hmms

Pumpkin patches are terribly judgmental. All one does is criticize the outer appearance, shape, color, size of a pumpkin to meet whatever standard of pumpkin excellence one's imagined. If I were a pumpkin, would you choose me out of all the others or would you pass me over for the better pumpkin to my right?

The holiday season and fall/winter weather makes for the best time to fall in love. There is something in the air that hangs on the cool breeze and fall leaves that enables one to feel butterflies in her stomach. Dream of that frigid cold night where the only thing to do is spoon under a blanket with your loved one staring into a dim-lit fire watching the embers float about like snow. The sharp pink tint on your cheeks as you pull his scarf close to your face in order to kiss his frosted nose.The hustle and bustle of holding hands through crowded streets of shoppers. The sharing of gifts and thanskgiving in celebration of his presence in your life and heart.

"I can be alone, yeah. I can watch a sunset on my own. I can be alone, yeah."
- Kate Nash "Merry Happy"

advice

ignorance: (noun) the state or fact of being ignorant; lack of knowledge, learning, information; the condition of being uneducated, unaware, or uninformed

Antonyms include, but are not limited to:
competence
cultivation
education
experience
intelligence
knowledge
literacy
talent
wisdom
awareness

envy

I asked two of my male co-workers last week if they anticipated themselves having "pregnancy envy" when the time comes for them to have children with a loved one. After receiving furrowed brows and confusion about my question, I elaborated more on my inquiry. Still lacking full comprehension of what it is I was asking, they both said "ENN-OHH. NOOOO." I truly admit I was surprised by their shared answer. I mean, really? How could they not be envious of the connection rooted between mother and child while a human being is created, molded, and formed in the most intimate places of a woman's body? Their reasoning for responding "no" focused upon the bloating, painful, morning sickness, ill effects of being pregnant. They couldn't fathom the sensual, spiritual, emotional components of pregnancy that circle the entire process. Penis envy, sure, fine, whatever. But pregnancy envy? It couldn't be too unimaginable for a man to possess, could it?

proud

I'm standing in the amphitheater surrounded by military loving, troop supporting Texans as Lee Greenwood sings on stage "I'm Proud to be an American." I scan the crowd before me when I see an image so provoking I have to brace my body against my seat to remain steady. I would expect American flags to be waved furiously in the air at a patriotic Freedom Concert, but I'm left stunned when I see a prosthetic leg swaying in the air to the beat. A man only a few rows from center stage is cheerfully lifting his replacement leg to a song in which sacrifice for one's country is expected and never quite honored as much as it should be. My mind races to any number of circumstances in which this man, seemingly a war veteran, is so thankful and so PROUD to be an American that his lose of a leg doesn't stop him from celebrating this freedom he has been given and fought to maintain for our country. I'm a sensitive, emotional person as it is but I was unprepared for my reaction to seeing such a visual representation.


And I’m proud to be an American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I wont forget the men who died,
who gave that right to me.

And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend her still today.
Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA.

shame

On my route to work every day I pass by fences, billboards, overpasses, etc. covered in graffiti. Some streaky letters, some enlarged bubble letters. Never readable. Never intended to be. Background displays to the West side of San Antonio. Always a semi-hazy separation from my life.

I slowly brake to a pause at the end of my straight waiting for traffic to pass so I can turn right when I notice it: my very own stop sign tagged with black spray paint. The street I've lived on my whole life in the suburban Northwest side of town with graffiti plastered across the red sign. I was angry. I was hurt. And I called the local non-emergency police to come have it removed as quickly as possible because I'll be damned if I let graffiti slither its way into my own personal intimate sphere of life. Harsh words? Perhaps. But just wait until you have something close and comfortable in your life disregarded and destroyed right in front of you.

schmapaged

latest sentiment: everyone [and their moms] is getting engaged and it just seems to keep snowballing.

(interesting how I've only been invited to one wedding in the last year. what does that say about me?)

congrats to all those lovebirds out there floating on moon beams and diamond rings.

Picoult

I'm on a Jodi Picoult kick. I find her writing to be completely vulnerable and honest. My weeks have been filled by reading her words and stories of relationships pulled and worn by life's circumstances. I identify and question, judge and accept the different characters she introduces to me. I escape in her web of entangled emotions, and I'm grateful for discovering a new author that leaves me no choice but to finish the book. So often I find books in my room that possess makeshift bookmarks no where near the end of the story. I look back remembering my attention being drawn to another more intriguing story and discarding these books as something of the past. But Picoult lures me in her force field and I'm paralyzed with an intense focus of turning the page, the next page, and the page after that. I'm sitting here right now thinking about how much I want to go curl up on a chair and read the current Picoult book I'm engrossed with. As a matter of fact...