Ever since I have lived alone I have found myself terrified of scary movies. I cover my face and bury my head in the sea of throw pillows just to muffle the sound of terror. I can't fathom the thought of ever liking scary flicks. I loved the "edge of your seat" feeling. My heart would pound as the music intensified.
I never had trouble sleeping after a scary movie night or a horror movie marathon with the girls. We would usually have one of those when one of us were having boy trouble. Who wanted to watch a romantic comedy during a dramatic time like that? Oh the seasons of heartache. How I ... don't miss thee. It would take our mind off of drama and draw our attention to other people's misery. Sounds wrong on so many levels right? What I mean is, noone wants to be driving down a deserted bridge in the pouring rain and see a little girl standing at the end of it, dressed in a long white dress with black eyes pointing at you.
After seeing something like that, thoughts of the love of your life leaving town and finding out he's not coming back doesn't seem so bad.
I always asked myself what I would do if I ever found myself in a typical scary movie situation. If a man called me on my cell phone telling me is in my bedroom would I run upstairs to see if he's there? If my house was haunted, would I stay? If I standed on an island full of hungry cannibals would I... share my bananas? What about if I heard strange noises in my attic, would I go on a quest to fight these soul hungry spirits? Maybe.
Now, ask me that again today. Um, HELL NO. If I can't even stand hearing commercials about a scary movie, what makes you think I would be the busty blonde running upstairs, or the blond who is using her clothing as shelter on the island fighting to keep her limbs to herself. Oh, the attic? Screw the attic. I will settle for storing everything in my walk in closet, where there is a light... and a baseball bat.
When you live alone, every noise that could only be heard by dogs magnifies 100 times. I hear everything. Even the sound of my refriderator coming on makes me jump out of my leggins. When I lay in bed, all I should be hearing is me breathing and my dog snoozin. I shouldn't be hearing all these clicks and clacks, tweets and beeps, bangs and clangs. What makes it worse is I live in a two story. So, upstairs is my arch nemesis at times. After an agonizing commercial, the last thing I want to do is go upstairs. I re-play it as if it will happen to me. At that moment.
So, suck it exorsist commercial that plays after every other commercial on every othe channel. Stop appearing out of no where on my television. I hear extra noises when I see you. Yuck. All I want to do is watch the Bachelor. By the way, how many of these movies are they going to make about you already. Goodness.
Always frost your cupcake with pastel colors. It's not scary.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
How I Suddenly Became a Crooner
Ok, so I still have one more day to take a mental break from writing as I spend the last few hours with my family. However, I totally have to tell you how I suddenly became part of the Crooner family. This will be short and sweet.
What is a crooner you ask? A Crooner is an American nickname given to a male singer of 1920s to 1950s. Mostly from the Great American Songbook. A Crooner can be a single artist or a group of artists. He is normally backed by a ful orchstra or bigband. "Crooner" was originally an sarcastic term denoting what was perceived as a pretentious, sentimental singing style. At least, I hope I have that right.
ANYWAY...
I haven't seen my youngest cousin in four years. She is 12. I have done all I can in my power to stop her from becoming a teenager. No luck thus far. I have had the pleasure of spending quality time with her emptying box after box of Dr. Pepper. She loves her Dr. Pepper like me. I love Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper loves me.
One night, as we poured our soul in to Lifetime movies, we found ourselves at the pit of the Dr. Pepper box. You know, the kind of box where you have to dig into the abiss and reach with all your might? Yeah, that kind. I noticed a look of concern as she pulled out the last Dr. Pepper. I didn't respond because, well, I was totally in the Dr. Pepper zone. " Um.. Megan??" My cousin said with a worried tone. " Um.. yes Mikayla?" I replied. Looking at me at the corner of her eye and with a soft voice she whispered " We are out of Dr. Pepper". A moment of silence bestowed upon us. I was speechless, suddenly feeling like I was eight years old again knowing I was going to be busted for sneaking in the refridgerator for a soda... or two... or three or.... a whole box??
