So Valentine's Day is tomorrow.
Yep.
(staring off into space)
Oh, you wanted more than that? Ok then....
Once upon a time, I was deep into this day. I planned, I bought things, I put in the work, I tapped into that gooey center beneath my somewhat hard outer shell and got deep into the day devoted to love. Then... well... stuff happened..... and lets just say over the course of many years, it just became another day on the calendar.
Don't get me wrong, that gooey center is still there, and it always will be. It's reason why I cherished (and still have) every Valentine my baby girl every made (or bought) for me. It's the reason that I tell, and show, the people in my life that I love them and that they matter to me, all the time. It''s the reason I don't throw people away, and make a point to spend time with them.
But let's be real - Valentine's Day is really about couples. And I haven't been a part of that in a while.
Those close to me know (and now you will too) that I chose to go off the dating grid for about 5-6 years. Let's just say that some needed introspection needed to be done and changes implemented. But I've been resurfacing slowly over the last few years, with a different set of eyes and perspective. So I've spent some time as an observer of couples and relationships, especially around this time of year. Interestingly enough, I've found that a significant amount of couples don't do ANYthing on February 14th.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip.
"Not even a card?" I've asked. Nope. "How about just a pizza, some wine, and renting a movie?" I've asked. Nah. One guy actually said "We've been married for 26 year; we don't do that stuff."
Wow. So this guy's gestures of love have an expiration date, it seems. My sympathies to his wife. But all in all, I find this stance kinda..... weird, really. Is this representative of a culture that takes being in a relationship for granted? That would certainly be a shame, for so many reasons, if that's the case. Or is it more of a reflection of the pressure of the day to do something grand? If so, guys - as a woman, I can tell you that it doesn't take much. Or at least, it shouldn't.
The best Valentine's Day I ever had was in 2003. It had been a few months since I'd broken up with the boyfriend at the time, and was planning on just hunkering down and ignoring the day. I was sitting at my cubicle at work, when suddenly my dear friend Louie appeared, standing there with his big happy smile.... and a single red rose.
I said "Oh my gosh, what's this?" He said "Kathy (his wife and my best friend) and I just wanted you to know that we love you." I hugged and thanked him, and happily took my rose. I think I smiled the rest of the day.
It was unexpected. It was simple. It was just simply, love.
I still have that rose. I dried it, treated it with a protective spray, and it sits under a picture of Louie. You see, he died suddenly, 6 years later. He took with him his awesome laugh, his generous nature, his musical genius, a piece of his wife's heart (all of our hearts, really), and any future unexpected and thoughtful gestures of love.
So from my view point of experiences, what I want to say to you, and to those couples who put expiration dates on displays of love and affection, who dismiss the day altogether, or who just forget to show their love, don't take a single day for granted. Tomorrow isn't promised. Don't ignore, don't hesitate. Make an effort, no matter how small, on Valentine's Day and every day to let them know they matter.
Happy Valentine's Day! I love you. (See? Gooey center ;-) )
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Shiprocked 2014: Joining a Tribe
Some tell tale signs that you've been on Shiprocked 2014:
When I stepped into the bar at the Marriott Biscayne Bay in Miami for the Shiprocked pre-party, I was among MY people. If you know me, and most of you do, you know what I'm talking about - the tattooed, the pierced, the black band tshirt wearing, the long haired/mowhawked/wildly dyed coiffed, slutty heeled, cleavage bearing, head banging community that I call home.
Then the next morning, all us freaks boarded a boat.
I just knew this was going to be one hell of a trip when, only on board for 5 minutes, I ran into Jacoby Shaddix, the singer for Papa Roach, just hanging out at the bar. After greeting him with a "Hey baby!" and asking friends to take our picture, I'm pretty sure I jumped up and down going "OMG HOLY SHIT!" But in a very cool and sexy way. Shut up.
Then came the music.
Holy shit, the MUSIC!
Live music has been like a drug to my veins since I was about 5 and my uncle had a live band play his wedding. But this? THIS? This was like getting laid, waking up to a pony on Christmas morning, and winning Mega Millions all at once! Total next level shit.
And so it began....
