
About 2 miles later I discover that Hennepin veers away from Nicollet once you leave downtown and is actually *8* blocks further than I though. Oh, and did I mention it started to downpour? Yeah. It did. A strange teeny hispanic dude has been following me in his Compensator 2008 for most of the way, too. I think he’s convinced he met me at some dance club the night before... or I might have just made this up as I can’t speak spanish. Confusion, comprehension, slight panic, then flattery follow in this order.
I get to the address I’ve written down (which is now sodden and mostly unreadable) and I discover it’s. not. there. What? I stroll up and down the block for 15 minutes. I stop at an intersection and look up and down- hoping to see something I’ve missed when a bus drives by and hits Minneapolis’s biggest pothole. I do not possess a bucket big enough to hold the amount of water I was doused with- and neither do you.
People under awnings point and debate whether or not to laugh. I take one cowboy boot off and watch incredulously as the water *pours* out of it. ::wait for it. wait for it:: And then it starts- a deep bellylaugh that doubles me over and almost has me crying. I can’t stop. I just walked 3 miles in a hurricane to nowhere yet I can't stop laughing.
It’s then I realize, I can taste life again.
Tomorrow- you guessed it, I’m going to get up early, read the paper, and make some blueberry pancakes and a vanilla latte.
Yes, I’ll have to get up earlier.
Yes, it’ll cost me more.
And yes, I might even get burned again.
But... it’s worth it- it’s my *favorite*, you know?
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Whoops
My credit cards will occasionally jump out of my purse and hide themselves about the apartment. They seem to sense when I’m feeling financially foolish and view a rogue life on their own (as skeleton keys and banana choppers or something) as infinitely superior to the abuse they know is coming. Ha! But I found the little bastards!
Translation: After being *so good* for two months... I let myself go to the mall today :D
Why hellooooooooo MOA, remember me? Well you should- I paid for that pretty fountain over there dammit. Imayhavesortaatonepointintimehadaproblem... anyways! I have this new trick I wanted to try to prevent myself from spending too much. I made myself walk the two miles to the train to the mall. Anything I purchased had to be carried back the distance. Did it work..? Nope! Dragged 75lbs of clothing miles home, uphill- 10 feet of snow, etc.
When I get home I’m trying to placate my rational mind with explanations as to why I *needed* all of this. Lookit this beautiful wool jacket! So soft... and I mean, we live in MN- it’s going to get cold... My rational mind looks into the closet where a perfectly serviceable, expensive (though old) jacket hangs. Erm- yes but I’ve had that coat for years and years and I plan on giving it to someone else to enjoy too. Swear.
Here to prove my point I bring it to the clothes swap area on my floor and watch someone pick it up before I’ve even left the room. Back in my apartment feeling smug about my charity, I reminisce about the good times and bad with jacket. Hmm... sometimes I hide money in pockets so I can rediscover it later and be surprised. I wonder if I should have looked in the coat? Oh wait, NAH- did that last spring and there was nothing in there but... OH MY FREAKIN’ GOD.
::races back to clothes swap::
Ah- where did they go?! WHERE DID THEY GO?! I start randomly knocking on doors. (This takes awhile) Finally I recognize the person who comes to the door. ‘Thank god! So um... that coat? No, no! It’s yours, I’m just going to need something out of the pocket there. A little tube about 2 inches tall... filled with erm, stuff. Yes, filled with a powder. Wait, how you *you* know that? Oh. You unsealed it? Oh, you were curious. ...you didn’t like, smell it or taste it did you? Uh... did you? Well if you did, (oh god) should be okay. Guess it’s um... organic?’
Walking back to the apartment, I tell the tube how sorry I am.
There were originally about 7 or 8 of these. Half of them have been lost in one fashion or another. Hell, maybe they all are gone now- I’ve lost touch with the other holders. Last I heard, my friend Tanya was navigating a particularity nasty turn when hers (sitting on the dash) rolled out the open window. Amanda’s kids opened hers and threw it in their wading pool. One was spilled outside and another was spilled inside- had to be vacuumed up eventually.