We stood there for a minute. It seemed like an eternity. Elevator music would have been the perfect epic theme. Oh my goodness, we just drank all the Dr. Pepper, I said to myself. I can hear the fizzing of this miraculous concoction of 23 flavors flowing over my ice cubes.
"Well Mikayla, there is only one thing to say, I'll just simply ask, WOW who drank all the Dr. Pepper?" Yeah, that would do the trick. Act as if you know nothing of this disappearing act of such goodness. I figured that would be the end to our sugary fiasco. All of a sudden I hear my cousin say " THE CROONERS!! The Crooners drank all the Dr. Pepper" I glanced at her and questioned these "crooners". " Wait, who are the Crooners"? I said with a mouthful of frothy ice. With such virtuousness she says " I don't know, I just read it off grandpa's CD he has laying there". I looked over and low and behold there on the counter laid a CD titled "The Crooners".
I simply said " Mikayla.... that'll work..they are part of this family you know" Haha.
We sure do make a good team!!! :)
Hmmm, Dr. Pepper cupcakes. I better pre heat the oven STAT :)
What is a crooner you ask? A Crooner is an American nickname given to a male singer of 1920s to 1950s. Mostly from the Great American Songbook. A Crooner can be a single artist or a group of artists. He is normally backed by a ful orchstra or bigband. "Crooner" was originally an sarcastic term denoting what was perceived as a pretentious, sentimental singing style. At least, I hope I have that right.
ANYWAY...
I haven't seen my youngest cousin in four years. She is 12. I have done all I can in my power to stop her from becoming a teenager. No luck thus far. I have had the pleasure of spending quality time with her emptying box after box of Dr. Pepper. She loves her Dr. Pepper like me. I love Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper loves me.
One night, as we poured our soul in to Lifetime movies, we found ourselves at the pit of the Dr. Pepper box. You know, the kind of box where you have to dig into the abiss and reach with all your might? Yeah, that kind. I noticed a look of concern as she pulled out the last Dr. Pepper. I didn't respond because, well, I was totally in the Dr. Pepper zone. " Um.. Megan??" My cousin said with a worried tone. " Um.. yes Mikayla?" I replied. Looking at me at the corner of her eye and with a soft voice she whispered " We are out of Dr. Pepper". A moment of silence bestowed upon us. I was speechless, suddenly feeling like I was eight years old again knowing I was going to be busted for sneaking in the refridgerator for a soda... or two... or three or.... a whole box??
We stood there for a minute. It seemed like an eternity. Elevator music would have been the perfect epic theme. Oh my goodness, we just drank all the Dr. Pepper, I said to myself. I can hear the fizzing of this miraculous concoction of 23 flavors flowing over my ice cubes.
"Well Mikayla, there is only one thing to say, I'll just simply ask, WOW who drank all the Dr. Pepper?" Yeah, that would do the trick. Act as if you know nothing of this disappearing act of such goodness. I figured that would be the end to our sugary fiasco. All of a sudden I hear my cousin say " THE CROONERS!! The Crooners drank all the Dr. Pepper" I glanced at her and questioned these "crooners". " Wait, who are the Crooners"? I said with a mouthful of frothy ice. With such virtuousness she says " I don't know, I just read it off grandpa's CD he has laying there". I looked over and low and behold there on the counter laid a CD titled "The Crooners".
I simply said " Mikayla.... that'll work..they are part of this family you know" Haha.
We sure do make a good team!!! :)
Hmmm, Dr. Pepper cupcakes. I better pre heat the oven STAT :)
Now Boarding
Yes, tomorrow I will surrender myself to the hustle and bustle of end of Holiday travel. I will take up time at the ticket counter by somehow submerging my ID down to the pits of my Louis Vuitton where no hand shall ever have to go. I will forget my confirmation number which will result in the desk clerk having to type on the computer for 10 minutes, frantically pushing each button on the computer as if she is trying to crack some kind of secret code. My suitcase will be too heavy and I will have to pay the extra fifty dollars just to have my suitcase catapulted onto the conveyor belt. As if she ranked number one in the javelin. When will there be a law passed for suitcase abuse. They have feelings too you know.
