On Irresistible Quirks

Two Peas in a Pod.

She loves Cher. 
He loves lo-fi indie rock.

She loves tomato sauce.  
He loves olive oil.

She loves Grey's Anatomy.  
He loves football.

She loves dresses. 
He loves drums.

She loves purple.  
He loves lime green.

She loves gardens.   
He loves the woods.

She loves his quirks, 
and He loves hers.

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On Parental Wisdom

Mother Knows Best?

There's something about getting advice from our parents - right or wrong - that feels more solid in the moment than the buzz and chaos of the opinions around us.  Every decision made-from quitting jobs to solidifying dinner plans-the pros and cons are weighed but the answers don't always reveal themselves.  And so we turn to the people who know us best, who witnessed and likely taught us to make these lists and compare our options, soliciting perhaps unwarranted advice, so we can return to the drawing board for some definitive, action-oriented choices.  Enjoy!

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On My Obsession With Bette

Fan Letter #1 in 1985.

The real question is did I ever tell her she's my hero? And the answer is I sure did, in one of those fan letters I wrote in 1985 (see blog bio, which I think I've told some of you before and, besides, one can never write about Bette too much).  And darn right she wrote back, too, with a signed 8x10  black & white photograph framed by my bedside for the better part of the late 80s.  So when she surprised us on Oscar night with the song that prompted my (and/or our) obsession in the first place, I was immediately transported back to my primitive years of lip syncing the incorrect lyrics since who can really tell the difference between "wings" and "feet" when you're a mere five-years-old?  Oh, Bette, how I (still) worship you, plastic face and lungs to transfix a five and (eventual) thirty-five-year-old alike! Enjoy!

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On Marrying Smart

An Obvious Decision.

When you know, you know.  The decision to be with someone for the rest of your life isn't one to take lightly but it also shouldn't torture you until 3am on a Friday night. While the reality of decades together won't realistically mirror the fantasies behind the decision to settle down, (in my humble opinion) there exists an ease and comfort in the choice of whom you're willing to take on this adventure with.  And if you're hesitating for even a millisecond (or ten), take heed in your own apprehension, spend a weekend sobbing over rom coms and ice cream, and move on sooner than later.  Enjoy!

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On My Own Digital Diet

Staying Focused.

Even when face-to-face with Detectives Cohle and Hart (True Detective, for those of you late to the game), drooling over chiseled cheekbones and philosophical rants, I've got one hand on my cell phone, half-convinced that something more important will inevitably disrupt the next 56 minutes at the expense of actually following along.  But the reality is nothing will disrupt since the majority of friends (east coast and Colorado alike) are glued to the same gruesome storyline, mourning the brevity of this newly-addicting series, wondering how delusional Matthew's character would have to become to make him unappealing while marveling over Woody's astronomical transformation from Cheers.  And, so, I recently vowed that the phone now takes a back seat (down the hall in another room) while my attention span re-prioritizes its focus on what's most important: the immortal friendship of Marty and Rust. Enjoy!

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On the First Kiss

(Seriously, Watch This Video.)

awkward
passionate
kind
unexpected.

Some of us almost never forget that first kiss, through a haze of wine and spontaneity, the pressure for compatibility-in this moment and, also, over a lifetime-mixed with anticipation and apprehension for what can and might be.

For others, this kiss is nothing more-two sets of lips locked briefly in a union too simplistic for philosophical analysis and perfect just for what it is.

(Enjoy.)

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On Silencing Our Phones

Voicemail Much Preferred.

We don't even bat our eyelashes anymore when, on the rare occasion of actually calling a friend on our cells, the ringtone goes straight to voicemail (after less than half a dial) to signal that, in fact, there is a person making the deliberate decision not to speak with us.  But since we all do it all of the time we can't really blame them and, besides, we don't seriously want them to answer anyway.  We called and that's all that matters, and we probably won't do again for, say, at least another six months. But at least we can boast over the next dinner party or happy hour that we're one up on the uneven scale of initiating contact, and that it's their turn to reach out, and, by the way, we probably won't answer because why would we ever want do that? Enjoy!

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