Sunday, January 31, 2010

Twisted Germans & Vinaigrette

Technically it's already tomorrow, again, but that's because I'm working on a knitting project I can't talk about.


But don't soon as I can I'll illuminate this project here on the gutsy blog. Because it's the gutsiest thing...knitting-wise...I've ever done.

However! I will talk about ONE aspect of the project that I learned how to do that is incredibly fun. Look out for some knitting nerdiness (but all you non-knitters can skip to the paragraph after if you'd like).

Knitting Nerdiness: The Twisted German cast-on is the best thing since sliced bread. It's a stretchier cast-on than the normal knitted one, and thus it's perfect for any hems that need to stretch. Besides that, it's actually REALLY fun to do! For some reason, once you get the rhythm down, you feel like the coolest knitter in the world once you get it. Awesome. I seriously felt disappointed once I'd cast-on the necessary 60 stitches because I wanted to keep going. It's that fun.


Welcome back, non-knitters! My second gutsiness of the day involves salad dressing.

Here's the story...

We went out for lunch at Claim Jumper for my brother's (we'll call him Brother Bear) birthday, and all of us ordered fairly conservatively, knowing well how large the portions at CJ can be.

However, there was a snafu with my sister-in-law's (we'll call her Sister Bear...are you seeing a pattern, here?) order, and she ended up with a side salad BEFORE her meal and also WITH her meal. Not wanting to waste food--and knowing that I hadn't ordered a salad--she offered her second one to me.

I was grateful, but hesitant. I trust Sister Bear completely, of course. But there was something else...another element to consider, if you will.

You see...I have a strange relationship with salad dressings. Milk-based ranch, caesar, and especially blue cheese--are totally fine with me. The closer they taste to cheese sauce the better.

But the dressing on Sister Bear's plate was not milk-based. It was balsamic vinaigrette...and what's the root in vinaigrette? Vinegar. My arch nemesis since my days cleaning tables at my first job, where it seemed like I would go home smelling like vinegar every day. It got to the point where I couldn't even look at vinegar without getting nauseated.

It's amazing how much doing a blog creates strange little catch-22s you didn't expect. Like knowing that balsamic vinaigrette angers me, but being powerless against it, because my own claim to gutsiness forbids that I quibble over such trivial things. Plus, I hated the idea of a whole salad going uneaten. My mother has taught me well.

So I took the salad, and I ate it. And you know what? The darn stuff was delicious. I couldn't believe it.

If you need me, I'll be over in the corner with egg on my face, munching on humble pie with a side of crow.

Okay. Maybe that was a bit melodramatic. But just a bit.

-The GLS

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Trinkets & Blanket Forts

(My gutsiness is rather minor, today. I learned a new word. But I will attempt to use the word in this post when possible. Here we go...)

Today I spent the day babysitting a neighbor's child, who is five, and we'll call him Choo Choo (for he has an ardent love of trains). Choo Choo and I spent the afternoon eating sandwiches, discussing the merits of certain types of podracers, and conducting toy trains to our heart's content. But, most importantly, we engaged in that sacred architectural rite of passage: the building of a blanket fort in the living room.

It seems that every time I go over to Choo Choo's house, there's a new opportunity for building a blanket fort (in between fearing for his mother's various bibelots around the room when we spar with foam cutlasses). While I position chairs and the couch and the ottomans he grabs several armfuls of pillows and blankets for our construction site, and we go to work.

There's a very scientific approach to building a blanket fort. It requires something tall enough to drape over for the ceiling and a good anchoring piece of furniture in the center, as well as a an object heavy enough to keep the blankets in place. The size and type of blankets and pillows is also very important, as well as the positioning of couches and chairs for maximum tunnel-and-corridor value. I like to think I've become fairly proficient at building quality forts, but I also had lots of childhood practice. It's an important skill.

Sometimes I think that's where canopy-top beds came from. People just couldn't let go of how cool it is to lay under a blanket fort. I think sometime soon I shall make a blanket fort in my own living room and just hang out in it. Why not?

Drat. I only used my new word once in that whole explanation. Alright, that means I'll have to be heavy-handed. I give you...a drabble (100-word story) using my new word. Enjoy.

