I Have A Lot To Say

I just don't know why I can't write it.

It should be easy.

Maybe tomorrow, words will come.

Well, lots of words are coming, I just don't know how to put them together in the best way for this medium.

I want to be funny, but all I ever am is the Straight (wo)man. I want to write about the funny things, but really, all that comes out is... what is about to follow in the next couple of days. It's like I have some sort of writing plague and instead of funny, drama comes out. Drama comes leaping out of my mouth like slimy frogs.

Slimy, ugly frogs.

Oh, believe me, I know some people are going through drama. I almost have to invent my drama... almost. Believe me, it's real, it's just almost completely unnecessary for you to see me through it. But you will.

Because I need the switch to come on. That elusive switch that just isn't appearing for me now. I long for that click, my shoulders on edge hoping that with each letter my fingers strike, with each realization and revelation, I will reach the switch nirvana and it will be flicked and that audible click will be so refreshing that I will be forced to describe that click in great detail.

You know you want me to.

So, hold on to your hats 5 internet readers, you faithful dears who have loved me and stood by me even if I was a crappy friend or even if you don't know me and still hand around in hopes that the Honey will finally start his blog up again (I think he might) or even if you had to because I told you I posted and waited as you checked your feeds on your phone to read every word I writ (not a typo, but prolly should be considered one). The ride is getting bumpy, the reads are getting longer, and the road is getting swervier. And maybe my thoughts will come back on me full circle. Maybe not. But for the first time... like EVER... I won't mind being wrong, because it really is all about the journey.

Worrying About Your Beard When You're About To Lose Your Head

So I'm finally watching The Seven Samurai. Oh my WORD the translation is awful, but the acting and the story is so... brilliant. Man, I love movies about honor. Most war movies have the distinction of being about honor, but I'm not the biggest fan of war movies, or so I tell myself. But as I watch this movie, its slow progression towards a bigger fight looming, I realize that there are a lot of war movies in my repertoire that I would watch again.

I don't like war movies. Movies and television provide escape. In those fantasy world, the characters that are compelling shouldn't die, but in war movies, they do. They always do.

Man, old movies kick new movies asses!

It is my nature and maybe I'm coming to see that it is the nature of many others, to worry about the little things in the face of something big. I guess we don't know what else to do when we feel so helpless. I'm not a "big picture" thinker. I think about right now. I think about the line I just wrote, I think about the thought in my head. I think about what I need to do tomorrow, but I don't see it all in one fell swoop, just waiting to be done so that I can orchestrate my actions. I hope it all works out in the end, that the sentences come together, that the work gets done, that I express myself to others in the right way. It's beyond me how to change that part of me. It's something I want to work on. I want to see it all and then orchestrate. I don't want to pick at the pieces anymore. I want to see the sculpture in the rock and chisel away the unnecessary parts.

I want to stop using metaphor, but I'm not just talking about one thing. I'm talking about an entire way of being. It's enough to give me a headache.

In other news, I am doing well as bassist and singer in the imaginary world of Rock Band, where "Angel", as I call myself, is taking the world by storm. I'm somewhere in Russia right now singing songs I didn't even know existed and trying to get more than 3 stars every time. I will hate to move to the hard level. And as much as I hate shopping, I love dressing my Rock Band character. Every time I win a new item for my wardrobe, I get just that much more excited about the game. Next, I'll create a character on the drums. Yes, I will have my own band soon. And I will ROCK!

I Hope Jack Bauer Doesn't Blow Up the Internet

I wish exciting things happened to me. The most exciting thing that's happened to me is being anxious that I didn't make enough snacks for Cookie, Coffee, and Conversation time after church this past Sunday. Weren't we all relieved to find out I did. Make enough. Snacks.

Or the time Oprah came to town and stayed on the street I live on and how I couldn't drive and all the people driving by kept asking me (because I had to walk since cars kept blocking the street in front of the residence where Oprah stayed) if "SHE" was still here.

