Grind that Pony

I'm gonna go ahead and quote Jezebel and tell you that you're gonna need to be canceling your plans for the rest of the day. You'll be watching Beyonce's new video on repeat and basking in its colored-leotard-high-ponytail-quad-drums dance fest.

Get More: Beyoncé, Music, More Music Videos

Sigh. I'll have to apologize to my arriving friends for not getting the house clean. They'll understand.



EDIT: Apparently she says "Grind up On It" instead of "Grind That Pony." I seriously thought that "Grind that Pony" was a new hot dance craze involving swinging your ponytail around (which, to my credit she was doing while she sang it). In fact, I think it is a better lyric, and should be the new hot dance craze. I'm singing it my way from now on.

Cue obnoxious squealing

My womens are visiting this weekend. 

I am so excited I could die. 

One of them is six months pregnant and the other is getting married in June. I've spent a fair amount of time in the last several months being sad about how I am missing all the good stuff. I don't know what G's favorite pregnancy snack is. I don't know if wedding planning is making L nuts.* I don't even know what they will be for Halloween!

Oh god it is gonna be so awesome to see them. I plan to spend several hours a day staring at G's preggars belly and asking her invasive questions about her pregnancy, followed by asking L embarrassing questions about her honeymoon lingerie plans. Then we will get pedicures. 

Friday needs to GET. HERE. 

*We are bad phone talkers. The time difference doesn't help. 

Happy 19th Anniversary, Mr. President (and Ms. First Lady)

I really, really hope that President Barak and First Lady Michelle Obama are as in-love and awesome as they appear in these pictures. 

But...what is happening in No. 7? 

Sourcing note: The article doesn't include sources but I'm guessing they're all from White House Photographers (except the last one, of course). 

Um, help?

Guys, I have a very important question.

You know how you read a blog for a long time but never comment because I dunno, you are lazy or shy or a natural born lurker, but then one day you feel the drive to actually comment because you realize that is sorta how the internet community works? 


Um. How do you start commenting without coming off like a weirdo? My go-to is to just to write a comment like I would write to a friend, which feels all "super confident and funny and sassy!" when I type it...but then later I realize it probably comes off to the blogger as "overly familiar weirdo who may or may not have been quietly stalking me on the internet for months." This is particularly problematic when something that felt sassy! turns out to read sort of accidentally mean.

Needless to say, I have a complex about this. I'm hoping I'm not the only one. What do you dooooo?

Please. Please help me keep from being such a weirdo on the internet.

My season

Deception Pass State Park, by D$

It's been wet and grey here in Portland this weekend, and I am blissful. 

Autumn has arrived, bringing me peace. 

It drizzled all day yesterday and is drizzling today. Leaves adorn the sidewalks and the air smells fresh. The city is cleaning itself and I am cleansed as well. Saturday morning, awaking to rain, I felt my body and soul sighing in relief. I felt calm and peaceful for the first time in weeks. My shoulders loosened. My mind relaxed. I allowed myself hours to read on the couch without feeling guilty. I felt like cooking, and did. 

Sometime Saturday afternoon I noticed that I'd run several errands, seen relatives and still felt relaxed. At no point during the day did I begin to feel frantic with tasks undone. Towards the evening when D$ was napping and I was finished reading and was making dinner, it hit me. Summer is not my season. As much as I love sunshine and daylight, summer stresses me the fuck out. Too many things I should be doing. People in and out of town, sunshine that I have to take advantage of, poorly organized barbecues to attend. Obligations, albeit fun obligations, to a person who wants to snuggle inside, who craves hours alone, who sunburns and sweats profusely and dreads organized sporting events. 

But fall. Fall is my season. I feel at home - most strongly myself - in the light drizzle and the grey light. Mine is a constitution uniquely formulated for rain, cold breezes, and warm sweaters. In the summer I enjoy the warmth and the frolics (and the vegetables) but I am not at home. 

Autumn makes sense to me. In the fall, I fit in. Less daylight is replaced by warm lamplight from homes and shop windows. Hot chocolate and popcorn are reasonable dinner entrees. My favorite hoodie/jacket combination is pulled out of the closet, along with scarves and boots and sweaters. There is Halloween to look forward too, and Thanksgiving, and even Christmas. Nesting and burrowing are not only allowed, they are practically called for and I am happy - relieved, even - to oblige. 

Sigh. Thank god you're back, Autumn. I've missed you. 

Something to keep in mind

If you're not

If you're not

If you're not

If you're not

If you're not getting happier as you get older

Than you're fucking up

Thanks, Ani. 

(Ani DiFranco opened up for John Prine (!!) at the show I saw this weekend. I was never a huge fan but she was awesome. My mom was totally enamoured with her. My Catholic mother-in-law was less thrilled with the song about promiscuity. You win some, you lose some.)

A deep thought

D$ and I have been together for over six years and married for over two years.

Yet, I still have (and regularly wear*) underwear that I distinctly remember other men complimenting.

What does this make me? Slutty? Thrifty? A hoarder?

*As in: was wearing a pair today and thought of said man, and said encounter, every time I went pee. Which was many times.