The Bibelot
She opened her hands to show him. “It has very special value to me.”
“I’m not sure I understand you,” he said, staring at the object in her palms.
A smile. “You have no heart, that’s why.”
“I’m beginning to see that.” He kept staring at her hand, as if hoping it would explain itself. “Is there a reason you’re doing this?”
Two smiles. “Isn’t it obvious?”
He didn’t think so, but why should he? He was the one without a heart. And why not? It was sitting in her hand.
He was wishing she hadn’t taken him so literally.

That ended up a little more...morbidly romantic?... than I was expecting...but yay! A drabble using the word bibelot! Okay, as the title, but the point is still there, I think. Here's the definition, according to "bibelot: A small decorative object without practical utility; a trinket."

I'd forgotten how hard it is to write drabbles. Keeping yourself to 100 words is ridiculously hard!

Good news: FebNoWriMo is coming up on Monday. We'll see how it goes.

Go make a blanket fort, and use the word bibelot in everyday conversation. Good stuff...

-The GLS

Apples & Limes

Well, friends. It would appear that it is already Tomorrow by the time I write this post, but it was Yesterday when I embarked upon this gutsiness, so I think it still counts.

Note: This evening's gutsiness is alcohol-related, so be assured (for those who don't know) that I am at the legal age for drinking.

Also, know that I am a bit of a lightweight, and prone to fear of trying new things where the "social scene" of drinking is concerned.

So tonight, in the spirit of it being the first gutsy Friday, my friend Indefish took me out on the town. We ended up at a bar called Cha Cha in Capitol Hill, but there was a line to get in. We were nearly persuaded to move on to another bar when we met--by chance--a few friends of Indefish's and decided to wait in line.

What a fun and funky place! The lighting is all red, and the decor is very Dia Del Muerte with sombreros, Lucha Libre masks, and a wall of glass bottles. The crowd was mostly young college-agers, it seemed, and there was even an awesome photo booth in the corner near the restrooms (of which Indefish and I freely partook).

For those interested, I had a Washington red apple and a Soco lime, both of them quite good, but there lies my limit. Two drinks and I tap out.

All in all, good place, good drinks, and good company. And my first technical American "bar" experience (as I've only ever been to Irish pubs and sports bars).

And now, to sleep. Because despite my "partying" this evening, I can be quite old-fashioned about bed times. I tire easily. Stick-in-the-mud? Maybe.

Thanks for reading...

-The GLS

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Fair Isle & Restarts

I nearly didn't make it, tonight! I was a bit busy with my latest gutsy endeavor...

I've been knitting for about a year, now, and I've tried little things here and there to improve my knitting whenever I feel up to it.

But there's always been one technique that has both piqued my interest and managed to intimidate me, no matter how "easy" everyone says it is, and that is Fair Isle. Obviously, beautiful patterns can be and have been made with Fair Isle knitting, and I want to be able to say I've done it. So, I gave it a try.

Wanna see?

Pretty, huh? You can be honest.

Actually, I'm totally kidding. That's the BACK of the knitting. But see the lines? They're called floats, and I'm actually pretty proud of them because that's what they're supposed to look like.

And HERE'S the front:

Cool, yeah? And you know what? It IS easier than it looks. :)

I probably would have gotten a bit further on this tonight except that I had to frog (unravel) it and start over because my pattern wasn't written correctly. Phooey. But that's okay! Sometimes it's good to start over, in life as well as with knitting. Give yourself a restart button, you know? Don't forget what you've already done, but don't be laden with it. This can be true of lots of things.

Well, since this is a later-written post this will have to do, for now. Tomorrow's gutsiness is still unwritten...

-The GLS

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Fail & Flume

I knew it would happen sooner rather than later. Here it is...the first Failure of Gutsiness.

Important Note: I'm fully aware that this post may not shed the most flattering light upon me and my thought processes. But I figure it's best to be honest, and in the spirit of this blog I feel that being gutsy also includes being able to admit when you're a coward. So there.

It all started in Poetry class.

Actually, that's false. It all started in Short Story Fiction class last quarter.

See, there's that one person in every class. That one that makes everyone shift uncomfortably when they open their mouth. That one that is quite eloquent in all the wrong ways, talks over the teacher, always has a comment, and is often irrelevent and/or oblivious to social cues. Normally, I try to be as understanding as possible of these people, though I will shamefully admit to being just as irritated as everyone else.