" Your gate number is B35. Thank you for flying us. We hope that you enjoyed your stay and that you reach your destination sucessfully" Successfully? Should I ask her what happens if I don't find my destination successfully? Is That a real smile? How many times does she have to use that tone of voice? Does she say that to everyone? Am I really standing here with my head cocked to the side staring at her thinking this? Am I thinking outloud? Oh well. My destination awaits me... or does it?
I will drop my ID back down into the black hole of the unknown and realize that I will be needed it to get through security. My dog will be wining in her carrier. I will realize that I forgot to give her a half of a teaspoon of baby Benedryl so that she will be relaxed until we reach our "destination". My bangs will fall out of their bobby pins that have been placed with much trial and error. I thought it would be totally cute if I cut them strait across. Um, mistake number fiftyseven thousand.... and two. My skinny jeans will fit a little bit tighter than when I reached my first destination. My bra straps will keep falling because, well, I think I need a new bra. Comfortable bra + denial of a new one = bad. Just bad.
I will reach security and realize I have on my Uggs. I will have to put everything down and literally pull my skinny jeans up just to get my Uggs off. I have on jewelry that will set of the alarms and I have to take my dog out of her carrier. I usually give everyone a pretty good show before entering the all mighty metal detectors. I have been flying since I was seven and yet I still can't get it together before passing through. Goodness.
I am certain that standing before me will be a big, muscular woman named Helga with combat boots on. Her hair will be pulled in a tight bun. Stretching her eyes open and smoothing out each wrinkle. Wow Megan, sterotype much?? She won't smile. She won't speak. She will simply motion me to come through. I will beep once and she will suddenly fling her hand up in my face and with a deep voice request that I move back and remove any metal from my body. I will remember that I keep my phone in my pocket. I will beep a second time. Except, this time, she guides me to a little clear holding cell in the middle of the security line. There I will stand, with my dog. Barefoot and vulnerable. Bangs a mess. Hungry.
I will remember that my dogs collar has a metal tag on it and I will knock on the clear, bulletproof door showing her the reason I beeped a second time. Ah, that did it. Third times a charm. I will then attempt to fight with all the buckets that are coming out of the Xray machine at one time. Kind of like one of those assembly line conveyor belts at a candy factory that get out of control. My uggs won't go on so smoothly this time. Darn those tight skinny jeans. People will walk pass me as if they feel my pain. Noone makes eye contact the security booths. You are literally a robot. Take off half your attire, walk strait through the dectector, get your shit and be on your merry adventure and hopefully "reach your destination successfully".
I will then forget my gate number. I will have to stop at one of those little screens to find my flight. I will feel as if I had just tried out for the lead role in a play as I elbow my way through the crowd to find my one little gate number out of 200. I will be surrounded by strangers of many cultures and religions, all shoving their way to find their gates. It will be like a herd of cattle. Frustrated, beautiful, Iphone is their faces cattle. I will then remember that my gate is B35. I am standing in terminal E. Who the heck has a terminal E? Yes my friends, I will then embark on my quest lugging my 14 pound dog in her hot pink carrier towards freakin gate B.
I do not dare stop to get a scrumptious, swirly, frosting covered sticky bun. Those things were sent from the heavens. Except, my skinny jeans, at the moment won't be so heavenly. Twenty pounds lighter, six hundred and fifty seven miles later and sweating, I will have FINALLY reached my gate. B35, I will never forget you. Your not a mirage. Your real. I love you terminal B, gate 35.
I will see people sitting down with their blackberries and Iphones. I will see business men devouring Mcdonalds double cheeseburgers as they close the deal with their bluetooths lit up in their ears. I will see mommy's rushing their children to the bathrooms in hopes of a "accident free" travel day. I will see soldiers pacing back and forth. Some will be on their phones texting their loved ones because they are coming home. Some will be wondering what is goin go to happen next. I don't like to see that kind of pacing.
