2011 in Pictures (Things everyone should do!)

1. Listen to more of Billie Holiday

2. Get good grades. Excel at something!

3. Blog more: read and write.

2010 Is When You Said "Goodbye"

There are two things
I would do differently,
although neither would
please you. I just want
one time to explain why
the lemon drop candies
were not favored and the
"keep smiling" attitude
poked me into a state
of annoyance. But you
want nothing to do with
      my breathing.

Thoughts on the end of 2010

So tonight was a Breakfast at Tiffany's, brewed Starbucks,

 and warm accessories kind of an evening. 

2011 will be here soon. I'm thinking about my life: where I'm going, where I have been, what have I done, what will I do. And I know that in order to be the person I want to be, sacrifices must be made. I'm mentally preparing myself. I'm spiritually preparing myself. I'm physically preparing myself... the coffee, duh!

I don't want to make a list of resolutions. "Firmness of purpose" is how resolution is defined. But society has given the word another meaning. Resolutions have become statements made with purpose, but lacking firmness. I want to make commitments that mean something. Which is why I'm not posting them yet. Another post may follow with more on this topic. 

"My First Memory (of Librarians)" by Nikki Giovanni

By Nikki Giovanni

This is my first memory:
A big room with heavy wooden tables that sat on a creaky
       wood floor
A line of green shades—bankers’ lights—down the center
Heavy oak chairs that were too low or maybe I was simply
       too short
              For me to sit in and read
So my first book was always big

In the foyer up four steps a semi-circle desk presided
To the left side the card catalogue
On the right newspapers draped over what looked like
       a quilt rack
Magazines face out from the wall

The welcoming smile of my librarian
The anticipation in my heart
All those books—another world—just waiting
At my fingertips.

Letters

Your handwriting has penned around
me a shelter of serenity. You once
taught me how to thrive with calligraphic
words, and in this moment I smile
for the sentences that thread us together.

Wanting what you can't have...

Say goodbye to the things you never
received and do it with gladness. For
to give is better to receive, especially
when all you do is want, desire, beg
for them in your mind. It is like the tick
of a clock, each second, another obsessive
entreaty. There comes a day when the ticking
will make you mad if you do not
                                           throw it away.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

Reading a Book

When I understand you and your story
I don't have to understand my own, my
self. I can feel the spring wind during
winter. I can taste blackberries out
of season; they stain my lips, purple.
Your words narrate my mind into
abandoned homes and the wood
floors creak under scuffed shoes.
Chocolate ice cream has never
been as smooth and rich as when
I taste it while flipping through pages.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

My flimsy veteran's hat and a sign that reads
anything helps: it only gives me a beer,
a sandwich and a quarter left. I head over to
my fountain. It is mine because it is a wishing
one, and I am a wishing one. I want bombs
to stop when I hear the garbage truck.
I want lightning to be magnificent, not
frightening. I want to have another beer
before I am sober enough for memories
to eat me up, bite by bite.

Disappointment

It is not anger. It is that feeling that comes
after a person gets into you and twists
your insides into knots. It is not hatred.
It is like the smell of burnt bread.
It is not rage. It is the quiet hum of a fan,
chilling a room until it becomes uncomfortable.

"Love is My Religion"

As well as being a fantastic poet, Keats seemed to be a hopeless romantic. Check out this letter he wrote to Fanny. 


My dearest Girl,

This moment I have set myself to copy some verses out fair.  I cannot proceed with any degree of content.  I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a time.  Upon my Soul I can think of nothing else - The time is passed when I had power to advise and warn you again[s]t the unpromising morning of my Life - My love has made me selfish.  I cannot exist without you - I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again - my Life seems to stop there - I see no further.  You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving - I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you.  I should be afraid to separate myself far from you.  My sweet Fanny, will your heart never change?  My love, will it?  I have no limit now to my love - You note came in just here - I cannot be happier away from you - 'T is richer than an Argosy of Pearles.  Do not threat me even in jest. I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion - I have shudder'd at it - I shudder no more - I could be martyr'd for my Religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that - I could die for you.  My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet - You have ravish'd me away by a Power I cannot resist: and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often "to reason against the reasons of my Love."  I can do that no more - the pain would be too great - My Love is selfish - I cannot breathe without you.

Yours for ever
John Keats

My Backpack

As a child I carried a backpack filled
with simplicity. My sticker collection
outnumbered all the other elementary
kid's. My pack-pack was blue with
orange lining and in it were treasures.
I had nearly twenty marbles, all from
different sets. But somehow the miss
matched collections were of great value.
In a sandwich baggy that once contained
tuna on white, were rocks: lava, gravel,
smooth, a lucky arrowhead. Now my
dull colored laptop bag contains folders,
neatly filed, papers of no significance,
and only stickers that repeat "Tsionah
Novick 1354 SW Billington Ave."

It will never be simple...

We leave simplicity behind, with our childhood, and loose the ability to pick it back up.

Window

You are some kind of wonderful,
but I'm not sure which. All I know
is that when I see you laugh
through the rain splattered window,
I want to understand the things
that trigger your squinted eyes
and wrinkled nose: true signs
of humor. But you cannot hear me
and the window has fogged up
leaving me to see my own
lonely and curious reflection.

An Observation

I think that some times people think that poets are emotional wrecks.

So Sylvia Plath committed suicide and Elizabeth Dickinson was a recluse; that doesn't mean all of us are depressed or socially inept. 