Now of course, I can’t know for sure... they wouldn’t tell me outright-
But I’m *pretty* sure my neighbor tried to snort the cremated remains of my friend Bobby...
(Believe me, he would have found that hilarious.)
Sorry hun!
<3 Your little wagon-burner
:D
Translation: After being *so good* for two months... I let myself go to the mall today :D
Why hellooooooooo MOA, remember me? Well you should- I paid for that pretty fountain over there dammit. Imayhavesortaatonepointintimehadaproblem... anyways! I have this new trick I wanted to try to prevent myself from spending too much. I made myself walk the two miles to the train to the mall. Anything I purchased had to be carried back the distance. Did it work..? Nope! Dragged 75lbs of clothing miles home, uphill- 10 feet of snow, etc.
When I get home I’m trying to placate my rational mind with explanations as to why I *needed* all of this. Lookit this beautiful wool jacket! So soft... and I mean, we live in MN- it’s going to get cold... My rational mind looks into the closet where a perfectly serviceable, expensive (though old) jacket hangs. Erm- yes but I’ve had that coat for years and years and I plan on giving it to someone else to enjoy too. Swear.
Here to prove my point I bring it to the clothes swap area on my floor and watch someone pick it up before I’ve even left the room. Back in my apartment feeling smug about my charity, I reminisce about the good times and bad with jacket. Hmm... sometimes I hide money in pockets so I can rediscover it later and be surprised. I wonder if I should have looked in the coat? Oh wait, NAH- did that last spring and there was nothing in there but... OH MY FREAKIN’ GOD.
::races back to clothes swap::
Ah- where did they go?! WHERE DID THEY GO?! I start randomly knocking on doors. (This takes awhile) Finally I recognize the person who comes to the door. ‘Thank god! So um... that coat? No, no! It’s yours, I’m just going to need something out of the pocket there. A little tube about 2 inches tall... filled with erm, stuff. Yes, filled with a powder. Wait, how you *you* know that? Oh. You unsealed it? Oh, you were curious. ...you didn’t like, smell it or taste it did you? Uh... did you? Well if you did, (oh god) should be okay. Guess it’s um... organic?’
Walking back to the apartment, I tell the tube how sorry I am.
There were originally about 7 or 8 of these. Half of them have been lost in one fashion or another. Hell, maybe they all are gone now- I’ve lost touch with the other holders. Last I heard, my friend Tanya was navigating a particularity nasty turn when hers (sitting on the dash) rolled out the open window. Amanda’s kids opened hers and threw it in their wading pool. One was spilled outside and another was spilled inside- had to be vacuumed up eventually.
Now of course, I can’t know for sure... they wouldn’t tell me outright-
But I’m *pretty* sure my neighbor tried to snort the cremated remains of my friend Bobby...
(Believe me, he would have found that hilarious.)
Sorry hun!
<3 Your little wagon-burner
:D
Friday, September 5, 2008
Convention Week
*OR*
The RNC: an insider’s articulately and professionally analyzed synopsis.
::snicker::
*OR*
What happens in St. Paul, gets bussed over and dropped off on the streets of Minneapolis
*OR*
McCain and Me- a subtle descent into my own moral depravity
*OR*
I survived the Republican National Convention and all I got was this lousy t-shirt
*OR*...
Monday:
::Kell is conspicuously absent:: Haha! Silly management- you didn’t realize that by allowing me my vacation you’d have to come in on labor day and confront the hordes of GOPs yourself. The key to happiness is to find pleasure in the small, simple aspects of life- like causing a 10 hour day of hell for those who professionally torment you on a regular basis.