Four solid days of amazing, mind blowing performances, discovering new bands, meeting great people (James & Jeannie, Paul & Bretta, and yes even you Shady - I'm talkin' to you!), meeting rock stars (all of whom were approachable, friendly, and gracious) who were just passengers just like you and who were enjoying the other bands just like you; taking in the sun, sand, blue waters of Great Stirrup Cay and even more live music on the beach stage, and not thinking about one damn stressful thing. Just letting all of that go in the pit, in the balcony, on the floor, or on the rails as the music and the energy of your tribe wash over you.
There's nothing like that feeling of getting lost in the sound, the flow of give and take between artist and audience, and becoming part of the whole thing. Nothing. It's my therapy, my pressure valve, the thing that reaches in to kill all the stress, and keep me sane.
Part of the whole experience for me is the people... the like-minded, same-spirited people who are connected to you by this particular brand of music. Hard rock and heavy metal has a notoriously and fiercely loyal fan base, and we know it. We connect on that level nearly upon sight, but it's something we can feel in each other. It's something I feel at every show I go to. But on board Shiprocked it was multiplied by 3000. For those four days, I don't think I ever laughed, smiled, or felt so uplifted and free of the day to day shit ever in my life!!
So here's to you Shiprocked 2014, all of the incredible bands who kicked my ass, and my fellow headbanging beautiful freaks - thank you for the adrenaline rush, the slight alcohol problem (lol), and the amazing memories! I've pre-booked for next year, so lets do this! First round is on me, fuckers!! \M/
- You're standing in your living room wondering when the gig is gonna start.
- Every time you enter your kitchen or dining room, a little female Asian voice in your head goes, "Washy washy! Happy happy!"
- Jacoby Shaddix/Ivan Moody/Jonny Hetherington isn't around every corner. And that just feels weird.
- Now that you're on land, your dietary intake is less alcohol, more food. And that just feels weird too.
- You're still wearing your "backstage pass" and trying to open your front door with your key card.
When I stepped into the bar at the Marriott Biscayne Bay in Miami for the Shiprocked pre-party, I was among MY people. If you know me, and most of you do, you know what I'm talking about - the tattooed, the pierced, the black band tshirt wearing, the long haired/mowhawked/wildly dyed coiffed, slutty heeled, cleavage bearing, head banging community that I call home.
Then the next morning, all us freaks boarded a boat.
I just knew this was going to be one hell of a trip when, only on board for 5 minutes, I ran into Jacoby Shaddix, the singer for Papa Roach, just hanging out at the bar. After greeting him with a "Hey baby!" and asking friends to take our picture, I'm pretty sure I jumped up and down going "OMG HOLY SHIT!" But in a very cool and sexy way. Shut up.
Then came the music.
Holy shit, the MUSIC!
Live music has been like a drug to my veins since I was about 5 and my uncle had a live band play his wedding. But this? THIS? This was like getting laid, waking up to a pony on Christmas morning, and winning Mega Millions all at once! Total next level shit.
And so it began....
Four solid days of amazing, mind blowing performances, discovering new bands, meeting great people (James & Jeannie, Paul & Bretta, and yes even you Shady - I'm talkin' to you!), meeting rock stars (all of whom were approachable, friendly, and gracious) who were just passengers just like you and who were enjoying the other bands just like you; taking in the sun, sand, blue waters of Great Stirrup Cay and even more live music on the beach stage, and not thinking about one damn stressful thing. Just letting all of that go in the pit, in the balcony, on the floor, or on the rails as the music and the energy of your tribe wash over you.
There's nothing like that feeling of getting lost in the sound, the flow of give and take between artist and audience, and becoming part of the whole thing. Nothing. It's my therapy, my pressure valve, the thing that reaches in to kill all the stress, and keep me sane.
Part of the whole experience for me is the people... the like-minded, same-spirited people who are connected to you by this particular brand of music. Hard rock and heavy metal has a notoriously and fiercely loyal fan base, and we know it. We connect on that level nearly upon sight, but it's something we can feel in each other. It's something I feel at every show I go to. But on board Shiprocked it was multiplied by 3000. For those four days, I don't think I ever laughed, smiled, or felt so uplifted and free of the day to day shit ever in my life!!