I will see children on their father's shoulders standing against the window awaiting the big airplane that is about to pull up. I will be hearing many different conversations. I will be wishing I had an Ipod so that I can listen to music. I will be replaying my wonderful memories of my time spent with my family. I will surprised how well my dog is doing in her carrier. I will be wondering what I will be eating during my next layover. I will be awaiting the moment when I get to struggle out of these skinny jeans and slip into my sweat pants.
I will be flying off into the sunset, writing the next two weeks of lesson plans. I will be grasping on to my neighbor as we hit turbulance. I will think how beautiful the sky looks from "way up here". I will be thankful for love and my family. I will want to come back sometime soon. I sure do love to fly.
Airplane cookies coming up. No turbulance added.
Photo courtesy of psionteklogix.com
" Your gate number is B35. Thank you for flying us. We hope that you enjoyed your stay and that you reach your destination sucessfully" Successfully? Should I ask her what happens if I don't find my destination successfully? Is That a real smile? How many times does she have to use that tone of voice? Does she say that to everyone? Am I really standing here with my head cocked to the side staring at her thinking this? Am I thinking outloud? Oh well. My destination awaits me... or does it?
I will drop my ID back down into the black hole of the unknown and realize that I will be needed it to get through security. My dog will be wining in her carrier. I will realize that I forgot to give her a half of a teaspoon of baby Benedryl so that she will be relaxed until we reach our "destination". My bangs will fall out of their bobby pins that have been placed with much trial and error. I thought it would be totally cute if I cut them strait across. Um, mistake number fiftyseven thousand.... and two. My skinny jeans will fit a little bit tighter than when I reached my first destination. My bra straps will keep falling because, well, I think I need a new bra. Comfortable bra + denial of a new one = bad. Just bad.
I will reach security and realize I have on my Uggs. I will have to put everything down and literally pull my skinny jeans up just to get my Uggs off. I have on jewelry that will set of the alarms and I have to take my dog out of her carrier. I usually give everyone a pretty good show before entering the all mighty metal detectors. I have been flying since I was seven and yet I still can't get it together before passing through. Goodness.
I am certain that standing before me will be a big, muscular woman named Helga with combat boots on. Her hair will be pulled in a tight bun. Stretching her eyes open and smoothing out each wrinkle. Wow Megan, sterotype much?? She won't smile. She won't speak. She will simply motion me to come through. I will beep once and she will suddenly fling her hand up in my face and with a deep voice request that I move back and remove any metal from my body. I will remember that I keep my phone in my pocket. I will beep a second time. Except, this time, she guides me to a little clear holding cell in the middle of the security line. There I will stand, with my dog. Barefoot and vulnerable. Bangs a mess. Hungry.
I will remember that my dogs collar has a metal tag on it and I will knock on the clear, bulletproof door showing her the reason I beeped a second time. Ah, that did it. Third times a charm. I will then attempt to fight with all the buckets that are coming out of the Xray machine at one time. Kind of like one of those assembly line conveyor belts at a candy factory that get out of control. My uggs won't go on so smoothly this time. Darn those tight skinny jeans. People will walk pass me as if they feel my pain. Noone makes eye contact the security booths. You are literally a robot. Take off half your attire, walk strait through the dectector, get your shit and be on your merry adventure and hopefully "reach your destination successfully".
I will then forget my gate number. I will have to stop at one of those little screens to find my flight. I will feel as if I had just tried out for the lead role in a play as I elbow my way through the crowd to find my one little gate number out of 200. I will be surrounded by strangers of many cultures and religions, all shoving their way to find their gates. It will be like a herd of cattle. Frustrated, beautiful, Iphone is their faces cattle. I will then remember that my gate is B35. I am standing in terminal E. Who the heck has a terminal E? Yes my friends, I will then embark on my quest lugging my 14 pound dog in her hot pink carrier towards freakin gate B.