My observation is the following: most poets and writers have a remarkable amount of self awareness when it comes to emotions. And it isn't just self awareness; we recognize things in others too. Because that is what we do - observe and write. So for those who think that all I do is blog my heart out and write in my diary every night, wrong. 

My desire to be a good writer makes me want to interact with people even more than the average person. Because people are strange, complex, and totally messed up. And for some reason, that interests me. 

So if I ask a personal question, pry into you life, talk for too long, or any other annoying thing, blame it on the fact that I am an aspiring writer. 

Revision Piece from Fiction Class

This is portion that I revised from my first story in my fiction class. I'm still revising, and could be forever revising. Anyways, thoughts, comments, etc. are, as always, welcomed.


           I see you on the bus often, but I only see, never speak. I read you like a book, studying your mannerisms, features, and personality. But as much as I watch, I haven’t mentioned you to other people. My family is already concerned about how I insist on riding the bus. They offered me a car for my 18th birthday, but something didn’t seem right about that; I like riding the bus, and a car wouldn’t add very much to my life. They offer me rides all the time, as if they don’t get the clue. I do not like to spell it out to them; they mean the best. But sometimes I would rather be by myself.
           I can imagine confessing to them my observations. It would be at dinner time, because that is when conversations must be made. We would be eating a dish barren of meat and filled with the substitute, tofu. Ever since my parents made the decision to become vegetarians a few years ago, I’ve been making more trips to restaurants that serve steak. Being vegetarian isn’t a bad thing, but I don’t like tofu. It isn’t “me”. So after a forced bite of flavors I pretend to enjoy, I would say something like, “Mother, Father, I’ve seen someone on the bus that I find really interesting.”
          “Jessica! Be careful, darling. You never know when a creep on the bus will take advantage of a pretty face.” My mother would shutter at the thought.
          My father’s throat would clear. “Your mother is right. I’ll take you to school in the morning.” He would say it with such articulation that no one would question. It would be that voice which brings out the noises of chewing, knives and forks clanking against dishes.

Christmas/Hanukkah Wish List

1. A car. I dream big.
2. An Ipod Touch, 16gb
3. A mini fridge. 
4. An "A" on my Exams.
5. A Scholarship Award!
6. A gym membership.
7. Skype group video
8. Winter Boots.
9. A new keyboard or upright piano 
10. Kind words from... someone. Ha. (running out of ideas)

I Listen

Image from http://paintingkitty.blogspot.com/ by Viktoria La Paz. I love her work!

You made me smile so strongly
that the power in that smile
ruled over nations of hurt.

You made me laugh so loudly
that the victory in that laugh
conquered my own enemies.

You made me think so deeply
that the depth of those thoughts
drowned out the noise of masses.

You spoke so quietly, I listened
with everything: both ears focused,
both hands reaching out, my mind tuning

in, my heart beating upon the center
of your words to be apart of something
brilliant. I listen, you affect me.

I want to write...

I want to write things that mean something about life. I want my readers to have a deeper understanding about others. or themselves. after reading my words, their words, the world's words.

I want to write about a boy I like/liked without worrying that he will figure it out. I want to write about a boy that I don't like/don't know without worrying about assumption.

I want to write about how awful family is, yet that is why it is wonderful. I want to write about how my brother annoys me, my mother interrogates me, my father frustrates me. And I want to do it with the kind of words that show layers of humanity.

I want to unravel the ribbon and stretch out the slinky.

I want us to see what we are made of. Add a little sweetness, add a bit of bitterness, add some hate, add some love, add confusion, heavily.

Untitled Poem

The only bond that is connecting

us is the one of want. You owe
me no guarantee. I own no part
of you. This is a gift

of honesty and conversation
that we trade until we define
it as friendship. I ask

for nothing, except acceptance.

Friendship

Photographs, gifts, and memories
disappear from my boring white walls.
Only Audrey Hepburn remains because
even if she doesn’t answer when I call,
she never had the obligation.

Change

I didn't want to see my face on the blog page anymore. I was starting to think that it appeared narcissistic. So, I changed the look of the blog, again. But I'm pretty happy with it right now.

On another note, here's who/what I've been reading lately:

- 20 Minutes in Portland (A Portland Review)
- Margaret Atwood (Because she writes beautiful poetry)
- Amy Hempel (Required reading for my fiction class ended up being awesome)

You are Beautiful

You are not beautiful the way humanity
defines beauty. You are beautiful the way
nature does. Like trees you tower.
Like skies, you float, you rain, you
thunder. As the oceans sing, you do.
You are beautiful the way wind sweeps
across a field. The way mountains peak
and birds fly. You are not beautiful
for humanity. You are beauty for yourself.

More than Me

It is not enough to believe
in me if you cannot speak
to me like we are inseparable.

Be a pillar that I can lean
against. Be a lounge chair
I can relax in. Be a tree

that shades me from my own
misgivings. Like a window,
let me see outside myself.

