Category Archives: Inspiration
I had a week of more achievements than failures, yay!
As one should do, I celebrated that W last Friday night by taking care of Numero Uno. Check out the dinner spread, yo:
BF indisposed for the weekend, so I get to wear my Fat Girl clothes, spread out across the couch and queue up Hulu. It’s an old school TV Party ya’ll!
Premise is, Ichabod Crane of the classic story is brought back to life in current time, and has to get busy controlling the Headless Horseman and the other Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I tuned in last year because it debuted during spooky Halloween season, but I started to really enjoy the story, especially how they mash up the battle for the republic with witchcraft and supernatural beings. If you haven’t seen this show at all, it’s binge-worthy! Go ahead and add it to your Favorites list.
People tune in for…
But I’m watching for…
“I’m a mental patient with a handgun.” ’nuff said.
This show is what I imagine Mitt Romney’s family is like when the cameras aren’t on them. Story takes place in the richy rich part of Long Island, but the way these Crazy White Girls act, you’d think they were on Staten Island! Hats off to the costume design team, too; everyone, down to the subordinate characters, are dressed supa dupa fly!
People tune in to see…
But my eyes are on…
I’ve never witnessed such gracious evil! She just stood at the door to let Emily know she broke out of the mental institution and will kill her. Talk about decorum!
Another ‘Life in the D.C. Bubble’ show, but this one is Shonda Rhimes’ work, and just as fan-building as Grey’s Anatomy. It is frustrating to watch from an experiential standpoint, but I guess the general public needs their delusions that there are people out there, working the Capitol, who are pure of heart. I do love a good comedy!
People are big fans of…
But I root for…
Mellie Grant is flawed yet fearless. That woman has ambition, motive and drive. She also has the President wrapped around her finger, and a White House that is at her complete service. The First Lady is a reminder to all side pieces: there is NO HOPE for you!
The Bat Boy’s back, but this time, it’s everyone’s Origin Story. I’m a sucker for origins, even though I famously can’t stand Batman. This is worth couch surfing, even binging, if you’re a fan of DC Comics and have yet to jump on this!
Fans of justice relate to…
But my ideology mirrors…
I thought Jada was perfect as Niobe in The Matrix movies, but I’m really enjoying her in this role; scheming, conniving, destroying, all while dressed to the nines and keeping her nail game tight!
This summer series is my quiet addiction. These women are essentially me splintered in four – their personalities, their clothing tastes, their drama, everything! This past season, my life was crazily mirroring the story line, proving that my bullshit is not even unique. So that’s a calming experience. :)
The first move I made after a long summer road trip was slap my tired carcass onto my bed, face first.
I feel my neck bend the wrong way, my shoulder blades touch, and my feet lift towards the ceiling. I muttered into the sunken space, “This is not where a queen sleeps!”
This shitty lump has been in my life since I was rocking Cross Colors and Benetton to school. I took it from my mother’s house before I moved out here; the bed I got from the divorce was too wide for the U Haul. Granted, I’ve been sleeping on it alone, so I’ve been tolerating it, but now that I have a Significant Other Who Stays The Night Regularly, it’s become clear this mattress set is more a torture zone than a slumber pad.
But then, why stop there? I renewed my lease until 2016, so I figure, we could paint! I’ve been admiring a certain blue this year, and I find cobalt blue to be especially stimulating and powerful, perhaps it’s my new power color? I picked up a sample can at the Home Depot and I think I like what I see:
I read the Penguin Book version of The Epic of Gilgamesh this summer, and I feel inspired to incorporate lapis lazuli, emerald, gold, ruby into my wall design. My eyes are training on lamps, frames, planters, furnishings, that evoke that Sumerian era, focusing on regalia and opulence. I’m calling the bedroom Ishtar’s Throne.
As I await the final cool down of Florida so that I can invest a day in rearranging and painting, I’ll be surfing Pinterest and Etsy and other chick sites for design ideas. You, my dear friend, are very much welcome to provide me your design ideas, forward me pics, or point me in the direction of quality fabrics and carpets that evoke queendom and ancient supernatural power.
And of course, I’ll be posting my progress here! So excited!
[Fun day with Writer's Block last Sunday! This was an ekphrastic exercise, my favorite timed prompt. Here's what I produced in the 15 minute time frame.]
Concept: Observe one of the featured paintings on the Community Cafe wall, and write in response.
He bought me this bunny. He bought me this bunny because when we first met at the fountain, he overheard me talking to my best friend Jordie about the movie “Con Air.” Jordie and I thought we were the only Americans at the fountain in Hannover until that afternoon. The three of us kept talking about bunnies in movies. “Best film rabbit ever?” “Donny Darko!” He and I hugged at whim, a random affection imparted to a random man in a not so random city, or as Jordie pointed out, in a very romantic city. “Come on,” Jordie begged like a whiny kid, “give love a try, one more time, for me.”
“For you, or because we’re in Europe?”
“Just fall in love, kiddo.”
He brought the velveteen, blue-gray bunny to the bistro that evening. I’m so glad you called, he said. Where’s Jordie? He asked. When I didn’t answer, he blushed. “I brought you something.” I already saw its black leathery nose peeking out of the top of his bulky cargo pants. I watched as he fished around, knowing what he was going to do before he did it, but psyching myself to not laugh until he did it.
And then he did. And I laughed so hard, so hard… I don’t remember ever laughing that hard before. Or ever since.
That bunny rode on his dashboard during the six months he was away; I, back home in Florida, pretending not hearing from him every second of every minute of every damn day didn’t cause me any heartache. One scary phone call at 4am; he thought he was in trouble. I trembled for him, I cried for him, all the while repeating, “You stay alive, baby. That’s your job, stay alive,” in the steadiest voice I could.
I never knew the beauty of a sunny day until the day he landed at the airfield. Safe, all in one piece, handsome in his tailored suit. It looked like the one we saw across the street from our table, on a headless mannequin behind a shop window. I squinted as sun rays coaxed him down the stairs and into my arms…yes, it is the exact same suit.
In a separate bag, he carefully removed the bunny and placed it in my hands. Coated in motor oil and sand, he kept apologizing for its sorry state. I hugged the dirty, sandy bunny, the talisman that brought my heart home in one piece.
And that’s why, my sweet little girl, this bunny is so old and dirty. It was busy keeping your father’s love for me alive.