This is my grandmother in a photo taken, ahem, a few years ago. My mom sent this and two other pictures to me a while ago, but I couldn't post them because blogger wouldn't let me. But now? Now, with Flickr, I can. (That sounds sort of like a line from an infomercial, doesn't it?)
I spent all day Friday on Flickr, uploading photos, writing little captions, organizing them into sets, you name it. I love this. I do. Flickr is my newest obsession. I think it could be unhealthy, the amount of time I've spent on that website, tagging and describing and looking around.
I guess this means I can actually start taking pictures again. And posting them. But I'm not about to make any promises that I can't keep.
In keeping with the general aimlessness of this post, can I just say that it's high time I cleaned out my car? I offered a friend a ride this weekend, and spent the better part of the drive apologizing for the stench of stale cigarettes and the mess of cigarette packs/fast food wrappers/magazines under her feet. I had to clean off the seat just to let her sit down. And, in doing that, threw roughly ten CD cases and three CaseLogic books into the back seat. The delicate jewel cases burst open on impact when they collided with the shit already in the back seat, and scattered thirty CDs around the rear of my 4Runner. And, in case you're wondering how 10 CD cases could possibly produce 30 loose CDs, I'll spell it out for you: I'm lazy, and hate digging for CDs in their appropriate cases (because, uh, why would James Morrison's CD actually be in the case with his name on it? That doesn't even make sense.), so I just pile each case high with as many CDs as it will hold at one time. This is really sort of a self-defeating process, as it requires I mentally back-track my CD playlist every time I want to hear something. "Where is that Ray LaMontagne CD? Hmmm. Well, I know I listened to the Fray last, which was right after Christina Aguilera, which was right after Jann Arden, which I put in after Ray LaMontagne. Which means the Ray CD should be in the Mary J. Blige case! Of course!" It's rough, I tell you. Really rough.
So I go through and clean out my car every so often. And, when I do, there is the ceremonial Putting of the CDs Back into Their Proper Jewel Cases, a process that takes me roughly four hours to complete, as things get so convoluted and messy in my car that I must empty all the cases and start from scratch. Because of this very faulty filing system of mine, I've lost a number of CDs to the abyss of my car. Jonny Lang's Wander This World is nowhere to be found, as is that one Ben Folds Five CD I bought about three years go. I keep hoping that one day, I'll glance under the floorboard carpeting that's lifting up and find all of my lost CDs sitting there, waiting anxiously to be played again.
And, let me say this: Walking into a bar and being immediately greeted by the yelps of joy and excited faces emanating from ten or so friends of yours is an experience we just don't have often enough in life. Saturday night, I went to a bar by myself. I was meeting people there, and I knew I'd be seeing people I knew there, but I wasn't prepared for the gleeful reception I encountered when I walked in. It was so nice, to walk into the hugs and kisses of people who love me for exactly who I am. That, hands down, was the best part of my weekend.
Unless I count yesterday, where Billy and I went out for our weekly sushi dinner at a restaurant about a half an hour from our house. Each week, we rotate drivers, and this week was my week to be the passenger. I got quickly and properly drunk on three glasses of Pinot, at which point I turned into a giggly, lovesick girl. It was luscious to be with him, not fighting or nit-picking; just talking and laughing, making the slow shift back into the couple we usually are: The happy couple.
Also, my birthday is on Wednesday! The countdown began about a month ago, when I started casually reminding Billy (EVERY DAY) that my birthday was thirty, twenty-seven, eighteen days away. Now, it's so close I can almost touch it. I'm so excited.
I love my birthday. Love. It. I thought that, once I passed 21, my birthday would lose some of it's appeal, but...Nope. Nope, it hasn't. It's the big 2-6 on Wednesday, and I'm just as excited as I was two days before I turned the big 1-6; and, then, I was going through the rite of passage that is The Driver's License Test. Somehow, I just never lost affection for the one day in the year dedicated to me and me alone. (And some other awesome fucking people.)
Be prepared for a lack of ability to focus on my part. Because all I'm thinking about right now is a cake with my name on it, and how I'll say "Today is my birthday!" about a million times on the 4th.