I think I always wanted to live a Jack Bauer life, but without the terrorists, nuclear explosions or Kim Raver.

For some reason, I've always wanted to have powers of some sort. When I was little, I thought I was a vampire. I have two pointy teeth at just the right points for those nifty vampire bites. I can say, "I want to bite your neck and suck your blood" in a better vampire voice than Bela Lugosi. My eyes hurt when I come in contact with direct sunlight... I mean, what else would you assume?

Of course, I turned 7 and I realized that it was possible vampires didn't exist. I mean, I wasn't fighting them off or anything, so I went on with my existence of hoping to become Bo Duke (I hadn't figured out I was supposed to be attracted to him yet) but my brothers and cousins kept making me be Daisy and I didn't want to play no girl! I wanted to be Bo. Not Luke, Bo!

I was kind of obstinate.

When I got a little older, I realized that I could play the girl parts in our games of fantasy. I wanted to be Wonder Woman or Storm although it was still well within my rights to be Spider Man or (with a good enough fight) Batman. If I couldn't have an actual science experiment gone wrong super power, then I wanted to at least be as inventive as Batman.

Of course, when we were kids, we wanted our powers for such lofty goals as saving the world. Today, I would settle for being able to ram into the car that just cut me off without getting hurt or set things on fire with my mind (a la Stephen King's Firestarter) when I get angry. My ideals are not gone, just on hiatus as I deal with everyday life.

Maybe that's why I like fantasy and sci-fi shows. I like seeing the difference between the youthful exuberance of getting abilities and realizing you could save the entire world (Hiro on Heroes) and the kind of hard bitten edge that you get when you realize people aren't as good as you wish they were (Adam Monroe on Heroes). I like remembering that within myself and I like how, every now and then, I still wish I could save the world.

So, I might not have that magical, save the world 3 times in one day, kind of Jack Bauer life, but I think that for me, as Farmer Hoggett says, "that'll do, pig. That'll do." (This really plays more into my fascination with pigs and especially talking pig movies, but that's a later post.)

edit: I couldn't let this pass. Thanks to speakeasyx for the link.


moar funny pictures

I Need To Make Friends...

There are a lot of good things about being married.

A. Lot.

But one of the bad things is that no one wants to hang out with you. Well, let me correct that. No one knows they can hang out with me. Oh, I am still pretty tied to my husband. I still do a lot with him and we definitely love our alone time. But there are times when I want to be out with others.

I don't have any female friends that I really hang out with. I went to Alabama to hang out with a friend who goes to Auburn and her best friend and we had a really great time. I was glad to visit her, glad to get home, but it made me discover something. I don't have anyone to hang out with here.

With The Honey's work schedule, I have a lot of time to myself. Time to go out. Time to have some fun. Time to do something other than sit at home.

Do you know what I do instead of hanging out? Work late.

Work late, people!!!

That should not be. I should be "out there". I'm relatively young. I probably could stand to lose a few pounds, although I would rather just eat the chocolate cake. Okay, so an oldish, slightly overweight woman wants to go out for a night on the town.

Riiiiiight. Actually, I just want to hang out with a bunch of people who talk about television, books, things going on in the world, conversation that spurs me on to read, to write, and to learn to communicate better. I've been in a fog of conversation, each one as if it were life or death almost. I want to get to a point where I am conversing for fun, laughing and joking.

I feel like I should want to hang out with a gaggle of women. I don't know why I would, but I feel like I should. I have been out with a group of girls before, what feels like a really long time ago. I had female friends once. We went camping together, we talked together and had actual sleep overs. We didn't talk about the intricacies of our wedding days (although, in hindsight for me, we probably should have). We didn't talk about boys (okay, so we did... GOD! I was a girl!). We planned Anti-Valentine's Day parties.

"We" no longer exist.