So, in my Short Story Fiction class, we had That One Kid. Obviously for the sake of being respectful his name need not be mentioned, but he was definitely That One Kid. He wasn't quite as intrusive as others I've run across, but he had a morbid sense of humor and used it to make everyone very uncomfortable, though I'm not sure he knew he was doing that. I don't know. I don't like to think ill of people, yet it's shocking how often I end up doing just that.

I'll confess to being a little glad when class with him ended.

And then I'll further confess to being a little agitated when I walked into my first day of Poetry class this quarter and...there he was. And he remembered me.

A month later, he's still very much the same as he was in Short Story Fiction. And I wasn't sure what to do about it, being one of those people who is easily embarassed FOR others and therefore sensitive (almost allergic) to his socially-awkward behavior.

But today I thought, no. Today will be different. Today my act of gutsiness will be to engage him in civilized conversation, and not shy away when he tries to talk to me, and not wince when he raises his hand in class. Today I will be a decent human being. Today I will be gutsy.

Today I failed. Miserably.

I took two unnecessary trips to the bathroom just to avoid his comments. When he came to be in my workshopping group, my heart sank. I couldn't meet his gaze, I couldn't even muster up a pleasant tone of voice when answering his questions.

Obviously, because I over-analyze everything, I thought about this at great lengths driving home from school. What the heck is wrong with me? Why can't I decide to be civil and then by-gum go ahead and do it? What is it about That One Kid that bothers me so much?

And then I realized: what bothers me about That One Kid is that I'm only one crucial step away from him, which I'll expound on in a moment.

Who hasn't said something awkward and gotten snickered at? Who hasn't missed a social cue and said something you shouldn't have? Who hasn't misjudged the senses of humor in the room and made a joke inappropriate to the moment? I know I have, and I've shrunk away in shame because of it, and I've squirreled those moments away into little boxes in my brain marked: TOTALLY EMBARASSING; DON'T OPEN.

That one crucial step that separates me from That One Kid is this: True and Genuine Gutsiness.

Think about it! Every That One Kid in this world says what they say because they don't give a fig whether you fidget in humiliation on their behalf or not. Whether they're aware of your discomfort makes no difference. In many ways, That One Kid is braver than I am, and makes me look rather petty in comparison. I've devoted this next year of my life to trying a new thing every day, and when I meet someone who lives their entire life like that I have no response but embarassment, shame, and even disgust.

Maybe I'm being hard on myself, but there's hope in this, too. Now that I recognize my discomfort, maybe I can turn it around. Maybe I can be the person that I want to be, even if it means making That One Kid-type comments every once and awhile by accident.

So, this post is less about MY gutsiness and more a monument to all of the That One Kids out there. Kudos to you guys for opening your mouths and putting the rest of us to shame with your astounding bravery...even if it's at the expense of our pride.

Will I manage to turn it around instantly and engage That One Kid in Poetry class in intense and deep conversation next time I see him? Realistically not. But I can always try, one step at a time, and maybe I'll get there sooner than I think.

On a mostly unrelated note, but speaking of someone ELSE'S gutsiness...Peter Gabriel is releasing an album of covers, one of which being a jarring rendition of Bon Iver's "Flume" that created a REALLY difficult moment for me, this afternoon. Thinking: okay, that's the MELODY of Flume, but that sure as heck isn't Justin Vernon...did someone rip someone else off? What is going on? (And then I imploded.)

My hat is off to Mr. Gabriel, however, and I hope the album is a success, even if it DID give me a momentary bout of crippling confusion.

Favorite song of the day? "Falling Down Blues" by Ramblin' Jack Elliot. If you like blues, you'll love this song. If you don't like blues but you like guitar, then you'll still love this song. If you don't like blues or probably isn't for you.

Thanks for reading, y'all. Say something stupid this week. It's therapeutic.

-The GLS

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Green Beans & Plans

Picture this:
It was lunchtime. Around 11:50am, and nearly time for me to leave my workplace (at a local daycare) and head for my Intro to Mass Media class.

I was sitting down to a meal of chicken nuggets, orange slices, and green beans with the kids I work with, just making 5-year-old conversation and simultaneously pondering a few things that were bothering me about this project.

Now, understand...I had no plans to do anything gutsy until I got home, and I didn't really have anything in mind. In fact, I was a little fearful that I wouldn't have anything to blog about at all, today. This is the way a lot of my plans tend to work out, sadly. A lot of them seem to fizzle early on. Especially blogs.

