Fancy Dance, Cranky Pants.

Ahh, Moby.

Tonight's dinner provided by QFC, and I feel very fancy and continental just saying it: a juicy Fuji apple, a half of a mini-baguette, and a small wedge of delightfully buttery brie. I feel French or something. C'est bon!

To be honest, today didn't start out good.

Wait, I'll rephrase: This WEEK didn't start out good.

I started it in a funk. A restless, unhappy funk. I felt all squirmy, like one of my daycare kids during naptime when they have to lie still for two hours in the dark. And I was grumpy. And I did a lot of yelling, mainly at work, though a lot of the loudest yelling was actually in my own head.

But today? Today I knew I had a choice to make. I had squirmed and wiggled and made a general crank of myself for two full days, and it was time to make a decision: is this the way I'm going to freeze myself to be for the rest of the week, or am I going to get over it and stop being a jerk to myself and everyone else?

Welcome back home, Forced Attitude Adjustment. I missed you.

Where is it written that life has to pan out exactly the way I want it to? Who ever said things would be easy? Who died and made me empress of the known world?

No, things are still not the way I want them to be. No, my life isn't picture-perfect. No, I'm not Miss Ever-Happy-Ever-Smiling-Ever-Bright, and I'm not even on the list to be empress of the known world.

But my life is pretty damn good. And my attitude need not reflect the few icky things that have decided to rear their ugly heads. I'm better than that, and I know it.

Now I just gotta show it.

Sheepishly yours,
-The GLS

Meow!

I love it when Colin Mochrie has to finish the Irish Drinking Song all by himself because everyone else is cracking up from his last verse.

It happens surprisingly often.

Classic.

In other news...

What do you do when you have ground venison in the freezer* and some time to kill?

Make experimental wee pasty-pies in your antique graniteware muffin tin, of course! Onions, fresh rosemary, peas, brown rice, and a pie crust made almost exclusively of butter. Side of ketchup, we're in business.

Could I get any more hobbity?

(I'll post pics and possibly the recipe soonwise.)

-The GLS

*Thanks for the venison, Papa Park! Good shootin'!

Glowing Battle-Axes.

Apologies for my absence. I spent the weekend in the arms of my crazy and wonderful family, 2 hours south of home, celebrating my aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary. Which is, you know, an extremely big deal. 50 years is a wonderfully long time.

Movies were quoted, wine was consumed, and graniteware was purchased. It was an epic gathering of black dresses and spray-painted shoes. Except on the guys. My uncle wore a gold caftan, though. (Okay, so I bought the graniteware on the way home...but still, it happened. And so did the caftan.)

They're a smart bunch, my crazy family. Passionate and educated and hilarious to boot. And I love them for all their craziness, and I'm proud to discover that I'm becoming a bit like them all.

With one notable exception, which is that I have to my name only a 2-year transfer degree from community college.

Which doesn't necessarily mean anything bad. I like my silly little degree. I'm fairly proud that I even got it. I'm happy to have a diploma.

But there's a yearning. A stirring. A part of me that still wants to transfer and get a BA, even though money is a major issue.

Thanks to my aunt and uncle--who were both college professors for years--and my cousins--who are very persuasive--I've made a promise to go back to school and finish.

Shoot.

Promises are tough. Because even if they don't hold me to it, I HAVE to do it, because I promised, and it's more important to me to keep a promise than be lazy and comfortable.

*gulp*

Yeah, money is still an issue. And yeah, this will mean a lot of shifting and moving. And yeah, I was kinda happy not being in school this year. But I think I've decided that having a passion and moving toward it is more important than all of that. Money will come. Nothing is insurmountable. I'll get there.

I think.

-The GLS

Do You Have A Dollar?

I can't help it.

I need to go do my laundry, now.

-The GLS

Do You Like Beethoven?

"Manny, bring me everyone."

"What do you mean, everyone?"

"EVERYONE."

Classic.

I'm watching a whole heck of a lot of Gary Oldman right now. Don't ask me why, it just feels right. The above bit of lunacy was inspired by "The Professional" which I've seen mostly the whole way through...too violent for me, at times. Also a little too awkward with the whole Natalie Portman being twelve thing? Yeah, if you've seen it you understand.

But Gary Oldman is in it. And he's his usual drugged-up off-his-rocker self. And that makes for good viewing.

Kinda.

"I like these calm little moments before the storm. It reminds me of Beethoven."

Ah, Gary.

-The GLS

Nobody Said It Was Easy.

The answer to the question, "Was it something I said?" is "Yes."

Multiple times.

I'm sorry. I'll work on it.

-The GLS

Vignette.

The classroom is dark, because it's naptime. I'm sitting at the teacher table, reading about a long journey down a rust-red trail on an ornery mustang. It's mostly quiet except for the rustling of the light sleepers and those who don't sleep at all. The wind blows the curtains open and lets in a bit of sunlight. The bathroom light clicks on, hovers like this for a moment, then clicks off again and plunges the room into darkness.

There's a little boy whose mat is in the corner. He's four years old, and he's probably the most restless of them all. He's always talking and standing and shifting and making noise. He never sleeps. He never stops. He doesn't know how to whisper. And today--at a fairly loud level of volume--he says something new from his spot in the corner:

"Sally, I want more music."

And, I'll be honest, I don't know what he is necessarily referring to.

But if I were at liberty to speak my mind, I would have said, "Damn straight."
I would have gone out in search of more music for him, and for me. And we would have listened to it together, because kids know better than adults what music is. And he could have told me what colors and lines he saw in the music, and he would have danced crazy while I watched and laughed awkwardly and told him not to hurt himself. And when I clocked off that evening and went home, I would have screamed my music in the car and gone on a pilgrimage to find as much music as possible and surrounded myself with it like a big blanket full of colors and lines.

But it was naptime. So I just said, "Shhhhh!"

-The GLS