If I am not with my husband, I am alone. It's a bit daunting, especially when I'm not used to it. Oh, I am typical in that I like being alone. That is the best time for writing, after all. So I'm going to hang out. I'm going to accept invitations I might have turned down. I'm going to try to get in touch with those people I care about and hopefully we can get together.

If You Know Me

The first thing you need to do is stop by the coffee shop, pick up the food and culture magazine and read two articles by yours truly... three if you count my monthly coffee column.

Just do it!

So, I am doing Nanowrimo. I have written a lot of words. And yet I am so far from my word count, it is ridiculous. Okay, I'm just complaining now and slightly procrastinating, but I will get to 50,000 words by the end of the month if it kills me.

The loaded baked potato flavoured Pringles are just okay.

I can eat two bite brownies in one bite.

I get more excited than I should when the clock says things like 11:11 or 12:34 or 5:43.

I'm bad at video games because I don't have the patience to get better.

I wish my hair was longer than it is.

I didn't vote today because I haven't changed my address. And for that, I am sorry.

I finally found the nails and the hammer and I still haven't put up our paintings, clocks and photos.

Okay, just a random post to keep you busy until I have something good to write... or until tomorrow.

I've Been Sick

Well, that's my excuse anyway. For not writing. Not that you missed me or anything.

But of course, there is much more going on than that. I mean, just because I have consistently tried to hack up a lung (today, I coughed so hard for so long that my nose bled) for the last 4 days, have had a piercing headache just above my right eye for the last two, but have still had to do work of some kind for all of those days, not including the Halloween Partying that went on, despite being sick, on Saturday (4 parties in one night, photo post - with captions - soon to come), doesn't mean that it is the only thing going on.

Recently, I have been the poor in spirit. As much as the Kingdom of Heaven is mine, it has come to my attention that there is much question about said Kingdom of Heaven. The kind of questions that my poor, feeble, sickly mind can't handle right now... I mean, the realization that there is more than what the church says, and more that what people say and live, I have to do my soul searching in the form of fiction.

That's right, it's National Novel Writing Month. 50,000 words in 30 days. If I finish, it will be the first time I have carried through on the promise.

I make myself the promise every year to complete my "short story collection" or my "novel" although I haven't written anything longer than 14 pages ever in my life (well, storywise anyway). What is wrong with me. This year, I look forward to this endeavor with much more trepidation, much less hope, and much more determination than I have ever had. I say this is the year that I at least break 25,000. I get half way to all the way done, which is about 15,000 more words than I've ever done. Last year's paltry 6,000 gives me a piercing headache above my left eye.

Wish me luck.

All Things To All People

A few years ago, I started going to a coffee shop called The Vine and I was there every Thursday, Friday and Saturday for nearly a year of my life. Towards the end of that year, I began working for them. I loved my job with them because it gave me the opportunity to know more people and come out of my shell even more.

The Vine was owned by Pam and Glen, a couple that led praise and worship at their church. They also worked with the youth and they realized that kids really had no place to go. They weren't just worried about the kids in their church, but all the youth in Macon and all the youth willing to come down from where ever they were coming from. Pam and Glen were surrogate parents for many of us. They were warm and friendly, open and welcoming. They were Christians that wanted everyone to feel welcomed and to feel loved. We showed up regularly - The truck driver looking for a million ounces of espresso in a large white mocha and a good game of chess; the writer who spent too much of her time reflecting until she actually began to meet others; people who played music regularly; homeless people and people too young to do anything except hang out. Many of the people I am still friends with today I met at The Vine. Jason, who suddenly yelled out lines from The Color Purple and bonded us instantly as friends. Kevin, a jeweler who sat at my table one day just because he wondered what in the world I could be writing every weekend. Mark, the trucker/chess player that looked like he needed a few years of sleep but was so funny in a dry humour sort of way. We got along because we both looked scarier than we actually were.

Pam and Glen ran The Vine like a business and a ministry. I loved it. I could invite anyone to come and know they would have fun. It was a great place to meet, a great place to hear live music, and a great place to just hang out.