100th Post - 100 Things I'm Thankful For

1. Rephaelen
2. Skylah
3. Zane
4. Tirzah and Baruch
5. Family
6. Alarm Clocks
7. Coats
8. Vick's Vapor Rub
9. Winter Boots
10. Photographs 
11. Poetry
12. Books
13. Jane Austen
14. My Job
15. Portland Community College
16. Sleep
17. Trees
18. Health
19. Pastor King
20. My Church
21. Sis. King
22. My laptop
23. Music
24. Goals
25. Money
26. Electricity
27. Slippers
28. My followers! (BTW my dad called them disciples haha)
29. Tri-met
30. Turkey!
31. a bed
32. Downtown Portland
33. Shopping
34. Sales
35. Black Friday
36. Pen and Paper
37. Journal
38. Good Teachers/Professors 
39. Hollye
40. New Friends
41. Kleenex
42. Cough Drops
43. Pillows
44. water
45. Food
46. Coffee!
47. Starbucks
48. Chocolate
49. My Cell Phone!
50. Old movies
51. The show Lie to Me
52. The show Castle
53. Other Bloggers
54. Sweatshirts
55. Vacuum Cleaners
56. Holidays
57. Blankets
58. Heaters
59. Mentors
60. The Sun
61. Patience
62. Vehicles
63. Change
64. McDonald's Sweet Tea!
65. Airplanes
66. Forgiveness
67. Mercy
68. Grace
69. Jesus
70. Love
71. The ability to give
72. Kate
73. Washers and Dryers 
74. Snow
75. Shoes
76. Clothing
77. My house
78. Free things
79. Encouragement
80. Printers
81. Swing-sets
82. Lakes
83. Good waitresses
84. Attractive males
85. People who are comfortable with themselves
86. Volleyball
87. Games
88. The ability to read
89. America
90. Locks on doors
91. People who serve the country and community
92. Facebook
93. Laughter
94. Old movies
95. Clean rooms
96. Being caught up on HW. 
97. Traveling
98. The ocean
99. New crushes (totally makes life more interesting) 
100. Life.

What Teachers Make

I absolutely love this. Excuse the language - but I think he makes a great point!

Showing Off

I wrote this in the spirit of the habits poem I wrote a few days ago. I'm experimenting with using dialouge in a poem. 


I straightened my hair last night,
is a code sentence that my never
going away friend understands.
She gasps and asks how long
has it been like I have not been
a person with emotions for many
years. It is overrated. It takes
too long to get it perfect,
I admit. She sighs. Let yourself 
go. Nothing is perfect. But
I want perfection to halt
any curls or frizz that time may
eventually bring. But I don't 
want to like him. I sigh.

Inspiration is Your Name

You gave me something to write about.
But I won't call you
inspiration, because my movement
has been my free will, because
I don't need dinner
and a movie to be complete,
because I enjoy evening walks
by myself. I won't call you
anything more than friend,
and sometimes not even that.
Sometimes, not even call
at all. Sometimes, I will sit
and type words, phrases. Maybe
even a full sentence. But I won't
call you inspiration.

Character Evaluation

Lately, I've been messing with writing fiction since I'm taking a fiction class. I really enjoy developing and evaluating characters. This is just an exercise that I'm doing with someone specific in mind to get me thinking about the things not obvious in a person and the way others react to them. The "I" in this exercise is not necessarily me. 

1. I don't like your shoes. They are not quite black but not quite gray, like the color was a mistake that was never fixed. 
2. You make this expression. Your lip curls up to the left, and your eyebrows meet together. I don't know what this expression means. I think that it may be confusion.
3. When you walk into a room I don't smell volumes of cologne on you. Some guys drown themselves in it, and although it initially smells good, it is eventually overwhelming. 
4. You aren't photogenic. You look uncomfortable in most of your pictures; as if the camera's lens is a multitude starting at you.
5. You don't laugh often. Normally, it is just a smile.

Poem Draft

You embrace control
like a child attached
to a comfort blanket.
Each time you make a command
you smile with content,
never showing that uncontainable
seed of uncertainty.

Habits

A good friend and I both have this thing where we convince ourselves for as long as possible that we have no interest in a guy, even if we do. I find it amusing and that's where I got the idea for this.

They say that habits form over a period 

of time like mountains forming, tree limbs 

growing, canyons widening, and relationships

building, word by word. Sentence to sentence. 

They say that habits can either be good 

or bad. So I convince myself that my 

habitual thoughts of you only exist in order

to build a consistency of  not being attracted. 

They say that repetition is the key to beginning

or breaking a habit and so I repeat to myself 

the words of I don't like you, I won't like you,

I can't like you. Until I am only thinking of you. 

I've Been Away

I've been away from my own thoughts
like one takes a vacation away
from a job. I've been cruising
on the ocean of blank pages
while a waiter named Nothing
handed me fictional lemonades.
Two days ago I returned to find
that there was no welcome home
party. I only found that it takes
work to get back to one's self.

Word of the week:

Aloof. This is my new favorite word.

10th Ave Writer's Pit

Jamila and I have created an epic plan. We are creating a community of student writers! Plans are already being implemented.

Join us at 10th Ave Writer's Pit, the blog. Also, find us on twitter and facebook!

We are searching for connections at multiple universities and campuses, so contact me if you are interested!

One step forward...

You know how the saying goes... two steps back. Except in my current state, no steps forward have been made, only backwards. It is during times like these where I should be grasping at any reason to keep going, keep getting an education, continue interacting with the same people daily. But instead, I just want to write a post saying how this week of non-writing is not because I have nothing to write about. Instead, it is because I don't want to think or evaluate myself or humanity long enough to be poetic.

Swinging

I pull the chains when I swing
like I’m pulling your attention
towards me. With such vitality
that my hands are embedded
with the imprint of circular links
like the circular reasoning stamped
into our history. I swing over you
kicking, violent with the hope
that I will bump you out of your
daydreams into my dreams,
but not to injure your spirit.
We can swing together, crashing
into each other until we are inner-
twined, combining our goals,
plans, and dreams. Then we
will swing in unison like in
kindergarten when it meant
we were married.

The Couch

This is a poem I wrote off of a reoccurring dream.