Tuesday:
Plopped down in the middle of a war zone, I stroll into work (as usual) 15 minutes late to find the entire Normandy staff barricaded inside of the sales office. Every line on the in-house switchboard is lit up as our guests appear to have SERIOUS 6:45am needs that won’t wait. I reach for the phone when-
‘AHHHHHH! Don’t answer the phone!! Whatever you do, don’t answer the ph-ooone!!’
Now I try not to dislike an entire group of people based solely on principle so I did, in fact- answer the phone. And spent the next two hours of my morning being told in brusque voices to fetch this, find that, book a table here, and move an appointment there. All this before they even leave their rooms, I can’t imagine dealing with them in the flesh... My coworkers, smugly superior on the other side of their blue bridge- point fingers and laugh at my frantic expressions.
*Until* the first comes down to the lobby and plops a crisp $50 on my desk with a desire that I ‘buy myself something pretty with it, sugar’. Cash keeps on accumulating at the concierge desk all morning for the ‘sweet girl’ whom everyone has to pet as they make their ways to convention. (So hard for the money! Do do du DO) I’m dazzled by their megawatt smiles and embarrassingly enough, find myself giving the thumbs up repeatedly and sporting republican flair- including an ‘Al Franken-stein? Don’t let this happen to Minnesota!’ button.
Midday finds me running to a spa a few blocks away to ensure that all of the appointments I made earlier are still a go. A non-descript gentleman brushes past me with a murmured pleasantry as I enter the building. A flurry of excited activity greets me inside- as the gentleman happened to be... Al Franken. I glance down at the rows of buttons that line my jacket- specifically the one with his altered face on it. I walk out, sit down on a bench, and drop my head in my hands dejectedly. Thomas, my favorite downtown streetperson sits next to me and asks what’s wrong. I tell him all this money in my pockets makes me feel kind of dirty. He tells me a story. Thomas says the local homeless were offered all these fabulous things- good meals, a place to sleep, a few bucks... He never took them up on this offer because he had heard a rumor that accepting the handout meant getting stuck on a bus and being taken to less spotlighted areas of the city for the week. I walk back to the hotel with sobering thoughts.
Wednesday:
Republicans.
I refuse the credentials to the convention later that night. No thank you, I really don’t want to go. Eventually it gets to the point where, to prevent myself from being forcibly dragged to the rally, I have to barricade myself in the sales office.
Thursday:
Republicans.
Tim- our WASPy looking, immaculately dressed MOD takes up my former gauntlet. No one can understand why he wouldn’t want the hospitality passes to hear the convention speeches. We need more upstanding young people like you there, they say. Exasperated, Tim finally reaches his breaking point. Pocketing the pushers’ credentials- he says, ‘Ok! I’ll have to ask my boyfriend and see if he wants to go and if he does we’ll be there.’
<3 for Tim.
Got my first letter from Felicia today! And she's doin' good, doin' fine! :D
Friday:
One foot in front of the other... one foot in front of the other. I finally make it to my apartment after another looooong day.
::opens door::
::tosses purse in hallway::
::steps inside and closes door::
::on the way to taking one shoe off, drops dead of exhaustion::
I guess I didn’t hate *all* of it. Some of the festivities were kind of exciting and fun- once I cleared my head. Mad props to Governor Babcock (f) of Montana and delegate Priscilla Rakestraw from Delaware for being cool-as-hell guests. No props to Ms. Snappy-fingers, media manager for some obscure independent press or Sally-stick-up-my-ass junior assistant to the assistant to somebody from Nebraska. Though you know, I’d probably be a bitch too if I had to live in Nebraska...
The RNC: an insider’s articulately and professionally analyzed synopsis.
::snicker::
*OR*
What happens in St. Paul, gets bussed over and dropped off on the streets of Minneapolis
*OR*
McCain and Me- a subtle descent into my own moral depravity
*OR*
I survived the Republican National Convention and all I got was this lousy t-shirt
*OR*...