One day, Pam and Glen decided to follow their own musical dream, so they saw about selling their equipment and The Vine name. I know they hoped that they would pass along the comfortable feeling they gave the place. The couple they sold it to did not have the same idea of what a Christian owned coffee shop should be. The most memorable difference between their ownership and Pam and Glen's I saw one evening. A couple of Morman guys came in - I assume to talk. They were obvious in their clean, dark suits, bike helmets resting on the table. They got glasses of milk and when the new owners daughters came out, she also brought tracts for the men in the hopes that they might accept Christ... the right way. It was an insult to them and immediately put up a wall. They left shortly afterwards and I never saw them there again. What once had been a place of rest for anyone who visited became a place where you couldn't just rest, but were assaulted with one man's definition of Christianity whether you liked it/agreed with it or not. It ceased to be my coffee shop.

After the Vine, I started going to and working for Joshua Cup Coffee. Also owned by Christians, they wanted the shop to be a place where anyone would be comfortable visiting. From Wiccan to Fundamental, everyone could come in and not feel judged. Blue haired, tattooed punk kids to blue haired Methodists, all shared the same place and they loved it. For more than 6 years, the people worked their hearts out, sometimes without pay, because they believed in what the shop was about. They wanted it to succeed and they worked for it to succeed. About a month ago, a new owner was brought in and with him came a manager. This manager said that only Christian music would play, that only Christian bands could perform. They kicked out the entertainment newspaper because it had bar advertisement. The entertainment newspaper that some people come to the J.Cup for. It was once the only place where I KNEW it was going to be. No longer.

As I see the changes happening, it makes me sad. I remember meeting a friend at the new Vine after I came back from my first stint in California. I met him and his brother, who was wearing a pagan cross, to catch up. The owners called me to the side to warn me about these guys. Guys that had been my friends longer than they'd been business and they thought they had the right to warn me?

Thanks, but no thanks.

I see Joshua Cup moving in that direction. There are some good changes and having real food is one of them. But I am worried about the direction and I am afraid that all the work and all the heart that went into making it a shop worth respecting will be gone.

Finished!

This week has been the most hectic week that I've had since taking a job and still trying to write for pay. It is becoming harder and harder to be fair to my regular paying job when it comes to writing.

I had 6 assignments due this week, all for next month. I need to start paying attention to the business part of this. I mean, I am keeping up with receipts, but I am not trying to figure out how to optimize my time so that I am getting the maximum worth out of the time it takes to write my articles versus what I get paid.

I have been pulled all out of sorts over how hard this week has been trying to get everything done. The Honey asked me if this was not what I wanted and I found myself smiling because this is EXACTLY what I want. I want this struggle to find the right words and put them to page. I want to receive that compliment from my editor, where her touch is barely there because my words match the style of her magazine or matches the tone that he wants in his magazine. It is not getting easier, but if I am right, it is because I am still trying very hard to be better and better. I think it would be easier to write the way I've always written.

Or it could all just be horrible and it's taken me longer than it really should have to get my articles written. But praise be to my good and fluffy Lord that I am done and ready to relax.

This is what relaxing looks like today:
Little Sister is coming to town today. We will drive around town trying to find clothes for an 80s Prom party and for her Cruela DiVille (sp?) halloween costume. Then we will go to IHOP (International House or Prayer - not Pancake) which she is being forced to go to so I agreed to go for morale support. Then we are going to the Prom. I have no clue what we will be doing after that.

Tomorrow is Arts and Jazz and then another birthday party. I like to party all the time, party all the time, party all the time!

But more than that, I am not going to think about any of the things that are really swirling in my mind. I will give myself permission to rest and to have fun. That's the least that I deserve.

Necessity is the Mother of Reinvention

I heard this second hand, but I thought it was funny and a friend's post about bookstores brought this to mind.

