oh what the hell

I've never been one to make a New Year's resolution list. But as I laid in bed all day long on the first day of 2013, I thought this is either the best way to start the year, or the absolute worst. I don't want 2013 to be defined as the year I moped around, trying to "figure out" what I want to do with my life, another stagnant year, the pre-curser to a stagnant life, because I was too afraid to get out of bed, get dressed, and challenge myself. So here they are. Resolutions, goals, challenges. Albeit small, they are things that need to happen in order to reclaim my slowly dwindling self-respect.

yesterday my camera and I went for a walk

It was absolutely beautiful yesterday. I couldn't keep myself inside.
So I went on a date with my camera.















After our date I headed back to the apartment where one of my roommates and I decided we needed to bake cookies for our new upstairs neighbors. Our four new boy neighbors. We decided to leave the front door open so that the fresh baked cookie smell would waft up to their apartment.

I think our aprons made us feel extra domestic.

While we were making these cookies, we killed a bottle of chardonnay. Then burned the second batch.

The new neighbors were still grateful, crispy cookies and all. Their names are now written on the side of our fridge (I'm terrible with names, so I wrote them down and also drew some little doodles beside each name so as not to confuse them).

And that was my Sunday. For the most part. The highlights at least...

craziness.

In less than a month, I will be living in this beautiful city. Craziness.









So let me tell you a little story.

After searching for months on Craigslist and Roommate Finder, I have finally found a place to call home.

Let me tell you about looking through ads, searching for a place to live.
There's always something wrong.

Rent is too high. Wrong neighborhood. Roommates sound like sluts, or, possibly worse, geeks with no desire for social lives. Not allowed to use the oven. Looking for other Asians. No guests. No drinking. No fun. Wrong timing.

A few weeks ago I came home after a long night of work, and, although tired, I hopped online to see if any good sounding listings had surfaced.

And I found one. Further from school than I want to be. More than I want to pay. A month earlier than I planned to move.

Even though the latter would normally result in me moving on to another ad, I couldn't help but think that, other than those usual deal breakers, this sounded perfect. The roommates sounded like exactly what I was looking for. I would have my own room. And it is just so darn close to Golden Gate Park and the beach.

So, for the first time, I responded to an ad. Because it just felt so right.

Then, after I hit the send button, I agonized over what I wrote in the message. I won't lie, I sounded pretty dorky. But then, when don't I?

Okay, here's where it gets awesome.

The next day I hear back from one of the prospective roommates. Here's how the e-mail begins-

COURTNEY!!
It's Lia, from Paris. What are the chances that you would reply to my craigslist ad!? Crazy.


That's right. I replied to one of the hundreds of Craigslist ads I've read, and it turns out I knew the girl. What?!

Um, meant to be much?

So a few days later I drove to the city, checked out the place, waited overnight to give my decision then called to confirm that I was taking it. Last Thursday I picked up my keys. What a weird feeling.

And now I'm beginning to buy all the fun little things that you never really think of needing.

Yesterday I bought some spatulas.

Who knew spatulas could be so exciting?

nothing beats

a good messy bun. Oh summer I love you and the lack of caring that tags along when you are here.



So life has been crazy busy these past few weeks as I've been preparing to move and say goodbye to my friends. I promise I will try to update you all soon on what is going on, hopefully with some photos! I honestly haven't meant to neglect this blog and all of you, my blog friends. How sad...

it doesn't take much

Today at lunch my BTF (Best Tuesday Friend- we decided we're really only best friends on Tuesdays) Taylor and I got into a discussion about how I am so very easily entertained. She informed me that when she gets bored she finds things that would probably keep me entertained and then imagines what I would say about such things. I guess I'm glad I keep her entertained even when I'm not around.

For the most part, I'm usually never really bored. Just faux bored I suppose.

Perhaps it's because I find the world to be fascinating, and the people within it make it even more so. And I shouldn't even begin to talk about my active imagination.

But I will.

When I was little. I had an imaginary friend.