So here's to you Shiprocked 2014, all of the incredible bands who kicked my ass, and my fellow headbanging beautiful freaks - thank you for the adrenaline rush, the slight alcohol problem (lol), and the amazing memories! I've pre-booked for next year, so lets do this! First round is on me, fuckers!! \M/
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Weather Metal
For whatever reason, most people don't realize that Maryland is a southern state. Yep, it's true, we are. We are the first state directly below the Mason-Dixon Line thus designating us as a part of the south, ya'll. Pass the sweet tea, and bless your heart! I only wish we could experience the same kind of year-round warm weather like Georgia or the Carolina's. But we're subject to four distinct seasons. Which is... whatever. I detest the cold and prefer warm weather, so I'd be happy to skip winter entirely. And this winter is no exception.
Sometimes mother nature gets a little bitchy, and the weather loses it's shit (just ask the dinosaurs... oh wait...). And the weather and news people LOVE that! It almost gets uncomfortable as a viewer, what with all the "weather event boners" on every news channel and website. The talking heads obsess, filling entire news days with (redundant) safety precautions, crazy ass reports from the field, but the best part? Some news genius somewhere gets to NAME these weather events.
Recently a significant portion of the US experienced some abnormally cold weather, which included Maryland. When I popped on the news early one morning to see what was up, I heard the term "Polar Vortex" being bandied about. Typically it's just that irritating jackass Marty Bass on WJZ making up shit to sound cool and feed his need for constant attention, but other channels were using it to. You can Google that yourself, but basically what it amounted to was - "Hey Marylanders, for about 24 hours you're going to know what it feels like to be an Inuit living in an igloo. Enjoy!" It sucked. I hate the cold, and this was EXTRA cold.
Pipes burst, roads were dangerous, power was lost, the homeless were a major concern, and the local weather people tried to convince us that if we stayed outside for more than 5 minutes, we might die. Or at least, parts not covered by 67 layers would go numb. It was serious business. But I gotta tell ya.... every time I heard (or even saw) "Polar Vortex" the rock chick in me reflexively thought "Where are they playing?"
Because that name? Sounds like a Swedish death metal band.
Think about it. Say you turned on your local rock station and heard this: "On the bill for the 2014 Maryland Deathfest: Hooded Menace! Rotting Out! Polar Vortex! War Master! Tickets on sale, 10am this Friday!"
See? Blends right in doesn't it? To a live music addict (i.e. me), it was distracting, really. More so than the stunningly low temps. Which, I think we can all agree, sucked.
So glad it's over.
But I'm still waiting for the announcement for the Polar Vortex tour with El Nino and Snowmageddon.
Sometimes mother nature gets a little bitchy, and the weather loses it's shit (just ask the dinosaurs... oh wait...). And the weather and news people LOVE that! It almost gets uncomfortable as a viewer, what with all the "weather event boners" on every news channel and website. The talking heads obsess, filling entire news days with (redundant) safety precautions, crazy ass reports from the field, but the best part? Some news genius somewhere gets to NAME these weather events.
Recently a significant portion of the US experienced some abnormally cold weather, which included Maryland. When I popped on the news early one morning to see what was up, I heard the term "Polar Vortex" being bandied about. Typically it's just that irritating jackass Marty Bass on WJZ making up shit to sound cool and feed his need for constant attention, but other channels were using it to. You can Google that yourself, but basically what it amounted to was - "Hey Marylanders, for about 24 hours you're going to know what it feels like to be an Inuit living in an igloo. Enjoy!" It sucked. I hate the cold, and this was EXTRA cold.
Pipes burst, roads were dangerous, power was lost, the homeless were a major concern, and the local weather people tried to convince us that if we stayed outside for more than 5 minutes, we might die. Or at least, parts not covered by 67 layers would go numb. It was serious business. But I gotta tell ya.... every time I heard (or even saw) "Polar Vortex" the rock chick in me reflexively thought "Where are they playing?"
Because that name? Sounds like a Swedish death metal band.
Think about it. Say you turned on your local rock station and heard this: "On the bill for the 2014 Maryland Deathfest: Hooded Menace! Rotting Out! Polar Vortex! War Master! Tickets on sale, 10am this Friday!"
See? Blends right in doesn't it? To a live music addict (i.e. me), it was distracting, really. More so than the stunningly low temps. Which, I think we can all agree, sucked.
So glad it's over.
But I'm still waiting for the announcement for the Polar Vortex tour with El Nino and Snowmageddon.
Monday, December 9, 2013
You Can't Keep 'Em Down on the Farm
A few weeks ago some friends and I were at happy hour and the subject of bad office behavior came up, so we began swapping stories. Working in cubicle "farms" is, sadly, sometimes rather accurate. I don't know whether it's a lack of respect for oneself or others, mental illness, or just not giving a good hot damn, but you can bet that in every office/work environment there's that (at least) one person who acts like an animal, and just does shit that makes you go "Ok, really?!"....