A couple of guys I know were at the bookstore, grousing about the prices of books. The one guy says to the other, "Man, wouldn't it be nice if there was a place you could go where you could get any book you wanted without paying for it and then when you're done reading, you'd give it ba..." He stopped himself in the middle of his sentence, laughed and then said, "Fuck! I've reinvented the library!"

I don't know why remember the telling of that conversation always makes me smile, but it does.

Happy Thanksgiving!

There is a local food magazine that asked me to write some things for them, so yesterday, I baked a whole turkey, macaroni and cheese and sweet potato pie for a picture. Everything turned out well, if I do say so myself, because I'm so awesome in the kitchen.

Rock on.

If I get pictures, I'll post them. The surprise, though, was the sweet potato pie. It was custard-y, but so flavourful. I baked the sweet potatoes to softness, mashed them up (after peeling them, of course) and added a bunch of stuff to it, but it was pretty simple as well. The kicker was the maple syrup in equal amounts with the sugar. It turned out delicious. I think the pictures will be good and I hope my story is good and I'm so tired from staying up all night cooking. Fortunately, I will finish everything that's been weighing on my mind tonight and maybe I can actually just sit back and relax this weekend.

Oh, yeah, this impromptu Thanksgiving baking helped me get my kitchen clean and in order. That was a blessing and an up all night curse, but all's well that ends well.

The Bird Is The Word

Sorry about that, but I'm watching Full Metal Jacket and that song was on.

Have you ever had a day where from the moment your feet hit the floor, it's like you're running? The first song on my iPod was by Pavement Placebo featuring Kate Bush. Running Up That Hill. I like that song, but as I listened to it, I just began to get tired.

Then I heard a song from a friend called Crisis of Faith (Part 1) and it made me want to drive fast.

Driving fast and tired do not a good combination make.

Tonight, something made me think about feeling connected to others, letting my mask slip a little and just putting myself out there. I got an email from a friend about being a different person now than in the past. It included a picture of myself I thought had vanished with the time. But it is still out there, floating around, a reminder of the once me, when I would willingly and without any sense of embarrassment call myself crazysexycool - as if I needed to speak it in one breath to make it real. And cool.

I'm not sure quite where to start. Do I start with the huge crush I have on Doctor Who - which is fantasy, or do I start with how my knee, which I hurt at the beginning of this month, still has not healed? Do I talk about how I look better in my jeans or how I keep looking at this story that's due last week and I can not for the life of me put the quotes in? Do I talk about how my hair is finally growing but I still might get braids, or do I talk about how hard it is to make myself put my kitchen in order. See, all these mundane, boring things that clog my mind when there are bigger things knocking around in there.

Like God and church and life and death and irrational fears and overwhelming love and finally letting go of the past. Of losing people so dear to you, you can't breath and like realizing that your friends, the one you truly love and care for, feel like half a world away.

Well, all maudlin aside, I hope it will be nice getting to know me again.

Remembering

Sometimes I forget who I am, or why I write, or why I have blogs.

I started blogging a few years ago because I had been reading blogs for months and there was only so much you could put in a comment. There were things rolling around in my head and I admit those first few posts were more imitative or responsive than revealing. I found that I liked different writing styles and I wanted to write as well or as funny or as introspectively as the people I found delight in reading.

It had more to do with being carried away to the land of those writing and wanting to follow them, on my site, into this imaginary place where I felt at home.

But then, one day, I was revealing; writing about myself and the things going on with me, the thoughts going on in my head, not reacting to what I'd read on my favourite sites. And soon people were reading my words and living in my life. And while it lasted, it was good.

And then, it felt like I grew up. I moved to California for a while and my life has not ever been the same. In ways that I still don't understand, I am closed. That may sound weird, but I found that I could not write about my experiences or put them into any context that wasn't heartrending. And then I got married and in that, the desire to hold something of myself close to my heart and away from the world began to grow.

