traveling pants

Yep, I've got 'em on. I'm heading out to Los Angeles this afternoon to hang with H and his peeps, catch some good improv, try my hand at Guitar Hero, browse around for furniture, cuddle a baby and hopefully have some sushi.
 

I'll be back next week, but until then I leave you with a discovery I recently made in the refrigerated case at Potbelly. It must be the Kola nut or the Green Tea, but it really reminds me of something I sampled back on a college road trip stop at Coca-cola headquarters in Atlanta. It was an flavor of Coke that featured the taste of lychee aimed to please Asian consumers. Plus the name reminds me of this magazine I used to get when I was a kid. Sometimes the good-vibe association alone is enough to make you love something.

Cricket cola. Not for everyone, but it makes me happy.

I'll be with H, so you know I'll be online. I hope you guys have a wonderful weekend. 

You stay classy, San Diego

"He sent me a whole list of questions, and one of them was 'What's the one thing you love most about Cadiz?' "

"Me!? Wow. Well, I have to know—what did you say?"

"I told him that no one 'gets' me like you do. I know that no matter what I'm really thinking, I can say it to you and you won't judge me because we are of the same mind."

"Definitely. I feel the same way."

"Like if I told you, 'Cadiz I just murdered someone,' I know you'd probably say something like "That bitch probably deserved it.' "

"You know it! And after that, I'd say 'Let's go. I'll help you get rid of the body."

You may have left my city for sunnier climes, cc, but I'll still always have your back.

they call themselves the Wafflehouse Skanks

"Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing. Working. What are you doing, playing Rock Band again?"

"Yeap, I already beat all the songs on easy."

"Oh goodness, you and H should form a club; you're both obessed with those games."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm, he's beaten all the easy and medium on Guitar Hero and is working on the hardest level or whatever it is."

"That's my goal eventually. But I have to wait for the others to work on it."

"Why?"

"We have three or four guys who come over to play. We've started a band."

"What did you name it?"

"The Wafflehouse Skanks."

"Classy."

"I'm the lead singer. I get all the chicks."

at the very least they should award ribbons

It's nice to show people we care. And even though Valentine's Day has become ridiculously commercialized, at the heart is a lovely message—under a pile of diamond commercials and red-velvet candyboxes. I love the idea of letting somebody know they're mighty special. But too often people end up making it into a chore; there's this weird pressure to give your honey something worthwhile to share at the watercooler the next day, because you know people are going to ask. If somebody wants to treat schnuckums to a fancy night out or a pricey gift, that's awesome. And schnuckums should feel free to tell the world about it with abandon. But why is that any *better* than cutting your husband's sandwich into a heart shape, sending your kid Spider-Man boxer shorts or emailing your sweetie a 4 am haiku? Because it cost more? That's what frosts my cookies about February 14 (and don't even get me started on its unnecessary torture of single people). If it really were a contest, I'm pretty sure there would be prizes.

People have made me feel loved today. Most other days, too. And while I have no out-of-the-ordinary plans (not even a trip to IKEA), I consider myself one lucky beeyatch. 

So glad I didn't decide to work from home today.

I hope that no matter what you've got going on, all of you know that you're special and loved, too. Today and all the rest of the year.

this is not an endorsement

Last week, H, stumbled onto a movie that I had only heard of briefly. When I asked him how he liked it (curious as to why a film with so many big-name actors had hit the dollar theater so quickly), he didn't really say much about it. All he would say is that I should watch it and judge for myself. I couldn't get a read on whether the movie was really terrible and he wanted someone to commiserate with about its horribleness or if he thought I'd really enjoy it. H has an excellent poker face (and voice), so I really had no idea what he was thinking. Reluctantly, I moved it to the top of my Netflix queue.

I got it in the mail and watched, spending the entire film looking for what it was that may have irked H. I thought there were a few possibilities, but more than that I found myself getting hooked by the sincerity of the story and its magic. I finished it with a sense of warm happiness I haven't had since I discovered that french film without any hype years ago.

Later, when I called him to find out what all the secrecy was about, H said, "Well, I knew you wouldn't like it as much if I told you that I thought you'd really like it."

He knows me so well.

being grown-up sucks

I realize that it's been nearly a week since I last posted. I'm okay with the passing of my fish, really. He's filing TPS reports from the office in the sky.

I've just been slammed with work and other big decisions and mostly afraid that if I make a wrong choice I will end up losing my shirt and living in a soggy cardboard box on the street. I realize that the odds of that are unlikely. But if you've spent more than 2.5 seconds here, you've probably noticed that I live in the Land of Worst-Case Scenarios and I believe that if I spend some time hashing out every possible bad outcome, then maybe they won't come to fruition after all. I know this is not logical, but it helps me sleep at night.

I'm still reading, though!

R.I.P. Wanda (2004-2008)

My mom got him from someone who'd had him for two years, and he lived on her desk for one. I only had him for a short time, but I guess three years is really old if you're a Beta fish.



I won't be getting another one. This is nearly impossible to beat. Plus, losing them makes me sad.

He was a great fish.