Justin brought up his retirement-aged female cube mate who had no qualms taking off her shoes and socks and giving herself a pedicure right at her desk. Yep, she'd bust out the toenail clippers and go to town, pinging those hoof clippings all over, without a care in the world. I'm surprised Justin never lost an eye.
Which brought me to a guy who sits 3 cubes down in my row who twice weekly trims all ten of his huge, thick fingernails, and leaves the trimmings on his desk for an undetermined amount of time. This guy's also a talker and will tell you all of his family's personal business. Over and over and over. You don't even have to ask, just make eye contact. Which I don't.
Tom reminded us all of the elderly gentleman on his team who within his first week of working, tried to pinch Tom's belly as if Tom were his 3 yr old grandson. The old fart almost got his eye blackened. Much to his displeasure, we still tease Tom about nearly being molested at work. But ya know, that's how we roll - one mans traumatic incident is another mans punch line.
I was reminded of a guy my friend Brian used to work with. This guy was so dirty and smelled so bad, Brian would email us daily about Pig Pen's current stench level. His lack of hygiene, combined with his extraordinary incompetence, infuriated Brain almost to the point of murder, which is probably why we all got daily emails - Brian had to diffuse his anger somehow. Mr. Stinky has no idea how close he came to death.
As we were all swapping our stories, howling and commiserating, my friend Jeff chimed in and said he had a story to beat us all. Now, Jeff doesn't work in an office environment, but more of an industrial environment - the company he works for makes display cabinetry for what I call my "shiny stores" like Victoria's Secret, Este Lauder, Ulta, etc.. - so we were curious what tales he had to share. Surely nothing could be worse than what we've experienced, right?
Wrong. Oh so very, very wrong.
Jeff explained that he has a guy at his work who chews tobacco. And? Spits the "juice" on the floor. Spits. It. On. The. Floor!
Oh but wait, there's more! The spitter's work station is carpeted. So it's absorbing all of his tobacco spit!!!
I think we had a moment of stunned silence.
Never again will I complain about hearing the sickening snap of nail clippers at work, or the smell of ass caused by some one heating up sauerkraut in the office microwave. You win, Jeff. You. Win.
Justin brought up his retirement-aged female cube mate who had no qualms taking off her shoes and socks and giving herself a pedicure right at her desk. Yep, she'd bust out the toenail clippers and go to town, pinging those hoof clippings all over, without a care in the world. I'm surprised Justin never lost an eye.
Which brought me to a guy who sits 3 cubes down in my row who twice weekly trims all ten of his huge, thick fingernails, and leaves the trimmings on his desk for an undetermined amount of time. This guy's also a talker and will tell you all of his family's personal business. Over and over and over. You don't even have to ask, just make eye contact. Which I don't.
Tom reminded us all of the elderly gentleman on his team who within his first week of working, tried to pinch Tom's belly as if Tom were his 3 yr old grandson. The old fart almost got his eye blackened. Much to his displeasure, we still tease Tom about nearly being molested at work. But ya know, that's how we roll - one mans traumatic incident is another mans punch line.
I was reminded of a guy my friend Brian used to work with. This guy was so dirty and smelled so bad, Brian would email us daily about Pig Pen's current stench level. His lack of hygiene, combined with his extraordinary incompetence, infuriated Brain almost to the point of murder, which is probably why we all got daily emails - Brian had to diffuse his anger somehow. Mr. Stinky has no idea how close he came to death.
As we were all swapping our stories, howling and commiserating, my friend Jeff chimed in and said he had a story to beat us all. Now, Jeff doesn't work in an office environment, but more of an industrial environment - the company he works for makes display cabinetry for what I call my "shiny stores" like Victoria's Secret, Este Lauder, Ulta, etc.. - so we were curious what tales he had to share. Surely nothing could be worse than what we've experienced, right?
Wrong. Oh so very, very wrong.
Jeff explained that he has a guy at his work who chews tobacco. And? Spits the "juice" on the floor. Spits. It. On. The. Floor!
Oh but wait, there's more! The spitter's work station is carpeted. So it's absorbing all of his tobacco spit!!!
I think we had a moment of stunned silence.