I guess that is still there, since my marriage is so new and so perfect (even 3 years in) that to talk about it would almost spoil it. I am surprised by how much I want to keep to myself. But as I begin to read other sites again, I have to remember why I am still here, why I take up residence at this url when I could just give it up to someone else who really wants to write. I remember that getting out the things that go on with me, typing about the pains and joys of life, revealing a little bit more than I think is fair, but a little less than everything is the only way that writing will be real for me. I have faked it for a time, slowly chugging along until the words that are jumbled in would come out on their own, but now I realize that won't happen. The words will not find a way, as some say life did. I have to find the words.

Writing is scary only in how revealing it is. Writing is hard only in our fear of telling. Here's to telling.

New Apartment pt. 2

Moving is hard to do, but also exciting. As I nagvigate through boxes, things made of glass haphazardly packed in trash bags and "protected" by sales circulars from Kroger, millions upon millions of feet of wires and clothes, both clean and dirty, I realize I am embarking on a new adventure.

Namely, where to put the dishes.

I don't know if you realize this, but where you place the dishes will affect you for years to come (and like I said, it's possible we'll never move again, not because we don't want to but because it's just easier). Where do the plates go? Cups, silverware, special plates for parties, dessert bakery things, plastics or pots and pans? Where do they go? Choosing wisely will mean the difference between kitchen nirvana or kitchen nightmare. And you'll need more than Chef Ramsey to get you out of a kitchen nightmare. Glasses in the wrong place so that when you have guests, they get in your way when you have them over and they want something to drink, plates that are too high up so that you drop them, bowls out of place making the cereal to bowl to fridge for milk process less ergonomic - so many things could go wrong.

So why don't you just change it?

Because by the time you realize you're in a kitchen nightmare, you've grown used to things where they are. So even though you curse because you hit your knee on the dishwasher every time you grab a pan, it is not enough to change it because we love our habits.

No, you just realize you'll plan your kitchen better next time.

New Apartment

We are now in our new home, a place we will possibly be staying for the rest of our lives because DAMN! that move was hard. Every muscle in my husband body is sore, I twisted my ankle and re-hurt my knee (making me virtually useless on the "moving of big things" side of it) but worse of all, the only person that could help us sprained his wrist and kept re-injuring it throughout the night. After I hurt my knee, I didn't tell anyone about my ankle until after the work was done.

I'm about to take 50 aleve, I sure do hurt.

But it is satisfying to be in this house. It's a bit smaller, but it's nice. We have some things set up, and a ton of boxes to unload. It's going to be crazy here for a few days. But we are in, almost moved out of our old house completely. I have to go back and clean, but that's about it.

We're moving in, downtown! Are you ready for us?

What Fresh Hell Is This?

Spiders working together?

Apparently, there is a group of spiders... working TOGETHER... to build a gimongus web to catch all the mosquitoes over a lake.

Spiders should never work together. They should eat mosquitoes and then eat each other.

And repeat.

Stupid spiders.

Traveling

I'm about to start traveling again, this Sunday I'm going to Florida for 4 days and the week after, I'm going to San Antonio for 3 days with an overnight stay in Atlanta for a meeting on the 4th day.

Whew.

I love to travel, I love to fly, but I hate having to go to the airport to do so. I am definitely getting my own plane and airstrip if I am ever able to afford it. I have gotten to the point where I must wear pants that don't need a belt, flip flops for easy shoe removal (although I hate walking on that floor in my bare feet), nothing metal (except underwire) and always remember to take the scissors out of my computer bag. Every time I fly, I have to check to see if knitting needles are still allowed on flights, but I take the ultimate number of bags (3) allowed on board every time which makes inspection a bit harder.

It's always funny watching people trying to walk with all their carry on luggage still haphazard, trying to close their computer cases and put their belts on simultaneously. The worst, though, is traveling with young children. Children can be a joy, don't get me wrong, but trying to handle young kids ( not only can smell the fear and despair of those waiting in line, but who are also so empathetic to that depression they will let out their own wails on behalf of the beleaguered, I-decided-to-travel-with-something-bigger-than-standard line waiters) and also trying to handle a stroller, a baby/car seat, and your own carry on luggage while simultaneously mentally nudging the two people pushing their mother through and deciding to stop for a chat.