Sitting there, nibbling a nugget, I started to panic. Is this it, I thought? Four posts and then it's over? Really? I can't do any better than that?

And then she said it. The child to my right...we'll call her Pigtails...loudly announced to the table that dipping your green beans in your ketchup was good eating (or words to that effect).

My table went quiet, though there were a few, "Ewwws" of disgust. Dipping steamed green beans in ketchup? Most of the 5-year-old sages around the table shook their heads, no. Inadvisable. Gross.

But a few brave souls gave it a try, and faces lit up...though I couldn't tell if they were just trying to give a show of enthusiasm for the sake of humor or not.

Pigtails turned to me, expectantly, a green bean poised over her own puddle of ketchup. An invitation.

Fleetingly, I gave brief thought to the innocence of youth, and how much things have changed since I was 5. I visualized a few grand lectures on "when I was your age" or "back in my day". I even tried to imagine what it might taste like. But when it all came down to it, and a few pairs of very wise--if very wide and young--eyes were upon me, I did the only thing I could possibly do in that situation and come away with any semblance of dignity.

I dipped a green bean in the ketchup...and ate it.

Frankly, it was no culinary revelation, but I guess that really isn't the point. I started thinking about all the food-related adventures I used to have when I was a kid. I had a friend who swore by pretzels dipped in Trix yogurt. Another who would mix ketchup, peas, and white rice into a frenzy before he would eat it. It's all about perspective, I suppose. One man's gross is another man's gourmet? Maybe it doesn't matter what mixes with what, just so long as you're mixing at all. Is that right?

I didn't have time to pose this to Pigtails and her ilk. It was noon, and I had to leave, and by that time an intense discussion about Disney princesses had commenced to which I was not invited. But I think my little sages would agree with me.

On the way to class, KEXP gave me the Los Campesinos! latest unreleased single to sing along to and enjoy: "The Sea Is A Good Place To Think Of The Future". Lovely. A good day all around, I'd say.

May your plans always get a jumpstart from an unexpected source.
And may you always have ketchup for your green beans.

-The GLS

Monday, January 25, 2010

Hobbits & Radio Woes

Happy Monday! It's time for the first full week of gutsiness to commence!

I am a creature of habit. I've often compared myself to a hobbit-like being, happy to sit in a cozy corner and drink tea and not go on any adventures or do anything unexpected (see blog: The Good Hobbit Wife). This is why the "trying something new everyday" idea is so daunting...and yet exciting, if I let myself go there.

One of my many habits has to do with music. I am not a picky music lover, I just love music. However, I have found myself getting into a rut with music, lately. I listen to 103.7 The Mountain in the car, typically, as I do a lot of driving between school and work and it's nice to have something to listen to.

The Mountain is not such a bad station, or at least it wasn't. Back in the day they claimed to be an eclectic rock station, playing stuff that the college and early-career types like to listen to. Here a little Jack Johnson, there a little Bowie. Toss in some Rusted Root for variety's sake, you know? And I love that they love Seattle, and always keep pretty good track of stuff going on in the city. Gotta love the local mindset.

But lately I've become a bit disenchanted with the station.

(rant) For one thing...they fired my favorite morning show hosts back in September (Marty and Jodie!! Nooooo!!). They even had the gall to do this without consulting me, while I was away in rude. For another, I find that they are a lot less eclectic than they once claimed to be. Playing John Mayer's "Who Says" twenty times each hour doesn't count, as "edgy" as it may seem (oh my goooooosh, did he just say "stoned" on the radio?). Has anyone else noticed that all of Counting Crows' new songs sound EXACTLY THE SAME? And when I heard one of the hosts call Imogen Heap an "emerging artist" last week I nearly flipped my lid. You just played a song from her THIRD solo album! How long do you have to be on the air before you've made it, dude? Did the soundtrack to that Zach Braff movie count for nothing, not to mention the trailer?*

My favorite solution to this is to listen to my iPod in the car. However, I have managed to break three different types of iPod adaptors in the last two years, so that idea is out, for now.

Yesterday I flipped my dial over to KEXP (90.3) for the first time, under the recommendation of my Mass Media professor. Though it's not as easily-singable, being much more eclectic and obscure than The Mountain ever is or was, I enjoyed the brief ten minutes I listened before switching back to the station I felt comfortable with, climbing back into my hobbit-hole and shutting the curtains, sighing into my Earl Grey.