The couch is dark green and brown
with three cushions snuggling together,
holding hands. I want to make friends
with the sofa, but I am too far away,
too high up. But then the balcony’s
teeth tip me over and I dwindle down,
down into the rugged carpet.
I know my end and do not hope
for the couch’s stranger hands
to rescue me. Slow motion
is my magic carpet but the inevitable
will come.

But where am I? Stranger’s green
and brown hands are snuggling me.
I’ve been rescued by my new friend,
the couch.

Content Friends (Cont from last post)

Hold my hand and let it mean nothing
except that you trust my opinions.

Call me weekly and let it mean everything
is different than what the masses perceive.

Visit my favorite park with me
and let it mean that like two

stars shining together, we shine
together as friends of laughter,

pain, and growth. As content male
and female we march as companions

in the most untraditional sense.

Untitled

Hold my and and let it mean nothing 

except that you trust my opinions.

Poem: Untitled

We write agendas for our future
like we are a small business
branching out. Our clients
are our emotions that we
can bribe with coupons
of life-long commitments
and rings of diamonds.
The thing I must decide,
is whether the discounted
product is worth the investments
of hearts.

Selah (Stop and Think)

My apologies for posting infrequently! I've been out of town and have also been preparing for school to start - which means working more. This poem is a thought that I've had for a while. "Selah" basically means "think about it". It is a Hebrew word so I took some freedom with the usage as far as making it a noun. As always, feedback is appreciated. 

We sat in silence with selahs
clamping shut our rigid mouths.
You thought about my rage
while I raged about your thoughts
concerning my character. Until hastily,
you took hold of a microphone
and delivered messages that grew
like hatred inside of me until
my clarity amped them out with
disgust.

I've Failed

It has been nearly a week since I have posted. I actually have new material, but haven't had the chance to get it up here. I was out of town for 3 days, and worked another 2. Excuses, excuses! I know! But once school starts and my schedule gets a wee bit normal, I hope to regain my consistency.

Thanks for stickingwith me!

My Heart

I wear my heart on my hand,
not on my sleeve. But normally
my fingers are closed, clenched shut.

And when I am forced to shake
another's hand, I make sure
my heart stays plastered onto
my palm. I'm waiting

for the one who is willing
to fight my spirit to work
my fist open and relaxed.

To Dorothy by Marvin Bell

I just discovered this poem and found it quite beautiful. What are your thoughts?

You are not beautiful, exactly.
You are beautiful, inexactly.
You let a weed grow by the mulberry
and a mulberry grow by the house.
So close, in the personal quiet
of a windy night, it brushes the wall
and sweeps away the day till we sleep.

A child said it, and it seemed true:
"Things that are lost are all equal."
But it isn't true. If I lost you,
the air wouldn't move, nor the tree grow.
Someone would pull the weed, my flower.
The quiet wouldn't be yours. If I lost you,
I'd have to ask the grass to let me sleep.

5 Fails and Excels

I was thinking about how sometimes a person can focus on one aspect of their life. For example, the things they are good at or the things they are terrible at. I've decided to post an equal amount of both for fun, entertainment, and perhaps some insight that I can use in a poem. Enjoy.

Five Things I Excel At:

1. Organizing an event.

2. Reading quickly.

3. Making a child laugh.

4. Serving in volleyball.

5. Picking out shoes.

Five Things I Fail At:

1. Being healthy.

2. Consistently keeping my clothes hung.

3. Comforting people.

4. Refraining from speaking my mind.

5. Maintaining friendships.

Ten Current Obsessions (With Links)

1. Danny O'Donoghue: He's a beautiful man that can write lyrics, play piano, and sing. Need I say more?

2. Tom's Shoes: Although I don't own any, I've found myself visiting the website often. Great concept!

3. Facebook Stalking: Who doesn't do it every now and again?

4. All the Apparatus: This is a fabulous, local Portland band. I discovered them playing downtown close to the square. A full post about them may follow shortly.

5. Scarves: Every fall, the obsession re-ignites.

6. Lie to Me: Please watch this show! You won't regret it. The concept, acting, and characters are phenomenal!

7. Hating Fast Food: I ate a chalupa today and wanted to go throw up. Yet still, I won't be giving up McDonald's sweet tea anytime soon. Sorry.

8. Budgeting: School is starting! I must be organized!

9. Oregon State University: I'm discovering more reasons to attend this school when I finally do transfer.

10. Volleyball: It had been a while since I had seriously played. But there is something about around 8 amazing serves that fuels a desire in me to play the game more often.

Do you have any current obsessions you would like to share?

John

I wrote this poem about a young man in my art class.

He paces back and forth

displaying crazy gestures.

Some laugh,

Some pity.

But John paints pictures

of himself, smiling, happy.

Rosalie's Picture

I wrote this in the voice of an elderly gentleman. I was inspired to write this when I saw an old man get on the bus and as he flashed his bus, I caught a glimpse of a black and white photo. I guess my imagination ran away with me!

When I board the 88 bus,
with my senior citizen ticket,
I see Rosalie sitting in my wallet.

From where she’s sitting
I can’t see the blush in her cheeks,
the shade of her dress,
or the flower’s color which rests
in her hair. Luckily I studied

her for so long, each detail
is memorized. Her cheeks,
a pink blush from the sun, the flower
matching the blush, the dress
blue. Well green. We argued
over the color. Today she wears

some earrings I bought her. Every day,
she wears the earrings I bought her.
They have two pearls resting, supporting
each other with a silver charm dangling
at the end. A smile slides down

my brain onto my lips. The bus
driver clears his throat, looking strangely
towards me. As he nods his head
I’m unsure if it is to acknowledge
my ticket, or something else. Either way,
I find a spot on the near empty bus.

