This little illustration makes me happy. It makes me think I could pick any color and I’ve spent some time thinking about what color bike I’d choose. In true Amy fashion, I don’t think I’d be able to resist the pink—but the turquoise and spring green are giving pink a run for it’s money. What color would you choose?
It’s been a quiet Friday after a tumultuous few days. Sometimes, it takes a few days for my words to ruminate and come out the way I’d like them to, instead of willy-nilly all over the page. And some things are better left un-blogged. I know, I know—a loud mouth like me left speechless is hard to believe.
So, I’ll continue to be quiet, at least for a day or so. I can promise that I’ll be back on Monday, if not sooner, with stories and laughs and feel-goodery. All is well, I know that for sure. Everything is unfolding exactly as it should.
Happy weekend, friends…sending you a bicycle in the color of your choosing, some sunshine and lots of love.
Not gonna lie, friends: having a rough go of it today. Here’s some things I’m desperately hoping will improve my—and maybe your—mood:
- My new favorite, Yes and Yes, posted last week about writing yourself a prescription for happy. What’s your prescription for suriving those rough days?
- Gah, again, I just find myself envying the heck out of Andrea. Read this sweet love story of hers. A modern romance—so lovely.
- I keep a list of things to blog, and I loved this little printable from Marta. So cute! She’s a total gem…check her out.
Also, I could use some cheering up. What’s making you smile today?
Sorry, y’all—I had a story to tell that I just couldn’t share freely. It is hilarious, and well worth the effort of emailing me:
titchblog AT gmail dot com
Recently, I was emailing with Kerri Anne, and we were discussing her desire to try out to be on the roller derby team in her town. Awhile back, I’d admitted my own secret aspirations of being a roller derby girl (SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!) and the reactions were…staggering. If you click on the link below, that comment from Lil Timmy? IS FROM MY DAD. Who still teases me about wanting to try out. Anyways, when Kerri Anne and I were chatting, I was lamenting the fact that I’m absolutely awful at sports. And by awful, I mean embarrassingly terrible—no ability AT ALL. It’s not for lack of trying—I had quite the sports career as a child.
I feel like I’m lacking some sort of sports gene. Honestly, I can think of few things I care about less. I’ve seen plenty of guys—and a few girls—I know get ALL SORTS OF ANGRY regarding a sports game. I just don’t get it. Maybe, if I understood how whether or not a team wins directly affects something in your life, I’d be on board. The same thing happens to me when I play sports. Win that softball game? Come in first in a race? Eh. I just…don’t care. I don’t know.
When I was six, my parents started me in soccer. Even now, I can recall my absolute FEAR of the ball. I didn’t want to get kicked. I didn’t want to run into other girls. I sure as hell didn’t want to run. What DID I want to do? You know, the important things in little girls soccer: tie the orange and yellow hairbows of my teammates, make daisy chains and run down the field holding hands with my teammates. I liked the orange slices we had for snack, and running under our parents arms when they formed a bridge at the end of the game. Other than that? I wanted nothing to do with soccer.
After ending that illustrious career on the soccer field, I decided to try basketball. I played for two years. I was terrible, perhaps even worse than soccer. Have you ever watched a kids sports team? You know how there’s always that one kid who sucks, but everyone pretends to really support and love them? Yeah, that was me. I scored ONE BASKET in TWO YEARS. In my defense, it was from outside the key, something I shrieked after the game.
To this day, my brother still enjoys teasing me by shouting, “I MADE A SHOT OUTSIDE THE KEY!”
I’m not gonna lie: my lack of athletic prowess is something that still bothers me. I mean, I wish I was capable of doing something like roller derby without dying. Hell, I’d settle for bocce ball. Backgammon. Whatever.
What do you wish you were better at?
I don’t know about the rest of you Northern Californians, but seriously, if it doesn’t stop raining soon, I AM GOING TO OFF MYSELF. I know, I know—the rest of you are scoffing at me but listen: I PAY RIDICULOUS COST-OF-LIVING PRICES FOR ONE REASON: CLIMATE. And that means sunny days in January.
Ahem. So, I’m trying to brighten my afternoon with two things:
- First, if you’re so inclined, my weigh-in post is up at Skinny Titch. It definitely involves a big SQUEEEE!
- Secondly, you may have noticed a new button on my side bar:
THE BLATHERING 2010!!! Sure, it may not be happening ’til NOVEMBER, but we like to plan ahead around these parts. If you’ve ever considered going to an Internet meet-up of fabulous people, I cannot suggest the Blathering enough—I invited myself to the party last year, and holy cow, I’m glad I did. Some of the women I met there have become my close friends, and it was certainly an unforgettable weekend.
So, if you want to meet some ladies who are kind, welcoming, funny and will dance in a gay bar with zero qualms, THIS IS YOUR WEEKEND.
Plus, I’ll be there. Seems like a no-brainer, yes?
What I want today is to be here.
I want to take a break from my day-to-day, go somewhere gorgeous and just think. I want the rain to stop. I want to sleep in. I want to go to breakfast and drink a perfectly made latte, and pour my heart out to someone who gets me, and who will make me laugh until my stomach hurts. I want a new journal and a good pen. I want to sit by the ocean for a few hours and lose myself in a good book. I want to run in the sand until I can’t breathe, and then relax into a hot bath.
I want answers. I want to know what is next, what to do, where to go. I want to stop feeling anxious about things I can’t control. I want to laugh more. I want to hear new music that makes me feel, to dance until I sweat and feel alive. I want to take more risks, to say what I’m really thinking, to be honest with myself and others. I want to hug more, tighter, better.