This morning, after hearing "Fireflies" by Owl City on The Mountain one time too many, I decided to throw comfort out the window and switch to KEXP for a whole week, nonstop, just to give it a chance.

First new find that I love? "To The Sky", by a band called Maps. Beautiful, beautiful...better than anything the poppy-types on The Mountain are dishing out. I suggest taking a listen! It is now cuddled happily on my iPod.

Perhaps it's not a groundbreaking gutsiness, but all the same...a week in a new audio territory means a lot to me. And that's all that matters anyway, I think. ;)

I'm now going to go make myself some cocoa and enjoy my new favorite song. Thanks for reading!

-The GLS
*For the record, I absolutely adore "Garden State" one get their feathers in a flurry, mmk? Mmk.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Ranchy Eggs & Novel Ideas

This morning began with great potential for gutsiness. Clear skies, the mountains looming over Puget Sound outside my window. Perfect.

I drove to pick up my good friend Indefish, whose blog can be found here, so we could head off to Greenlake for church, all the while planning what sorts of gutsiness we could get up to. The plan became to go to a restaurant I had never tried before, called the Honey Hole, in a location downtown that I don't often frequent (Capitol Hill). Perfect gutsiness!

But by the time church got out and we noted the rain that had crept up on us from behind and was now shouting "BOO" in a very self-satisfied rainy-sounding voice, we decided that a drive downtown was not in the cards. And since the project was meant to be mine, I didn't want to guilt Indefish into driving in the name of gutsiness. It wouldn't be fair.

Instead we went to place in our hometown that we love, called Red Twig. It's an adorable little cafe that serves coffee and pastries but also has a decent lunch and breakfast menu. Every time I go to Red Twig I get the same thing: a pesto crepe with turkey, fresh tomatoes, and mozzarella. Absolutely divine.

But, in the spirit of gutsiness, I decided it was time to try something different. So instead of my favorite crepe I ordered their huevos rancheros from the breakfast menu along with a vanilla latte (though I tend to avoid coffee as a general rule, I do enjoy it once and awhile as a treat). The huevos rancheros include steamed eggs, black beans, rancho sauce, pepperjack and cheddar cheeses all served on a flour tortilla with a small cup of salsa.

Review: I give two thumbs up to the huevos rancheros. Very tasty and the perfect size, not an incredibly large serving. The salsa--which I presume is homemade--is fairly spicy and a nice complement to the meal. The rancho sauce has a nice blend of spices.

So, all in all, not a bad decision. Something new, if not the gutsiest thing ever. And the Honey Hole will still be waiting for me on another day, I'm sure.

In other news, though I feel bad dropping another random link in here, I would like to highlight NaNoWriMo, which is a novel-writing "contest" that happens in November. It's a fantastic time, and a really great exercise if you enjoy writing.

I enjoyed NaNoWriMo so much last year that I've decided to do another one starting on February 1st. Indefish will be keeping me accountable, and you can too! I'll be keeping a wordcount here on the blog; I need to reach 50,000 words by midnight on February 28th (it is NOT a leap year), or Indefish will punish me in a terribly inhumane way. I shudder to think.

Anyway! Tomorrow is the first Gutsy Monday. I wonder what sort of treasures it will hold?

-The GLS

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Imagism & Camels

It's January 23rd, the kickoff date for the Year of Gutsiness. This next year will hopefully be full of new and exciting things that I can look back on and say, "Yes! Gutsiness abounds!"

But as soon as this blog was all constructed and the "I" cursor was blinking in a new post, waiting for my exciting new gutsy endeavors, I suddenly blanked. It's a lazy Saturday in January...what sort of thing could I possibly do today?

Thinking quickly, I decided to learn a new word. So I reached for my impressive collection of various sorts of dictionaries and grabbed the first one I saw: The Bedford Glossary of Critical and Literary Terms, a book I haven't looked at since high school AP English class.

Opening to a random page and putting my finger on a random word, this is what I got:

imagism: A school of poetry that flourished in North America and England, and especially in the United States, at the beginning of the twentieth century. Imagists rejected the sentimentalism of late nineteenth-century verse in favor of poetry that relied on concrete imagery. Ezra Pound originally led the movement, which drew upon T.H. Hulme's poetic theory, but Amy Lowell soon became its most famous proponent; "Amygism" was first used by the displaced Pound to refer derogatorily to the movement (213). <---cite your source!