But I don’t travel alone.

Day Before Autumn

This is the first draft of a poem I am currently revising. It was a blank verse exercise I wrote last fall. I failed at the assignment in many aspects, but I also feel that I accomplished something more valuable than perfect form.

I plucked a leaf out of the branch

and think how I have thieved its life.

Its goal to thrive, destroyed by me.

My gust of strength tore it down,

trampled now into the dirt. And I

apologize to the spring and summer

months of which I robbed a leaf,

a day. A season of life and sun

stolen by me. The wind of autumn

has begun a day to soon.

The Chocolate Chip Waffle

So I've begun to follow an amazing blog, The Chocolate Chip Waffle.

This blog makes me smile for so many reasons, and it will make you smile as well. One reason I'm smiling about this blog is that the blogger is doing an end of summer giveaway. I wish I had been cool enough to think of that! Alas, I wasn't. But I'm more then willing to enter myself into this giveaway! Which is what this post is all about.

The rules clearly stated that i had to tweet, facebook, or blog the contest. Don't get me wrong though - I truly do love this blog and all it has to offer and was more than willing to give my readers another amazing blog to read! So, if you are a fellow blogger, enter the giveaway as well. If you are simply a reader, add The Chocolate Chip Waffle to your list of blogs to read.

My Nose

I smell the hot dog stand scent like backyard
barbecues and family gatherings. I breathe in
market colors through the incense, elephant
ears, and strawberry lemonade. I taste fruit
and vegetables without them touching my
tongue. You assist my daily ritual of appreciating
life. Yet daily, my mirror and I hold a ceremony
to remember the great weight your awkward
smallness places on my life.

Bitter/Sweet News

Hello everyone!

I just wanted to take a minute to say thanks to all my followers and readers! We are approaching 75 posts with 15 Google followers, 22 Twitter followers, and 97 Facebook fans! This is really exciting to me.

I made it a goal to reach 100 Facebook fans by the end of August. We are almost there! If you haven't gone to the page yet, click here and become a fan!

If you are at all familiar with Portland, OR, you will probably know about Wordstock. It is a literature festival that spotlights many amazing authors. I know this because my two term poetry instructor, Alison Apotheker, was one of the readers last year. This year, I will be volunteering at the festival, hopefully with my friend and fellow blogger, Jamila.

Please continue to follow and comment. I love hearing any input you have!

- Tsionah N.

The Student

I am an observer of your mind,
studying each thought you offer.
I turn through the pages of fiction
in your mind and the poetry
of your heart as I hope to find
an epiphany for my own life.
I wonder your musings like I'm
at a literature festival, picking
up pieces of knowledge. And every
penny I pay for the education
will be worth it if one day you
elevate my thoughts and musings.

Honesty

Now the "moment of truth" (as Simon Cowell always states on American Idol), I have writers block. And what is blocking me is the fact that I can't seem to focus on much lately. There's been a lot going on in my life and even they aren't huge issues, they are little things that add up.

I'm trying to write consistently, but everything is turning out a bit mushy. I'm making no promises, but I'm asking that my readers keep reading and commenting during the dry spell. I have found that when I do push beyond the writer's block, sometimes I write even better. Hopefully I will hit a jackpot soon. For now, here's a video I found incredibly adorable and amazing!

Predisposed Judgments from a Person Lacking Intelligence

Predisposed judgments are like me
assuming that in addition to your
inadequacy to spell and use proper
grammar, you also fail to correctly
replace the toilet paper with the
tail rolling over the top. You are
decaf coffee in the morning.
You are void of making any sense.

One Art - Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.


--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Writers Block

I own blocks. They are brick red
and I stack them neatly to form
a wall of protection. Each block
is carved with an inscription.
Some say the names of those
who used to support me but no
longer do. Others name events
that won't deteriorate from my
mind. People say things that
should ignite inspiration but
instead I receive another brick
of writer's block.

Overworked Secretary - A Villanelle

I’ll go to the creek. It’s time to play.
I’m a young freckled face. My chores
are done. I’ll leave, (if I may).

But I’m at the office, another day.
I hate this paperwork like a chore
during the sun, when it’s time to play.

Out the window, kids laugh as they obey
rules of kickball, baseball, the red rover
line dance. Inside I request a break, (if I may).

As I type, as I tap, nail polish chips away.
My neck is tight and my back is arched over.
The freckles gone, I never ask for time to play.

Nighttime is falling and I challenge it when I say,
Play my game! I’ll finish this job before
the sun falls. And then to sleep I’ll fall, (if I may).

Out of the office, I drive to the creek’s bay
where I sit Indian style by my childhood shore.
I talk to the creek, tell her it’s time to play.
And I’ll have my freckles back, (if I may).

The DMV Needs Me

I am convinced that the DMV needs me. They don’t need me to take my driver’s test, get my tags, or take a really gross looking picture. They need me to restructure the way they operate. Allow me to explain the reason for my exasperation. I arrived at the DMV at 2:45pm to take the knowledge portion of my driving test. I waited in a line for 5-10 minutes and was given a number. I then sat and waited for about twenty minutes. The only thing that made this wait half way acceptable was that I had my headphones and music on my phone and there was an admirable creature of the opposite gender who was about to take get picture ID.

After the half way decent wait my number was called and I was to stand in yet another line to be then helped by someone who could do something other than give me paperwork and a number. I waited in this line for about 20 minutes and although I still had my music, the lovely view had already left. So upon a quick math conclusion, I am concluding that the wait became a quarter decent wait. I should add that there were many “line passes” given to other people throughout this entire ordeal.