I do not dare stop to get a scrumptious, swirly, frosting covered sticky bun. Those things were sent from the heavens. Except, my skinny jeans, at the moment won't be so heavenly. Twenty pounds lighter, six hundred and fifty seven miles later and sweating, I will have FINALLY reached my gate. B35, I will never forget you. Your not a mirage. Your real. I love you terminal B, gate 35.
I will see people sitting down with their blackberries and Iphones. I will see business men devouring Mcdonalds double cheeseburgers as they close the deal with their bluetooths lit up in their ears. I will see mommy's rushing their children to the bathrooms in hopes of a "accident free" travel day. I will see soldiers pacing back and forth. Some will be on their phones texting their loved ones because they are coming home. Some will be wondering what is goin go to happen next. I don't like to see that kind of pacing.
I will see children on their father's shoulders standing against the window awaiting the big airplane that is about to pull up. I will be hearing many different conversations. I will be wishing I had an Ipod so that I can listen to music. I will be replaying my wonderful memories of my time spent with my family. I will surprised how well my dog is doing in her carrier. I will be wondering what I will be eating during my next layover. I will be awaiting the moment when I get to struggle out of these skinny jeans and slip into my sweat pants.
I will be flying off into the sunset, writing the next two weeks of lesson plans. I will be grasping on to my neighbor as we hit turbulance. I will think how beautiful the sky looks from "way up here". I will be thankful for love and my family. I will want to come back sometime soon. I sure do love to fly.
Airplane cookies coming up. No turbulance added.
Photo courtesy of psionteklogix.com
Monday, December 13, 2010
Bad Luck- You Can Suck It
No no you dirty minded readers. I'm talking about bad luck. Walking under a ladder kind of bad luck. Breaking a mirror bad luck. Opening an umbrella inside kind of bad luck. Salt spilling on the table kind of bad luck. Seeing an owl in the daylight kind of bad luck. Stepping on a crack breaking your mama's back bad luck. Your first kiss on Friday the 13th bad luck. Killing a sparrow bad luck. Yes, killing a sparrow. The bad luck I have had today couldn't have been more rile.
Alarm clock goes off 25 minutes late. How does that even happen?Shower rod falls off the fall. Leaving me vunerable, cold and exposed. With my dog staring at me at the door.
Shampoo gets in my eyes and I go to work bloodshot.
Was asked if I had been drinking by a colleague. I replied, ' no, I got shampoo in my eyes'.Realized my skinny jeans are still in the washer. Wet.
Got all the way down my driveway and realized I forgot to shut the garage door.
Turned around and found my dog sitting in my yard. She got out the doggy door. Then she got out the gate. Because I forgot to lock the gate. Again.
My dog decided to play chase at 7 o'clock in the morning. I'm already late for work. Wearing leggins and heels.
While chasing my dog I hear a snap. Shit. My brastrap just broke.
Driving to work I noticed my gages were going crazy. Shit. Really?
I dropped my delicious sweet tea. Inside my truck. All over my floor board.
I locked my keys in my truck arriving at school.
I just switched my insurance to where I cancelled Roadside Assistance.
I forgot it was one of my student's birthday today. I never forget. Never.
The copier got a paper jam as I was printing out tomorrow's lesson.
Then it jammed again after I fixed it the first time.
I never got that lesson finished.
The basketball team was late to practice. Then pulled out of practice for tutoring. Noone e-mailed me... or coach Mendoza.
Our first game is in two weeks. And they all need tutoring.
Three of my student's sneezed on me today. Three.
My ex boyfriend got married yesterday. Not that it bothers me. I'm happy for him.
I forgot to take my kids to music today because I was too busy fixing the copy machine.
I had a headache from the hills of terror.
I had cramps that would make a woman in labor jealous.
I was pumping gas when three guys jumped in the back of my truck asking for work. " we work we work". I thought that was the end of me.
I walked in my house to find my flip flops, headband and lipgloss eatin.
I had the hiccups that lasted an hour. Who does that happen to?? Me, of course.
My dryer lint tray spit out all the lint while I was at work. It was as if washer and dryer were having a party.