Hmmm. Interesting. Granted, I'm not much of a poetry person (being a prose writer myself) and so I had no idea what imagism was, let alone that it even existed.

However, I realized that simply learning a new word wasn't nearly gutsy enough. There had to be some sort of return on the investment, right? Right.

So I decided that the only logical solution would be to write an imagist poem. Couldn't be that hard, right? Right.

I took a walk up to the library to look up some famous imagists, including Ezra Pound and Amy Lowell.

Brief sidestory: While at the library I spotted a woman that I shared the airport shuttle with when I was leaving for Ireland! Small world, right? I was too shy to say hello and ask if she remembered me and how she's been, but then I realized that I ought to be brave for the sake of the blog. However, as soon as I bucked up the courage she disappeared. Lesson learned: follow your instinct immediately, otherwise the opportunity might vanish.

Anyway, grabbed a book of Ezra Pound poems and headed home to construct a poem displaying imagism.

According to Bedford's, imagist poems should:

1)regularly use everyday speech, but avoid cliches;
2) create new rhythms;
3) address any subject matter the poet desired; and
4) depict its subject through precise, clear images.

Bearing this in mind, here is my imagist poem, entitled "The Camel".

look to the camel
who blushes

you know it is she

that she is fine

in the caravan

Model: Sally the Plastic Camel, who sits on my desk and was the inspiration for the poem. Every picture I took of her was blurry.

Well, hope you liked it! My first imagist poem. Who knows how imagist it really is...but that's okay. It's all about taking leaps, right? Right.

Thanks for joining me on Day One of the Year of Gutsiness! Who knows what'll happen tomorrow?

-The GLS


Murfin, Ross, and Supriya M Ray. The Bedford Glossary of Critical and Literary Terms. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's, 2003.

Gutsy Little Intro...

In 2009, sometime around late January, a very disconsolate me sat on the couch crying to my parents about my life. Crying about not having gone anywhere, or done anything. Crying about having no real plans for the future, about being scared, about where I saw my life going or not going.

Basically, crying about being 20 years old.

That night, my parents asked me what I wanted to do, and for years my dream had been to go to Ireland. So that night I decided to go, and saved up my money, and in September of that year I went to Ireland alone for two weeks. It was the most amazing experience I've ever had.

Almost exactly one year after that fateful night in January, I find myself at the exact same crossroads, complete with tears and malaise. But this time the dream of Ireland has been fulfilled. Where do I go from here?

Sadly, another incredible trip is not necessarily in my future. Financially I need to turn my thoughts to other things, and I need to stop running away from what's important. Though it was a groundbreaking and fantastic experience, Ireland was as much an escape as an education.

Considering my options, I recalled when my mom explained to my grandpa about my trip to Ireland--how I had saved up and gone, alone, planning the whole thing myself. My grandpa is not the sentimental type, never has been. But he gave me the best compliment I have ever heard in response.

He said, with a great degree of admiration, "Wow. She's a gutsy little shit!"

It's hard to explain how a phrase like that affected me...gosh, I've never heard such high praise, especially from him. And it hit I really that gutsy? Sure, the trip to Ireland was pretty gutsy. But beyond gutsy have I really been? Since Ireland, how many new things have I tried? How many new people have I met? How many new places have I been?

This blog is an answer to the rut I find myself in. By this blog, I pledge to do one new thing every day and blog about it. It could be small--trying a new food, learning a new word, attempting a new hobby--or it could be large, like meeting a new person, driving to a place I've never been before, or writing in a style I'm unaccustomed to. The possibilities are endless!

And by blogging about it, I hope to experience the power of accountability to those reading. As such, if you're out there, please comment! Let me know that my gutsiness is not in vain! And who knows? You may be inspired to be gutsy, yourself.

My life is at a crossroads, sure. It could go a million different ways from here. But by January 23rd 2011, I hope that I can still claim the title of Gutsy Little Shit by being gutsy every day, in any small way that I can. Who knows where I'll be in a year? I just hope that I can still be a gutsier version of me.

Gutsy little shits of the world, unite! Let's make every day new!

Much love,
-The GLS