I want to spend a night in San Francisco, dressed to the nines and dancing to a fancy band, laughing my head off. I want to trek through Europe for weeks, exploring new places and things and people. I want to write more, to read more, to be read more. I want to feel deliciously happy. I want all my friends in the same room for one night, over a delicious dinner and fantastic wine. I want to drive down the strip in Las Vegas and take in the sights. I want to see more of this wild, beautiful world. I want to feel at home in my own skin.
I want to feel happy, to feel alive, to drink it all in. To stop playing small and figure out how to make this small list—and the larger list that’s written secretly in my heart—a reality.
What do YOU want today?
*photo via crazyabouthome
I have no idea. But I’m sure your atlas can help you, you ACME detective, you!
I can, however, tell you that you can find me over at Style Lush and Skinny Titch.
By the way, I’m pretty sure there’s never been a more awesome computer game than Carmen Sandiego. Kids these days don’t know what they’re missing.
I’m not proud of this, but I think you should know I’m a really good Google detective, Facebook stalker, and Twitter watcher. Don’t judge me, because I’m pretty sure the rest of you do this too. Unless you’re one of those “I’m too cool for Facebook!” people who claims to login only once a week, yet, I still see a little green dot next to your name EVERYDAY FOR HOURS. Funny how that is.
Anywho, I was in the middle of some routine Tweet Tracking, when I noticed that someone I know had been tweeting at celebrities. I’m not talking the occasional retweet of something funny Rainn Wilson says, I’m talking about having an actual dialogue, like, “Enjoy your yogurt!” and “YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL” (said to Amanda Bynes, by a man in his thirties. CREEPY).
And seriously, I’m all, “WHAT?” because I know I get excited when people reply to me on Twitter but I doubt that freaking Amanda Bynes or Demi Moore is all, “Awww, some creepy dude thinks I’m hot!” and jumps on Tweetie to write some reply. I just can’t picture it.
But the epidemic continues on Facebook. Recently, I became a fan of Fake AP Stylebook, because it’s hilarious, and I noticed people writing the stupidest things below their statuses. I mean, here’s the thing: Fake AP Stylebook is funny. Why mess with perfection? But then people try and like, top the joke…and yeah, it just ruins it. Even more annoying are the people who comment on Coachella’s wall (pssst…are you going to Coachella?! I want to, and we should meet up. You should camp with me and we can sleep in a real pile!), listing their own lineup of shows they want to see, wish were there, etc. Let me be the first to tell them: NO ONE CARES. No one.
I don’t really know why this whole thing bothers me so much. I mean, besides being ridiculous. I feel embarrassed for the people doing it. Like, one time, I tweeted at Dooce, and I was MORTIFIED that someone would see it and be all, “The hell? She’s NOT gonna reply to that crap!”
It’s not that I’m not a fan of the fan letter…it’s just the public aspect. Fan letters are private, dontcha think?
Confession time: when I was in 7th grade, I wrote a fan letter to the Spice Girls.
No, not kidding.
I purchased their cassette tape, a single of “Wannabe” and use to dance around my room listening to my Walkman singing along. The message of not letting a guy get too close until he was cool with my friends really spoke to my 13-year-old heart. I’m not really sure why, actually, for two reasons: 1) I didn’t really have a whole lot of friends who weren’t catty middle schoolers who wouldn’t have cared about a boy getting close to me and 2) No guy wanted anything to do with me for like, at least 3 more years.
But I digress. I wrote them a sweet, heartfelt letter about GIRL POWER! and how INSPIRING! they were to me. And then I mailed it, and I’m sad to say that I really, truly believed that I might get a letter back. Or maybe a photo. I didn’t.
But I’m guessing you knew that already.
Just like we all know that Snooki isn’t going to reply to you on Twitter any time soon.
There are some moments that change your game, your view, your life. They start out normally, but well, they never quite end that way, do they? This is one of mine.
I wasn’t unhappy, per se, but I was lonely. It was a cold night in late fall, and I was sick of being cooped up in my tiny studio apartment, as pink-and-red and adorable as it was. I packed up my laptop, put on my coat and drove to the coffee shop. I didn’t want coffee, but I wanted people—to see humans moving about in real life, not just on my television screen; to ask someone something—even for a cup of coffee—instead of just talking to my cat.
I find a parking spot up close, get my latte and settle into an overstuffed armchair. As I type away, I notice a guy across from me looking up occasionally. We smile over our cups and I giggle when he nearly drops his laptop.
“Have you seen Google Earth?” he asks, after we’ve caught one another in the act of staring a few times.
I pull out my headphones.
“What?” I ask.
He flips his laptop to show me, and before I know it, I’m next to him on the couch, tripping to Paris and the moon and all over the world. I’m laughing and learning and my latte is gone before I know it. I set my cup down on the table, and he looks over.
“So. Wanna go for a walk?” he asks.
I pause. And then I nod, sure that this is the life of some other girl, because things like this don’t happen to me.
I send my best friend a text: Sooo…I met a guy at the coffee shop and we are walking around the park. If I don’t text you in an hour, can you come find me?
We leave the coffee shop, walking a few blocks until we reach the state capitol grounds and the endless trails and lights and beauty. We wander around, admiring the trees and stars. We listen to one another. I tell him about why I am lonely; he tells me about his family. I tell him things I haven’t told anyone, and he tears up, talking about the girl he loves who is moving out of his apartment as we walk together. There is no hand-holding, no stolen kisses, no anything. Pure honesty under a cold night sky.
When we reach my car, we say goodbye. There is no exchange of numbers, no promises to do it all again soon, no anything. He squeezes my shoulder and disappears into the night.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I see the name of the friend I’d sent a cautionary text to an hour prior. I answer, and she asks me what happened. I explain a bit, before she cuts me off.
“Was this a date?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her. “It was just a walk.”
Get in touch!
Search me…
Old news…
Thanks!
Coffee Fund!
Don’t steal…
This work by www.justatitch.com is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.