My doorbell rang and by the time I got downstairs and answer the door, they were gone. Who waits one minute for someone to answer the door? Doesn't anyone have patience anymore?
I watched a horrible, terrible no good spoof of Twilight called "Vampires Suck". It sucked.
So, suck it. Bad luck. You mean vengeance machine.
Cupcakes don't suck.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Passion
I keep getting asked the question " what are you passionate about"? I don't understand why people continue to ask me this question. It seems to come up in most conversations I have with them. So, my new Salon friends, I will create a list of I'm passionate about. Enjoy.
God
Family
really fluffy clouds
loela (my pup)
sleeping in
snuggling
the way my mouth foams with my new state of the art toothpaste
love
holding hands
kissing
hugging
eskimo kisses
text messaging
listening to my messages
the way my mom smells
the way my dad laughs
my nieces
their "i'm too good for you now" attitudes
my students
the way they learn
the way they cut
the way they write
the way they say they love me
the way they love each other
the way they tell funny jokes
rain
snow
sleet
showers
rainbows
snowmen
louis vuitton
lips gloss
of all flavors
mascara
blush
strait teeth
men who smell good
writing
writing stories
smiling
lauging
my sectional couch that I have't broke in yet
my door that has three deadbolt locks
my garage door that never gets stuck
my neighbor who always parks behind my garage for some stupid reason
cool breezes
uggs
flip flops
education
did I say kissing??
your eyes
my first love
I was 18
the year I turned 18
my best friend
the way loela greets me at the door
the way loela eats my lipgloss and has healthier lips than me.
the way she looks all soapy and wet
the way she looks at me when im giving her a bath
like she wants to kill me
the way mom mother sounds on the phone
the way my dad gets distracted by the tv when talking to me on the phone
the way my mom texts in all lower case and doesn't use the spacebar
the way i still dream of sandra ann
wearing her bracelets
nachos
cheese
watermelon bubbalicious
dr pepper
airports
the way people behave in airports
being a mommy ( one day)
being a wife (one day)
my wedding day
when my dad gives me away
my first kiss
my last kiss
praying
eating
eating
waking up when its still dark and knowing i still have time to sleep
how he looks at me
the way he laughs when i tell a joke wrong
the homeless
the sun
Mars
the stars
the smell of grass
stepping on roaches
stepping on crickets
catching fireflies
dodging bees
the sound of bees
the wind
my home
my shampoo
dove soap
mac and cheese
pita chips
summer trips
memories
pillows
driving long distances
speeding
blasting the radio
music
chocolate brown
vintage
old hollywood
Bible
teachers
inspiration
miracles
leggins
skinny jeans
sports bras
water bras
headbands with big bows
ribbons
wall decor
hardwood floors
candles
plug ins
shampooing my carpet
curling my lashes
looking at you
catching blown kisses
watching infomercials
perfume
lotions
tank tops
plus size stores
plus size employees working at abercrombie and fitch
plus size employees working at plus size stores
the way charm bracelets sound
taking nails out of walls
romantic comedies
jokes
reality tv
drama
imagination
dreams
roadmaps
journeys
challenges
free stuff
circle yes or no letters
crushes
projectors
flu shots
the color red
the color yellow
crying
endorphins
guidance
birthday parties
dancing
Christmas
Frogs
watermelon
whipped cream
wine
crushed ice
snow cones
the smell of airports
sleeping on airplanes
did i mention kissing??
mountains
hiking
skiing
water
beaches
sand
ocean life
the heavens
at night
night
moonlight
and..
cupcakes.