Never again will I complain about hearing the sickening snap of nail clippers at work, or the smell of ass caused by some one heating up sauerkraut in the office microwave. You win, Jeff. You. Win.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
The UN-Thankful List
I've been enduring a rare bout of writers block lately, so I turned to Facebook to ask my friends for ideas for my next blog. In light of folks creating daily posts of what they're thankful for this month, a pal from high school suggested I draft a list of things I'm NOT thankful for.
Now, I really do have a lot to be thankful for. Especially this year. And I try to let God, the Universe, and the people in my life know every day that I appreciate every kindness, good fortune, blessing, and random cool thing that occurs in my life. But as we all know, you typically can't have a nice bowl of cornflakes without some one pissin' in 'em.
Therefore, in no particular order, are some things I'm UN-thankful for:
People of WalMart - not the website, because I don't care who you are, that shit is funny. Maybe the people IN WalMart is a better way to say that. The glorious collection of unwashed children, rude teenagers, dentally challenged adults, and various ill mannered freaks and miscreants that makes the task of buying toilet paper and trash bags something I have to steel myself for. God bless the camera phone, s'all I'm sayin'.
Traitors - lying, treacherous, dishonorable weasels who use their security clearances and access to classified data and break every oath they took in order to take that data and make it public. Then spinning up the public and the media by telling outright lies about your importance and what you had the ability to do, all under the misguided umbrella of "whistle blowing." I'm talking to you, Edward Snowden. Go. Fuck. Yourself. You delusional, unpatriotic, treasonous, disgusting piece of shit. How dare you. Stay out of my country. Forever. Same to the people who think he's a hero. The real hero's are the people collecting that information and protecting it, and along with it - you.
BWI Trail Cyclists - See my last blog for details. Hate all those fuckers. If you're a BWI Trail cyclist and you're reading this? Yeah, still hate you.
Folks Who Can't Laugh At Themselves - I've been practicing yoga for almost 2 yrs now, and it's fantastic. But here's the thing about yoga: in a nutshell, it's a combination of various strenuous poses/stretches and meditation. Eventually you're going to either relax enough, or move enough, that you're gonna fart. It happens, and frankly I find farts hil-fucking-larious. Twice in the last month two different people let some real trumpet blasters loose. Damn funny shit, I'm tellin' ya! So, I laughed. Alone. Yep, because some folks are (ironically) tight asses, I ended up being the 6 yr old douche bag laughing at some ones embarrassment.Whatever.
Games - not the fun kind like Monoploly or Call of Duty, the shitty kind like lying or being passive/aggressive,. Please, be adult enough to own your feelings and decisions. And respect me enough to tell me, even if you think I won't like it or will be hurt by it. I would rather know the truth and know where we both stand, than make my next move based on a lie, or worse - no answer at all. Because then, the issue for me won't be your feelings or choices, it'll be your bullshit behavior.
Grumpy Cat Memes - Yeah, I'm so over those. But the James Hetfield ones are frickin' awesome!
The Baltimore Ravens - I just.... what the.... I don't.... how in the.... (sigh) M'eh.
So there you have it, things I won't be giving thanks for this Thanksgiving season. Does it sound negative? I guess it kinda does. But as some one recently said to me, you can't appreciate the good unless you go through the bad. Happy Thanksgiving!!
Now, I really do have a lot to be thankful for. Especially this year. And I try to let God, the Universe, and the people in my life know every day that I appreciate every kindness, good fortune, blessing, and random cool thing that occurs in my life. But as we all know, you typically can't have a nice bowl of cornflakes without some one pissin' in 'em.
Therefore, in no particular order, are some things I'm UN-thankful for:
People of WalMart - not the website, because I don't care who you are, that shit is funny. Maybe the people IN WalMart is a better way to say that. The glorious collection of unwashed children, rude teenagers, dentally challenged adults, and various ill mannered freaks and miscreants that makes the task of buying toilet paper and trash bags something I have to steel myself for. God bless the camera phone, s'all I'm sayin'.
Traitors - lying, treacherous, dishonorable weasels who use their security clearances and access to classified data and break every oath they took in order to take that data and make it public. Then spinning up the public and the media by telling outright lies about your importance and what you had the ability to do, all under the misguided umbrella of "whistle blowing." I'm talking to you, Edward Snowden. Go. Fuck. Yourself. You delusional, unpatriotic, treasonous, disgusting piece of shit. How dare you. Stay out of my country. Forever. Same to the people who think he's a hero. The real hero's are the people collecting that information and protecting it, and along with it - you.