Finally, my number was called. Luckily, the gentleman who helped me was humorous and I freely told him that the fee was ridiculous. He just smiled. Yay for great customer service! I paid the fee and was told to put my form in the yellow box over by testing. I was so close! I quickly shoved the slip into the box. And would you like to guess what happened next? I waited. This time my wait was for about 10 minutes. I had no music, no attractive men, and worker’s passing me up. A new calculation shows that my acceptance for this other wait was at about -3499319483. I admit, I even tapped my nails on the desk in order to get someone’s attention. It worked! At least I think it did. It was either that or the employees sensed some extremely negative emotions flying around.

Anyways, the lady grabbed my paper from the box and tried to say my name. She butchered it. And I repeated it back correctly. She then looked at my paper like it wasn’t mine and I assured her that it was. She had the nerve to start arguing with me over it. I peered over the counter and said “Yeah, that is mine!” She said, “So the t is silent?” My many trips to starbucks have made me slightly impatient about the pronunciation of my name, yet I complied.

Finally, I took the test, passed, took a terrible looking photo, but managed to get happy enough to kid around with two of the workers.

A few hours later I am sitting around still recovering from this experiment and considering how even though the DMV needs me, I never want to step a foot into that place again!

Moving Lines

I’m sitting on my porch looking across the line of the railing,
on to the one that is created when the setting sunshine collides
with the moving clouds. So the line moves, like the one between
us. Because once we laughed at the same joke, until we could
only talk. But yesterday, we fought into something that sounded
like silence. So the line moves, like the vertical line when a door
closes. Like when the sunshine collides with moving clouds
that move until they hover over an already setting sun.

A Post!

My apologies for not posting. This is a post to say that I will be posting. I can't tell how many posts I've started and just couldn't finish. Soon, though.

Word of the Day

Today's word of the day is livid.

Similar words include angered, furious, ill-tempered, disgusted, aggravated, fuming, raged, wrought, and etc.

But as the Good Book says, "Be angry and sin not." So instead of ransacking a certain family member's room I will go get coffee like everyone should do when they are (use above word here).

A Waste of Time

Last night, I realized after reading about 3-4 chapters of a book that I had previously read and completed the book. The realization was rather eye opening. First of all, I realized that the book obviously wasn't too amazing if I didn't even realize till that far in. Secondly, I realized that I wasted many hours reading the book the first time through because it obviously had no impact on me.

Boo for stupid books and wasted hours.

Perfection

Perfection is like a slant rhyme,

knowing that to be perfectly in-

sync is like being completely

overwhelmed.

Perfection is an artist's paint

splattered hands. Because

creativity must always slip

off the canvas, into the palms

of friends.

Perfection is like coffee cake

that crumbles when one bite

is taken, as if the sweetness

causes a tremble of fear.

Because it just may end far

too soon.

Shampoo!

Today, I allow you to have a glimpse into my life from another angle. Normally, I say personally things through poetry or sarcastic rants. But today, something new will be brought to the table (goodness, I hate that cliche).

Warning - Don't get too excited about this because it may not happen often, and honestly, upon reading this, you may be quite pleased with that.

Shampoo. Yes, my post is about shampoo. First, I'd like to point out that the word "shampoo" sounds quite strange! I have never thought about it until now. This encouraged me to do some extreme research on the word. And what other place is there to go for extreme, reliable information except for Wikipedia?

So according to Wiki, "the word shampoo in English is derived from Hindi chāmpo (चाँपो [tʃãːpoː]), and dates to 1762. The Hindi word referred to head massage, usually with some form of hair oil". Upon finding that piece of information, I have mixed feelings about shampoo, because honestly, when I buy what we call shampoo, I will forever feel ripped off.

But alas, my post is about a specific brand and kind of shampoo which I just used for the first time.

*Drumroll* "Head and Shoulders Refresh Shampoo" Supposedly, it will "act like an invigorating wake-up thanks to the addition of natural menthol. It will stimulate your senses." My sister was telling me about this and when rummaging through the many shampoo bottles sitting in the shower, I happened upon it. Thinking I would be extra adventurous I decided to use it as my first shampoo. Yes, first. I shampoo my hair twice like every good girl should.

At first I though that there was nothing out of the ordinary about the shampoo. I thought that perhaps it was me, so I washed my hair more vigorously. Nothing. So I rinsed, and that is when the magic occurred! I cannot say whether I liked the cool feeling or not. I just know that today, I had an amazing adventure simply because of new shampoo.

I would definitely suggest trying the shampoo if for no other reason!

Billy Collins - Litany

I have adored this poem ever since we studied it in my poetry class. It has become even more memorable to me from watching Collins read it. Enjoy!

The Spotlight is on ME (Kidding).

I have been doing my best to promote my blog as much as possible. I know that this sounds terrible, but let us be honest, we all do it. After all, we write to be read.

That being said, in the last week I've gone from 5 Google Followers to 9, 61 Facebook Followers 20 71, and I'm not sure about how twitter has changed.

But I'm asking those who are reading to follow me on Facebook and Twitter and then suggest to your friends to follow me. I know it is a lot to ask, so only do it if you've read something that is worth sharing.

Thanks a million to everyone who has decided to join me on my writing journey and I'm really excited to see what comes of all of this. It excites me to know that I have an audience! Thanks!

Another post should be coming soon....

And So I Smiled....