God
Family
really fluffy clouds
loela (my pup)
sleeping in
snuggling
the way my mouth foams with my new state of the art toothpaste
love
holding hands
kissing
hugging
eskimo kisses
text messaging
listening to my messages
the way my mom smells
the way my dad laughs
my nieces
their "i'm too good for you now" attitudes
my students
the way they learn
the way they cut
the way they write
the way they say they love me
the way they love each other
the way they tell funny jokes
rain
snow
sleet
showers
rainbows
snowmen
louis vuitton
lips gloss
of all flavors
mascara
blush
strait teeth
men who smell good
writing
writing stories
smiling
lauging
my sectional couch that I have't broke in yet
my door that has three deadbolt locks
my garage door that never gets stuck
my neighbor who always parks behind my garage for some stupid reason
cool breezes
uggs
flip flops
education
did I say kissing??
your eyes
my first love
I was 18
the year I turned 18
my best friend
the way loela greets me at the door
the way loela eats my lipgloss and has healthier lips than me.
the way she looks all soapy and wet
the way she looks at me when im giving her a bath
like she wants to kill me
the way mom mother sounds on the phone
the way my dad gets distracted by the tv when talking to me on the phone
the way my mom texts in all lower case and doesn't use the spacebar
the way i still dream of sandra ann
wearing her bracelets
nachos
cheese
watermelon bubbalicious
dr pepper
airports
the way people behave in airports
being a mommy ( one day)
being a wife (one day)
my wedding day
when my dad gives me away
my first kiss
my last kiss
praying
eating
eating
waking up when its still dark and knowing i still have time to sleep
how he looks at me
the way he laughs when i tell a joke wrong
the homeless
the sun
Mars
the stars
the smell of grass
stepping on roaches
stepping on crickets
catching fireflies
dodging bees
the sound of bees
the wind
my home
my shampoo
dove soap
mac and cheese
pita chips
summer trips
memories
pillows
driving long distances
speeding
blasting the radio
music
chocolate brown
vintage
old hollywood
Bible
teachers
inspiration
miracles
leggins
skinny jeans
sports bras
water bras
headbands with big bows
ribbons
wall decor
hardwood floors
candles
plug ins
shampooing my carpet
curling my lashes
looking at you
catching blown kisses
watching infomercials
perfume
lotions
tank tops
plus size stores
plus size employees working at abercrombie and fitch
plus size employees working at plus size stores
the way charm bracelets sound
taking nails out of walls
romantic comedies
jokes
reality tv
drama
imagination
dreams
roadmaps
journeys
challenges
free stuff
circle yes or no letters
crushes
projectors
flu shots
the color red
the color yellow
crying
endorphins
guidance
birthday parties
dancing
Christmas
Frogs
watermelon
whipped cream
wine
crushed ice
snow cones
the smell of airports
sleeping on airplanes
did i mention kissing??
mountains
hiking
skiing
water
beaches
sand
ocean life
the heavens
at night
night
moonlight
and..
cupcakes.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Winter Drinking
Before you show those tastebuds some affection, be sure to snuggle up with someone you love for an added tingle!
I remember feeling the cool breeze on my cheeks while conquering the monkey bars at school. I remember the tip of my nose chilled with the presence of winter. Winter was beautiful to me. It was comforting and loving. Winter was gentle and it frolicked through the towns of Southern Texas as if it was on a mission to seduce my senses. Winter always had it's own smell. Well, to me anyway. It was so crisp, like an apple that had fallen fresh from its branch. As ironic as it sounds, winter always made me feel......... warm.
Hot chocolate is a child's favorite winter drink. It's a cup of ecstacy drowning under pillows of marshmellows. My mother would add rainbow sprinkles. No special reason. Just love. I embraced the cup with all my chilly might. It flirted with my fingertips. It greeted my tounge with Holiday cheer. It was good. Really good.
Last year, I realized I was the only twenty something "Austin-ite" who didn't have clue about Spiked Hot Chocolate. "Spiked? Isn't that what they do at high school dances??" I was totally clueless about making my "cup of cheer" a little more...... cheery!! A good friend introduced me to this magical brew. A winter night cap that even Santa would love. So, here are a few tips to consider when making your hot chocolate a little extra merry. Enjoy my friends.
Tip #1: Play with your ingredients. I discoverd hazelnut liqueur and Bailey’s Irish Cream and let me tell you, I felt like Christopher Columbus when he touched land. These are warm components for your spiked hot chocolate.