Monday:
::Kell is conspicuously absent:: Haha! Silly management- you didn’t realize that by allowing me my vacation you’d have to come in on labor day and confront the hordes of GOPs yourself. The key to happiness is to find pleasure in the small, simple aspects of life- like causing a 10 hour day of hell for those who professionally torment you on a regular basis.
Tuesday:
Plopped down in the middle of a war zone, I stroll into work (as usual) 15 minutes late to find the entire Normandy staff barricaded inside of the sales office. Every line on the in-house switchboard is lit up as our guests appear to have SERIOUS 6:45am needs that won’t wait. I reach for the phone when-
‘AHHHHHH! Don’t answer the phone!! Whatever you do, don’t answer the ph-ooone!!’
Now I try not to dislike an entire group of people based solely on principle so I did, in fact- answer the phone. And spent the next two hours of my morning being told in brusque voices to fetch this, find that, book a table here, and move an appointment there. All this before they even leave their rooms, I can’t imagine dealing with them in the flesh... My coworkers, smugly superior on the other side of their blue bridge- point fingers and laugh at my frantic expressions.
*Until* the first comes down to the lobby and plops a crisp $50 on my desk with a desire that I ‘buy myself something pretty with it, sugar’. Cash keeps on accumulating at the concierge desk all morning for the ‘sweet girl’ whom everyone has to pet as they make their ways to convention. (So hard for the money! Do do du DO) I’m dazzled by their megawatt smiles and embarrassingly enough, find myself giving the thumbs up repeatedly and sporting republican flair- including an ‘Al Franken-stein? Don’t let this happen to Minnesota!’ button.
Midday finds me running to a spa a few blocks away to ensure that all of the appointments I made earlier are still a go. A non-descript gentleman brushes past me with a murmured pleasantry as I enter the building. A flurry of excited activity greets me inside- as the gentleman happened to be... Al Franken. I glance down at the rows of buttons that line my jacket- specifically the one with his altered face on it. I walk out, sit down on a bench, and drop my head in my hands dejectedly. Thomas, my favorite downtown streetperson sits next to me and asks what’s wrong. I tell him all this money in my pockets makes me feel kind of dirty. He tells me a story. Thomas says the local homeless were offered all these fabulous things- good meals, a place to sleep, a few bucks... He never took them up on this offer because he had heard a rumor that accepting the handout meant getting stuck on a bus and being taken to less spotlighted areas of the city for the week. I walk back to the hotel with sobering thoughts.
Wednesday:
Republicans.
I refuse the credentials to the convention later that night. No thank you, I really don’t want to go. Eventually it gets to the point where, to prevent myself from being forcibly dragged to the rally, I have to barricade myself in the sales office.
Thursday:
Republicans.
Tim- our WASPy looking, immaculately dressed MOD takes up my former gauntlet. No one can understand why he wouldn’t want the hospitality passes to hear the convention speeches. We need more upstanding young people like you there, they say. Exasperated, Tim finally reaches his breaking point. Pocketing the pushers’ credentials- he says, ‘Ok! I’ll have to ask my boyfriend and see if he wants to go and if he does we’ll be there.’
<3 for Tim.
Got my first letter from Felicia today! And she's doin' good, doin' fine! :D
Friday:
One foot in front of the other... one foot in front of the other. I finally make it to my apartment after another looooong day.
::opens door::
::tosses purse in hallway::
::steps inside and closes door::
::on the way to taking one shoe off, drops dead of exhaustion::
I guess I didn’t hate *all* of it. Some of the festivities were kind of exciting and fun- once I cleared my head. Mad props to Governor Babcock (f) of Montana and delegate Priscilla Rakestraw from Delaware for being cool-as-hell guests. No props to Ms. Snappy-fingers, media manager for some obscure independent press or Sally-stick-up-my-ass junior assistant to the assistant to somebody from Nebraska. Though you know, I’d probably be a bitch too if I had to live in Nebraska...
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