Flying is beautiful, being so high up, I don't even worry about my normal fear of heights. I love going to different places and I can't wait to go to San Antonio. I look forward to the time when I'm traveling for the love of traveling, my husband by my side, as we explore the world together.

In an RV.

With chunnels to everywhere.

Madeleine L'Engle

I remember the first time I met Meg Murray. She was a gangly girl, smart and out of place because of it. I remember wrapping myself within myself as I read about this girl with whom I could relate. I wanted a little brother like Charles Wallace and parents that believed in me because they could see, right now, how great I was even if I wasn't popular, or pretty, or smart. I lived low self esteem and Madeleine L'Engle wrote about it as if she not only understood it, but had the heart to explain it to all of us poor confused girls so that we had the hope that one day we would not be so gangly, we would love a boy like Calvin O'Keefe who would be smart and see us for who we could be, not how we were. Madeleine L'Engle made unicorns tangible beings to us, showed us the pain of growth and to this day, I cannot think of seraphim and cherubim without being reminded of L'Engle's creation.

Madeleine L'Engle took me to a supernatural world, my first introduction to science fiction that led to Asimov and Heinlein and Bradbury and then eventually to shows like Firefly and Battlestar Galactica simply because she helped me like a little bit of science fiction in my well told tales. She was the introduction to a great cast of characters and a great way of looking at myself that that I revisit and re-read time and time again.

In 2000, I finally bought my own copies of the first three books of the Murray series after reading them from the library all my life. They were beautiful with a cover I hadn't seen before nor haven't since. The covers were unique and mystical, the way I've always remembered the feel of the stories, the way I'd always thought of Madeleine L'Engle.

I cried when I read today that Madeleine L'Engle had died. It surprised me, but the impact she had on my young self was much stronger than I realized.

Rest in peace, Madeleine L'Engle. Rest In Peace.

L'Oeuf

I've become fascinated with eggs. I never used to eat them. Even as I think back to then, I can feel the familiar reaction to eggs I always had.

They made me want to throw up.

They were slimy and gloppy and moved funny in my mouth. I could only stomach eggs if they were cooked very hard as an omelet full of meats and cheese. I would move the egg and eat the meat and cheese all melted together and if I also happened to get some egg as well, well then, that was alright.

A few months ago, I decided I was going to try a fried egg. Sunny side up.

What in the world????

But I wanted to try it, so I cooked it. I cooked it too hard, the heat was too high and the yolk was still runny, but I loved it. Just a little salt and pepper and I was on my way. I've been eating eggs sunny side up and over easy ever since. I had a couple of scrambled eggs, but they held no appeal. Over time I'm learning how to get it just right. Just the right amount of butter, just the right amount of heat. I'm certainly not an expert for anyone but myself, but the current incarnation of my egg definitely beats out its first appearance.

The different tastes that exist in their non scrambled forms is enthralling. The egg whites that soak up the butter, the yolks that hint at their hard boiled taste with something a bit more earthy underneath, together forming a taste that, for the first time in the 4 years since I started eating eggs, makes me excited about eggs again. Also for the first time, I don't require cheese, which is the thing that saved the scrambled egg for me.

I was online and I read about The Egg. I can't wait to try it.

Drool Worthy Fiber

This is so beautiful. I've found myself going back to the site just to stare at it.

Yes. I know. I'm such a nerd.

All Things Considered

If things go as discussed, I may have to move my television blog back to its original location. It has been brought up in certain secretive meetings with a particular newspaper that I may be writing my blog for their online audience. If that's the case, I will let you know, but otherwise, you will have to be bored by the things entertaining me on here instead.

Just a head's up.