I finished my taxes last night...e-filed everything, and I'm sending in my state check today since my state is too fucking backward to accept electronic debits. I got raped again, as usual. I don't own a home...I don't make much money...I'm not married (yet)...I have no children...and I don't make that much money. So why do I always have to pay a ton? It really gets to me. I'm ready for to move to Italy and adopt an ex-pat status.
In other news...driving to work this morning, I saw a car with a bumper sticker that said "LIFE IS GOOD" smashed up on the side of the road, the window glass shattered all over the place, and the driver holding his head in his hands. Not sure what message the universe was trying to send me on that one.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
From Here, You Can Almost See the Sea
I had a light pink room with purple violets stencilled in a border around the tops of all four walls. There were two large windows, one that looked out the front of the house toward the ocean, and one on the wall where my bed was overlooked the rental cottage next to us. If my room got too stuffy during the day, I could open the windows to catch a breeze off the ocean, and at night, I would sleep with them up so that I could fall asleep listening to the waves. Funny how, back when I was little, it didn't scare me to sleep with the windows open (and now it terrifies me), but then again, I was three stories off the ground with my parents nearby.
The only scary thing about the beach house was that, since it was up on pylons (which my seven-year-old self translated into "pilings"), our house shook constantly. When the washing machine was on its spin cycle, the whole house swayed back and forth, gently at first and then growing increasingly more violent as the cycle neared completion. The wind could be a little frightening, too; it would howl around the eaves at night, louder than any other wind I've ever heard, and it would shake the house horribly. We never had the balls (or the stupidity, for that matter) to try to outlast a hurricane in that house--we always dutifully evacuated, the car loaded down with photo albums and insurance forms--but if we had, I'm sure the wind would have given us a run for our money.
I wish we'd lived at the beach at a time in my life when I was old enough to appreciate it. I came home from school each day, grabbed a snack, and took my dog for a long run on the beach, even when it was raining. We would sit alone on the sand dykes, her paws crossed like a modern day Sphynx, and I would pull the sandspurs out of her paws when we got back to the house.
I really miss the sand in my shoes.
The only scary thing about the beach house was that, since it was up on pylons (which my seven-year-old self translated into "pilings"), our house shook constantly. When the washing machine was on its spin cycle, the whole house swayed back and forth, gently at first and then growing increasingly more violent as the cycle neared completion. The wind could be a little frightening, too; it would howl around the eaves at night, louder than any other wind I've ever heard, and it would shake the house horribly. We never had the balls (or the stupidity, for that matter) to try to outlast a hurricane in that house--we always dutifully evacuated, the car loaded down with photo albums and insurance forms--but if we had, I'm sure the wind would have given us a run for our money.
I wish we'd lived at the beach at a time in my life when I was old enough to appreciate it. I came home from school each day, grabbed a snack, and took my dog for a long run on the beach, even when it was raining. We would sit alone on the sand dykes, her paws crossed like a modern day Sphynx, and I would pull the sandspurs out of her paws when we got back to the house.
I really miss the sand in my shoes.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
What feeds that smile?
Interesting question. A lot feeds my smile. Waking with a start on Saturday mornings, thinking I'm late for work, and then realizing that it's Saturday. A fantastic new book. Rainy days (especially thunder). Overhearing someone correcting someone else for saying "irregardless" or "supposably." An unexpected text message. Anything related to Italy. My favorite foods. Patchwork quilts. Compliments. My nemesis falling down three flights of concrete stairs. (It hasn't happened, but it feeds my smile just thinking about it.) Witty tees. The dollar bargain bin at Target. David Gray. A good martini. Trying on new clothes and realizing I look better than I thought I would. The first couple of days after I get my eyebrows done. Dogs wearing sweaters. Spontaneous decisions to go to a bar or restaurant when I thought we'd be staying in. Packing neatly. Vanilla. Crackling fires. Beautiful days for hiking. Cards from my Ammy. Drinking gin and tonics on the boat in the summertime. Floating on the lake. Actually waking up early enough to go to the gym. My fiance's hand on the small of my back as we walk around. Spooning. Red nail polish. Engrish. Drinking tea while watching the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. Fortune cookies. Travelling. Big, gynormous, oversized umbrellas. Graham Greene. Re-reading the Anne of Green Gables series. Charleston. Puddles. Honey butter. Christmas lights. Polar bears. Silver necklaces. Cheap sunglasses. Flip flops. Proofreading. Black and white movies. Fleece blankets. E-mails from my best friend in Alaska. Knit scarves. Shoe organizers. Strawberry candy. Bud vases. Good music. New shoes. Birthdays. School supplies.
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