BWI Trail Cyclists - See my last blog for details. Hate all those fuckers. If you're a BWI Trail cyclist and you're reading this? Yeah, still hate you.
Folks Who Can't Laugh At Themselves - I've been practicing yoga for almost 2 yrs now, and it's fantastic. But here's the thing about yoga: in a nutshell, it's a combination of various strenuous poses/stretches and meditation. Eventually you're going to either relax enough, or move enough, that you're gonna fart. It happens, and frankly I find farts hil-fucking-larious. Twice in the last month two different people let some real trumpet blasters loose. Damn funny shit, I'm tellin' ya! So, I laughed. Alone. Yep, because some folks are (ironically) tight asses, I ended up being the 6 yr old douche bag laughing at some ones embarrassment.Whatever.
Games - not the fun kind like Monoploly or Call of Duty, the shitty kind like lying or being passive/aggressive,. Please, be adult enough to own your feelings and decisions. And respect me enough to tell me, even if you think I won't like it or will be hurt by it. I would rather know the truth and know where we both stand, than make my next move based on a lie, or worse - no answer at all. Because then, the issue for me won't be your feelings or choices, it'll be your bullshit behavior.
Grumpy Cat Memes - Yeah, I'm so over those. But the James Hetfield ones are frickin' awesome!
The Baltimore Ravens - I just.... what the.... I don't.... how in the.... (sigh) M'eh.
So there you have it, things I won't be giving thanks for this Thanksgiving season. Does it sound negative? I guess it kinda does. But as some one recently said to me, you can't appreciate the good unless you go through the bad. Happy Thanksgiving!!
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Walk This Way: An Open Letter to the BWI Trail
As many of you know, I had spinal fusion surgery in early March this year. As a part of my road to healing, I was told that the best thing to do was to walk. This was pressed upon me by the surgeon, the physicians assistant, all my physical therapists, nurses, basically every medical professional I came in contact with. Which, really, at that point walking was not a hardship - I spent the previous 18 months nearly unable to walk, so being able to do so without excruciating pain was a joy. So walk, I did.
Once I was cleared to drive again, my path of choice was the BWI Trail. I've racked up a lot of miles on that trail. The following are a few open letter of sorts to the trail. If the trail could read. Or was, you know, human. Whatever.
Dear BWI Trail,
Thank you for your abundant and gorgeously scented honeysuckle, your wild blueberries, the shade trees when temps are high, the random turtle sightings, numerous butterflies, red cardinals, and the pair of yellow finches that followed me for a bit one day as if I were Snow White. It's so lovely. Nature rules!
Dear BWI Trail,
Nature sucks! What is with that one damn tree that drops a shit ton of mystery berries on a 10 foot section of the trail? You know what happens? Jelly happens! I feel like freakin' Lucy stopping some damn grapes! And fuck you, with the gnats, dead mice, and poison ivy.
Deal BWI Trail,
Please tell your cyclists that you are not a route on Tour de France, and that they're all just suburban douche bags on expensive bikes from Bike Doctor. Lance Armstrong isn't scouting you for a new team with which to make a come back. "Breaking Away" isn't getting remade. Calm the hell down.
Dear BWI Trail,
I'm gonna need 3/4 naked guy to be at least 2/3 clothed. It freaks me out. I'm rounding a corner and suddenly he's there, in little else but his helmet and black bikini bottoms, sitting a top his weird ass high seated bike. What IS that bike, anyway? Please, make it stop.
Also, please ask the workers in random trucks to stop cat calling me along Andover Rd. and Aviation Blvd. I know my ass is sweet (hello - all the walking!), but that's no way to let a lady know that. (but thank you, though, hehe).
Dear BWI Trail,
Thank you for being there. You have helped me heal and become stronger. I;m grateful to walk again, and for the scenery and smooth inclines you provided as I worked my way back to healthy. Despite the stupid berries, the egomaniac cyclists, and weird naked guy, you'll always be my boo.
Once I was cleared to drive again, my path of choice was the BWI Trail. I've racked up a lot of miles on that trail. The following are a few open letter of sorts to the trail. If the trail could read. Or was, you know, human. Whatever.