I am compiling a list of things that have made me smile lately... these are not in any particular order. This is simply an insight into my life.

- My friend has been visiting for over a week!

- I may be inheriting my father's Kindle because he is lusting after an I-pad.

- I now have 7 Google Followers, 15 Twitter Followers, and 65 Facebook Followers.

- I can see the floor in my room.

- I've come into contact with some friends I haven't seen in a while.

- I made brownies with my 8 year old sister yesterday.

- The brownies had peanut butter in them (this deserved its own bullet if you know my love forpb.)

- I'm listening to Adele.

- I may go to the fair tomorrow!

- I finished reading the Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver and am ready to start a new book.

- Handsome young men.

- Good hair days.

- I made 4 people happy in a very simple way.

Change and Change

Change is like a quarter, a dime,

and a penny clinging together

in my pocket to remind me what

is left of an unwise purchase.

The Locket

If you know me extremely well then you will know that I have a strange obsession. Now, I don't wear jewelery and I'm not a fan of a lot of "bling" but I have this draw towards lockets. I have this picture in my mind of the perfect locket that I want (dare I say it?), even need to own.

I can't tell you where this obsession began or how it will end. But I just know that I want to hit up every vintage shop in the area and buy all the pretty lockets.

The thing that intrigues me the most about a locket, especially one that's been previously owned, is that each one holds a story that I can imagine. And someday I hope that I can own a locket that has my own story stuffed inside.

A Mother-Daughter Relationship

From the outside we are
one, connected at the hip
with DNA strands coursing from
body to body.

Like nutrients flowing to the
womb, we appear healthy. Like
fireplaces, hot cocoa, and books,
we seem warm.

But I live in a two story house where
the story on top only occasionally
collides with the story
below.

And the stories create friction
like pain during childbirth, scratches
on scabbed knees and elbows, scars from
too much or not enough
talking.

Happy Days

Some days just are melancholy. It isn't because of something specific happening. It isn't because of something said. Life just catches up with you like a that sin that always finds you out.

Fortunately, for each melancholy day, life affords you with one of those days where nothing can touch you. Invisible shields of flowers and smiley faces engulf every side of us.

Yesterday was one of those days. Happy days include sunshine and barefooted trips down to the mailbox to receive a letter, card, coupon, or in yesterday's case, the Rock Creek Review in which I was published.

Two poems with my name above them sit on a page that won't be edited. Like crying babies finally resting, I watch them sleep as their relieved mother.

Ah, happiness!

Mending Wall by Robert Frost

Today I thought I'd bring you something classic. Enjoy!

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'

Separation by W.S. Merwin

I absolutely adore this! I was riding the bus and looked up to see this poem featured where they often showcase poetry. So THANKS to Trimet for sharing!

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

Dirt

My heart is like dirt.
I am the dry and brittle ground lacking
rain. I am cracked and hard. I crumble
at the stomping feet of my friends holding
hands, wearing construction boots.
Rain, rain, don’t come today, my comrades
want to play. They play games of
love over me while I pretend I don’t
need watering. But the tell tale signs
chip right off to show that my heart
is like dirt, dry, brittle, barren.

I Hate the Differences

"We always thought we'd look back on our tears and laugh, but we never thought we'd look back on our laughter and cry."

I drink music when I thirst
And eat poetry when I hunger.
Like cookies and milk or soda and chips,
they fill me up but are easier to digest.
There is something comforting
about being fat off of melodies
like raindrops and words like
orchids. My friend starves.
She is fed only by the hand of her family.
They feed her a culture she is allergic
to until she agrees and allows it to
eat away at her beauty, her personality.
I am a glutton. Guilty as can be,
I feed off of the delicacies she is denied
and I, I try to understand, but when she
pushes me aside for the life I know
she despises I cannot help
but to go and binge.

Ice Cream Man

The muffin man's tune tickled
my ears today just like it did
10 years ago. I tipped over my
change jar as I was slipping
on miss matching shoes and began
the run down my driveway as a
disheveled mess. I had to choose,
once again between a rocket
pop or an ice cream drum stick.
Three minutes later, three dollars
poorer I took a brief moment
to pretend that this was the biggest
decision I had to make.

Random..

When you write a poem it should paint a picture.
When take a picture it should write a poem.

It has been many days since I have written. Inspiration has taken a nap and motivation died. I can do without one, but losing both is like losing your best friend and your worst enemy; life becomes boring and lethargic.

There is only one known cure and fortunately I live near the physician.

Powell's.

Somehow a city block and 68,000 sq. feet of books can help a girl out.

Be jealous non-Portlanders, be jealous.

Camera!

So my Father and sister has finally relinquished the Nikon film camera I will be using to experiment with photography. This will turn out one of two ways: either I will be insanely good at photography or I will be absolutely terrible. You see, there's something you should no about me. I am an extreme person and everything I do falls under one of those categories. Luckily, it saves me from being under that horrifying category I label as mediocre.

Give me a few weeks and a few trips to get the film developed and we will both see the results. Cross your finger!

Dirty Boots

I hear your heavy boots thump
towards my lake house. You drudge
in, and track mud from the water’s bottom.

While my windows paint portraits of green
trees and blue waters, your wellingtons
engrave circles on my clean, white rug.

Boats that glide the surface are begrudged
by you as you wade into the deep,
ignoring the safe, ignoring the comfort.

Then you drag the lake’s mire
to the surface into my hands,
to clean and pamper each hefty boot.

I cannot be your safe boat.
Only you can wash then remove
each boot that gutters the calm water.

You must be the safe boat,
the calm boat, that sails the surface,
and never again wear the boots
that dig into the mud.

