Love Day <3

And don’t give me any of that Hallmark holiday bullshit. Valentine’s Day as we know it may have been previously misrepresented. You may have been off-put by the weird naked winged baby with the assault weapon. I know I was. Perhaps you’ve been victim of those dry, chalky candies with the little sayings on them? Maybe you dated someone who used Valentine’s day to make up for 364 days of assholery. Listen, that’s not Valentine’s Day’s fault!

Valentine’s as it should be is not a reason to buy stupid cards. It’s not the day that makes or breaks your relationship. If it does, then your relationship wasn’t real. And I’m sorry. Valentine’s Day is an excuse to be creative and offer a little something extra to that person who makes you smile, not lets buy a diamond day. No matter what’s behind that smile, it’s worth celebrating. And I don’t know about you, but I’ll take an opportunity to be creative for my boo.

So this year I made my Honeybee a box card! Here’s the front. See how all the other hearts are tiny and lame and his is ginormous? It’s like that in real life, too. 🙂



Inside he’ll find an award for Best Lover. I found this little guy at the office in the free supplies section. I guess some old employee of the month left him behind. I gave him a coat of gold paint and new, only slightly crooked lettering.


There’s also a playlist I made called Sweet Disposition and Other Reasons I Love You with an accompanying poem.

Tell me you wouldn’t wanna come home to that?

As for my presents, Honeybee wrapped them and I’ve been instructed not to touch them until later. I’m entirely consumed with the desire to rip open their perfect wrapping paper. One little tear. I just wanna see! Ahem. Yeah. Let’s see how this patience thing works out.

Happy Love Day!


Its Raining Resolution

Happy Seattle New Year!

Needly New Year

What is it about the coming of the new year that makes people want to resolve to be different, to be better? Do the barren trees so permeate our reality? Is that why we instinctively take this time to strip away, to wash and mend, to clean house? Of course New Year’s resolutions have lost a great deal of credibility over the years. January 3rd, gyms are packed to the gills. April 16th, it’s a wasteland. But, hey, at least people change for a bit. At least they get to see the other side of what if.

I can’t say I’ve ever failed myself at a resolution but I don’t really set my sights too high, either. I reckoned pretty early on that seasons change and needs change and goals change. Who cares if you don’t make it through the whole year unscathed? Everybody falters. I think New Year’s resolutions are so special because the earth slows down this time of year and it lets our minds catch up with our hearts for at least a few weeks. It is only with this mentality that I could  hope to make it through even a month of a resolution.

 For 2011, I resolve to live loud, which encompasses everything from actually talking louder to singing louder and, more often, to creating a more colorful world for myself. It’ll demand that I spend much less time paralyzed in fear of what might go wrong because no matter what happens I’ll figure something out. I’ll live. Well, I’ll live until I die, at least. But then the mistakes I made won’t really matter because I’ll be dead, so there you go. It’s a two-sided coin, for sure. If I’m going to talk louder I’m going to have to listen harder, too, and be more willing to see not only opposing views, but the ones that are similar but more or less roundabout (those are the ones that get me, really). So if you see me on the street, or anywhere else for that matter, stop and chat. Teach me something new.

I can learn. I will change.

What are you gonna do this year? 


Best of luck to you and yours from me and mine,


Thanks, forgiveness.

Thanksgiving Turkey

Gobble, Gobble, B*tch!

Thanksgiving is for the people. Everybody, every single person likes sitting across the table from someone while eating delicious food. “Mmmms” of deliciousness meld in with “mmhmms” of conversation, it all works.

If we’re lucky we can avoid it, but sometimes there’s that stick-in-the-mud, wet-blanket, needle-in-my-haystack sort of person struggling against the current to rain on a lively Thanksgiving parade.

But, look sharp! That person is the one who reminds us that we’re all normal. You know, okay.

We’re gonna be fine.

…because that chick is crazy.

Taking Thanksgiving

I’ve never spent a holiday so far from family, so when I was invited to Thanksgiving dinner by a new friend I was thrilled. I searched my mind for my Aunt Gloria’s broccoli cheddar casserole recipe. I sent emails. I would either make the casserole or my mom’s sweet potato pie depending on who responded first. But then I thought, how rude of me.  What if what I bring clashes with the theme of my new friend’s menu? I asked casually, what should I bring? Nothing.



I was offended.

I woke up this morning Wednesday November 25th, 2009 to a voice mail from a Mariah saying that a dear friend of ours, Palin Perez Jackson, had been shot by the SWAT team and was dead. Happiness is a Warm Gun warbled out of my laptop speakers as if by chain reaction. Everything was still except the tears slipping off my cheek and hitting the sheet. Dain was there with sympathy. All my memories of Palin played through the Beatles’ Anthology.

“You were only waiting for this moment to be free.”

I learned that he was upset that he wouldn’t be able to see his kids for the holidays and he couldn’t take it anymore. His wife ran away and they tried to negotiate with him for three hours. They said he came outside with a gun as if he were suicidal and threatened his kids.

Threatened his kids? Palin Perez Jackson wouldn’t threaten his kids. Period.

They said he shot a cop. They said they shot him dead. Where was Gideon’s Bible? What would make him walk out with a gun? How bad did it have to be? And how didn’t I know? How many questions will I ask before I remember that it doesn’t matter why-what matters is that he’s gone. He will never make it to his solo art show in Sanford this weekend. We will never sell art together on Orange and Church again. We’ll never check out the girls. We’ll never hang out in his studio and drink warm beer. Never smoke. Smoke.

I went to Market Time for cigarettes. Matt, the checker who introduced himself last week, was there. Words like hi and how are you spilled out of my mouth. I didn’t even hear myself say them. He was fine. But when he asked me how I was doing I sighed and inhaled at the same time and emptied my heart and lost another tear. My friend is dead. He was shot by a SWAT team. That doesn’t just happen on a Wednesday morning. Matt hadn’t expected anything like that from me. The color drained from his face and he offered condolences. In an effort to change the subject, I apologized for not introducing Matt to my roommate, Dain, who he’d seen when we bought dinner together.


Yeah, he’s a really cool. He’s a poet.

Oh so he’s a poet and didn’t know it?

I never know what to say to that whole poet/know it rhyme. I looked away. I meant to walk away, too, but Matt opened his arms and invited me in. I’ve never hugged someone I met at a grocery store before, but I hope there are more. There’s nothing so comforting as the kindness of a friend. I left Market Time listening to Modest Mouse thinking about the painting Palin gave me. Then I started thinking about Strat, another ridiculously talented person who is no longer with us. I starting thinking of all the sunsets they’ll miss.

I starting thinking of all the things I miss everyday like sleepovers at my house, girls’ nights, friends, family, bands, hearts, hugs. Every single instance of happiness I’ve ever had is solely based on this group of people and places.

All I can be is thankful.

So, even though I’m far from home I’m holding it in heart and I’ll be at my new friend’s house with nothing but a smile on my face.

Happy Thanksgiving