Dear BWI Trail,
Thank you for your abundant and gorgeously scented honeysuckle, your wild blueberries, the shade trees when temps are high, the random turtle sightings, numerous butterflies, red cardinals, and the pair of yellow finches that followed me for a bit one day as if I were Snow White. It's so lovely. Nature rules!
Dear BWI Trail,
Nature sucks! What is with that one damn tree that drops a shit ton of mystery berries on a 10 foot section of the trail? You know what happens? Jelly happens! I feel like freakin' Lucy stopping some damn grapes! And fuck you, with the gnats, dead mice, and poison ivy.
Deal BWI Trail,
Please tell your cyclists that you are not a route on Tour de France, and that they're all just suburban douche bags on expensive bikes from Bike Doctor. Lance Armstrong isn't scouting you for a new team with which to make a come back. "Breaking Away" isn't getting remade. Calm the hell down.
Dear BWI Trail,
I'm gonna need 3/4 naked guy to be at least 2/3 clothed. It freaks me out. I'm rounding a corner and suddenly he's there, in little else but his helmet and black bikini bottoms, sitting a top his weird ass high seated bike. What IS that bike, anyway? Please, make it stop.
Also, please ask the workers in random trucks to stop cat calling me along Andover Rd. and Aviation Blvd. I know my ass is sweet (hello - all the walking!), but that's no way to let a lady know that. (but thank you, though, hehe).
Dear BWI Trail,
Thank you for being there. You have helped me heal and become stronger. I;m grateful to walk again, and for the scenery and smooth inclines you provided as I worked my way back to healthy. Despite the stupid berries, the egomaniac cyclists, and weird naked guy, you'll always be my boo.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Scent of A... Man??
One of besties, Elaine, and I are avid Yankee Candle fans. And buy avid, I mean addicts. We buy only Yankee, we burn only Yankee, we own the accessories, we collect the coupons, we have stockpiles of seasonal candles so as to never be caught without a Sun and Sand in the summer or a Holiday Bayberry at Christmas. We've been to the flagship store. Twice. In one year.
So it came as a pleasant surprise when E reported to me that Yankee Candle, genius company that they are, have today launched a line marketed toward guys called Man Candles. Names of scents include First Down and 2x4. Check it out:
http://www.yankeecandle.com/yankee-candles/man-candles
Brilliant, right? Even the accessories are cool! This opens up a whole new line of gifts for my guy pals. Plus, I can totally see myself getting First Down with the football Illuma-Lid for Ravens game hosting this season.
But I have to say, it got me thinking about some other possibilities for future Man Candle scents.....
Boys Night Out - has stripper body glitter mixed into the wax and uses a $1 as a wick
Day Off - smells like pizza and dirty underwear; won't light because it's napping
Watch This - with a hint of beer combined with the distinct smell of blood, this candle can actually dial 911 for you
Junior High - smells like farts when lit; also giggles immediately after
I Know Where I'm Goin' - a confusing scent, it wanders all over the house refusing to ask where it belongs
Heeeyy Guuurl! - rainbow wax with a glow stick Illuma-Lid. Duh.
Yankee Candle, you've done it again. And should I see any of the aforementioned scents on the shelves, I also better see a royalties check comin' my way.
So it came as a pleasant surprise when E reported to me that Yankee Candle, genius company that they are, have today launched a line marketed toward guys called Man Candles. Names of scents include First Down and 2x4. Check it out:
http://www.yankeecandle.com/yankee-candles/man-candles
Brilliant, right? Even the accessories are cool! This opens up a whole new line of gifts for my guy pals. Plus, I can totally see myself getting First Down with the football Illuma-Lid for Ravens game hosting this season.
But I have to say, it got me thinking about some other possibilities for future Man Candle scents.....
Boys Night Out - has stripper body glitter mixed into the wax and uses a $1 as a wick
Day Off - smells like pizza and dirty underwear; won't light because it's napping
Watch This - with a hint of beer combined with the distinct smell of blood, this candle can actually dial 911 for you
Junior High - smells like farts when lit; also giggles immediately after
I Know Where I'm Goin' - a confusing scent, it wanders all over the house refusing to ask where it belongs
Heeeyy Guuurl! - rainbow wax with a glow stick Illuma-Lid. Duh.
Yankee Candle, you've done it again. And should I see any of the aforementioned scents on the shelves, I also better see a royalties check comin' my way.
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