Are your chestnuts roasting yet??
Tip #2: The best part of hot chocolate could possibly be the creamy swirl of pleasure that ended up more on the tip of my nose than in my cup . Top off your cocoa cocktail with home-made whipped cream. In a shaker, combine heavy cream, sugar to taste and ice. Shake vigorously with all your might for at least a minute, (some smootching under a mistletoe should pass the time!!!) or until the cream is thick. Swirl on top of the hot chocolate, add a cherry, and fall in love ....with winter.
Ingredients...
I remember feeling the cool breeze on my cheeks while conquering the monkey bars at school. I remember the tip of my nose chilled with the presence of winter. Winter was beautiful to me. It was comforting and loving. Winter was gentle and it frolicked through the towns of Southern Texas as if it was on a mission to seduce my senses. Winter always had it's own smell. Well, to me anyway. It was so crisp, like an apple that had fallen fresh from its branch. As ironic as it sounds, winter always made me feel......... warm.
Hot chocolate is a child's favorite winter drink. It's a cup of ecstacy drowning under pillows of marshmellows. My mother would add rainbow sprinkles. No special reason. Just love. I embraced the cup with all my chilly might. It flirted with my fingertips. It greeted my tounge with Holiday cheer. It was good. Really good.
Last year, I realized I was the only twenty something "Austin-ite" who didn't have clue about Spiked Hot Chocolate. "Spiked? Isn't that what they do at high school dances??" I was totally clueless about making my "cup of cheer" a little more...... cheery!! A good friend introduced me to this magical brew. A winter night cap that even Santa would love. So, here are a few tips to consider when making your hot chocolate a little extra merry. Enjoy my friends.
Tip #1: Play with your ingredients. I discoverd hazelnut liqueur and Bailey’s Irish Cream and let me tell you, I felt like Christopher Columbus when he touched land. These are warm components for your spiked hot chocolate.
Are your chestnuts roasting yet??
Tip #2: The best part of hot chocolate could possibly be the creamy swirl of pleasure that ended up more on the tip of my nose than in my cup . Top off your cocoa cocktail with home-made whipped cream. In a shaker, combine heavy cream, sugar to taste and ice. Shake vigorously with all your might for at least a minute, (some smootching under a mistletoe should pass the time!!!) or until the cream is thick. Swirl on top of the hot chocolate, add a cherry, and fall in love ....with winter.
Ingredients...
Just A Heart
Today,
I witnessed a breaking heart. I watched it cringe with sorrow and pain. One by one pieces of it floated down onto the sidewalk. An icy sidewalk. I watched it shatter at her feet. I held my hands out to catch it but it went right through them. A if it had been broken so many times, that it no longer exsisted. Tears turned her eyes from a blissful blue to a soft grey. Almost metallic.
Blush slumbered on her cheeks until torrant anguish spilt from her eyes. Her happy eyes. That became grey as rainfilled clouds. Her tears mimicking the rain that poured upon us. I couldn't mend her heartache. I couldn't stitch up her wounds. Her soul bruised. I couldn't fix her.
Not this time.
What happened you ask?
Her mother smiled and said ..... I hate you.
Sigh..... no cupcake tonight.
I witnessed a breaking heart. I watched it cringe with sorrow and pain. One by one pieces of it floated down onto the sidewalk. An icy sidewalk. I watched it shatter at her feet. I held my hands out to catch it but it went right through them. A if it had been broken so many times, that it no longer exsisted. Tears turned her eyes from a blissful blue to a soft grey. Almost metallic.
Blush slumbered on her cheeks until torrant anguish spilt from her eyes. Her happy eyes. That became grey as rainfilled clouds. Her tears mimicking the rain that poured upon us. I couldn't mend her heartache. I couldn't stitch up her wounds. Her soul bruised. I couldn't fix her.
Not this time.
What happened you ask?
Her mother smiled and said ..... I hate you.
Sigh..... no cupcake tonight.
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