We would play in the blue playhouse my dad built for me with the flower boxes under the windows (I specifically remember reading a Dick and Jane-esque book, seeing her in a playhouse, lusting after the playhouse, and begging my dad to make one just like it. How nice it is to have a handy dad). We would go to ballerina class in "the forest" (a huge clump of trees in the back forty of our property, covered in berry bushes, a creek running through). I would come visit her at her house (the water pump, which conveniently became the gas station when I needed to fill up my bike, oh sorry, motorcycle). She would pout with me when I felt the world had wronged me.

I won't deny it, she was awesome.

I bet you will never guess what her name was.
Are you ready for this?


Ice Cream Cone.


That's right. Her name was Ice Cream Cone.

Which got me to thinking just now... I'm pretty sure celebrities name their children after their childhood imaginary friends. They must, right?! How else do you come up with some of those names?

But I digress. Pretty much, this whole post is just to say that yesterday I treated myself to a drive-thru car wash. Those car washes still haven't lost their magic. I. Was. Mesmerized.

Like I said, it doesn't take much.

there's no place like home

I really love coming up our driveway after a long day. There's nothing better than seeing the fields stretched before you, the red barn in the distance, and all the beautiful leaves waving their hello in the breeze.



One of the things that relaxes me most is strolling down the driveway to pick up the mail. It's always been my time to reflect and enjoy the silence. Last week, after picking up the mail, I was walking back up the driveway when it occurred to me that once the fall rolls around, this simple pleasure that I have enjoyed since childhood may no longer be mine to keep. And then I realized that after this summer, I might never live here again.

What an odd mix of emotions that came after that moment.

Excitement for the unknown, a sadness that was near crippling.

This is what I know. This is my home. This is my kind of beauty.

I can only hope, dream, that one day my children will appreciate the home I have built for them as much as I love the home my parents provided for me.

I'm that person.

You know. The one who only wears light pinks and nude colored nail polish because then it's less obvious when it starts to chip off.

Which, in my mind, is quite brilliant. Though some might see it as lazy. Or boring.

I'm also the kind of person who doesn't invest in nail polish remover. The person who just paints over the last five layers of polish.

Today was monumental though. I bought new polish. Non neutral polish. Polish dubbed Tart Deco and Peach Daiquiri. Although I'm not quite sure where they got peach from. It's really hot pink.

Just thought you'd like to know.

A few years ago, while waiting for a class to start, in my flip flops, toes exposed, this cute boy asked me what color my toenails were. I thought perhaps he's colorblind. "They're red" I said. "No, what's the name of the color?" "RED." "No, no. You know how every nail polish color has a name, like... Ruby Red, or Summer Bliss? What's the name of your nail polish?"

Oh.

I felt like I didn't deserve to be a girl. Apparently it's a requirement for girls to know the name of their polish. I say it's still red.

Speaking of toes. My first semester, my first week at Sacramento State, I took the light rail into school to avoid the parking pandemonium. That only lasted a few days because of my many encounters with the interesting citizens of Sacramento. Take, for example, James. James was enamored with my feet. He walked by me. Then passed by again. By the fourth time he stopped to talk to me.

"You have beautiful feet. Are you a ballerina?"

Umm... what??

He proceeded to talk to me for the next, oh, ten minutes while I prayed for the train to come. He talked about his life ambitions, about Sacramento, about how there should be a magazine solely devoted to, get this... AIR. He talked about my feet. Then, as I was getting on the train, he told me that the next time he came through Sac that he wanted to feed me.

Feed me??

So I told him I probably wouldn't be hungry when that time came and got on the train as quick as I could.

Anyways, now my toenails are tangerine colored.

That's right. I'm livin' on the wild side.

Which makes me think of the last time my toenails were orange. The summer before seventh grade. Is it weird that I remember that?

I had bought BRIGHT orange nail polish, so bright it might make your eyes burn a little, painted myself up, and headed to a luau. I still have the photo. Can I just say, my hair was gorgeous. WHAT HAPPENED? It had all these beautiful natural highlights and didn't have all the little kinks and waves it has now.


But that's besides the point. Wait... what was the point?