I dream...

I dream of vintage shops, photography, and cool nights.

Another Meaningless Post

There comes a time in everyone’s life when everything becomes so clear. Most of the time, this is greeted by much tears and dramatic anguish. And so here I am tonight, wishing that someone would finally stop giving me the cold shoulder and call me, wishing that another person would reassemble our crumbled friendship, and realizing that sometimes “airplanes in the night sky” aren’t real wishes.

The thing that’s the clearest right now is the night sky. And it signifies that wishes are fairytales for children. I have arrived at the peak of life; it is the moment where everything becomes dreary and dark (cue dramatic storm music). This will continue until I fall in love with that perfect someone and we live…

But wait! That is simply another fairytale. The perfect someone is always attracted to another perfect someone and not the me someone. I’m the girl who attracts late night train and bus fellows, student center creeps, and apparently, unfaithful friends. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve been “taught better” and that all the symbols I can type look despicable together, I’d be cheap swearing.

Yes, I am being a pessimistic person. But come talk to me at 2:30am when your best friends are far away, you are bored out of your mind, and somehow cannot sleep. Let’s see how preppy and positive you are miss cheerleader!

So if you have not previously been introduced to this side of me, well now you know; basically I am the most sarcastic person you will find.

I’m not as dramatically in anguish as I pretend to be. Half the things I say I do so for the purpose of viewing another’s reaction.

So it is clear that I have resolved to a meaningless ramble. But I figured that my blogless blog needed something. It is like salt; a lot of it is amazing, but even just a tad will do those French fries some good! Hopefully a meaningful post will follow. Comments are still welcomed!

We (don't) meet again - Part Two

I have seen you again. This time you were wearing a burgundy shirt and jeans. I would like to remind you (and everyone reading) that I am not a stalker. But since school has ended, I haven’t seen you; that’s been a month! And then on the 4^th of July at the Beaverton Transit Center, we (don’t) meet again! What is so strange about this is that it isn’t one of our regular (non)-meeting places. But you were here, I was here, and here we were totally minding our own business until you got out of someone’s car and the seatbelt kept getting stuck in the door. You caused quite a distraction – I laughed inside.

And then I realized it was you and my heart didn’t flip flop… I simply had a realization! And that realization wasn’t anything new or foreign; I only realized it was you, again. So, now, I am wondering whether or not you will be in one of the 5 classes I am taking this coming fall. And I wonder whether if I ever actually meet you if you will be someone I can show these posts to without getting severely creeped out. Maybe now would be a good time to direct you to my anti-love post. But by all means, don’t look at my insanity post.

So I conclude this post with questions to all my readers (sarcasm); have you ever seen a stranger multiple times? Did you ever meet them? And lastly, would it creep you out if you found that a stranger was blogging about you?

Pretending

As a child I would pretend

to be a doctor, an orphan,

an FBI agent. Imagination

took me to places my adult

self has never had the time,

money, or bravery to venture.

Countries, planets, and people

were never far from reach.

But years have stalled

the imagination and I now

pretend I'm an adult with

a smile, friends, and compliments.

An Outline

I almost miss you and it makes me

feel bad for so many reasons.

1. You wouldn’t care:

a. Because too much time has passed.

b. And I said some things.

2. I don’t really miss you.

a. I only miss that you made me feel:

i. Pretty

ii. Worth something

iii. Loveable

b. I only miss the:

i. Laughter

ii. Encouragement

iii. Talking

3. Sometimes I still get angry:

a. Over everything.

b. Over nothing.

4. I only (almost) miss you:

a. For myself

i. I’m selfish.

ii. I’m proud.

5. And this outline accounts for a structured view my muddled mind.

Scratch and Dent Dreams - Eric Darby

This is an amazing poem and performance my Eric Darby. I have listened to this many times and each time it leaves me inspired and excited about the day! Follow the link to listen and for the free mp3.

http://www.ericdarby.net/ScratchDent1218.mp3

Photobox

This was written in honor of my grandfather upon his death some months back.

Each snapshot my memory holds
of you is soft, yet clear. Black,
and white. Maybe this is because your hair
was silver and gray since I had been snapping
pictures. Maybe it's the way a neutral
colored deck of cards were comfortable
in your hands. Perhaps its because
your hands were never smooth
but always worked. I pull photo by photo
out of my box, reminiscing each card
game. Grandma and Aunt Linda's playful
banter developed into laugher at your witty
remarks. Turkey legs, stuffing and ham
disappeared as you devoured more than possible
for your slim frame. As I turn pictures
over, I think how someone else will play
rummykub, my mom's canasta partner will change,
and come January, February, and March
leftover turkey and stuffing will remain
waiting to fill a plate.

The Spider Dance

Come gather around and join
the popular spider dance.
Your feet will jump and arms
will fly. Shock your friends
and family with the way few
know how dramatically you can
move and dance all for the fear
of a one inch creature with
eight legs and mysterious thread.

Hope (a poem)

If hope were a bright flower
on a sun-shiny day, we could
pick it easily and never
worry or be distraught.

But hope is a flower surviving
a wind storm. Sometimes you
must search and find it
and simply believe
it exists.

3... wait... 2 Followers

So I awoke yesterday and was checking around on my fabulous blog and discovered that I had a new + random follower! I was thrilled at this development and mentally patted myself on the back. After all, at least someone found me interesting! Let us speed forward to today where I found that my following had dropped from three back down to two. I lost my new friend!

Now I am asking myself what I am supposed to do. I am devastated! What is a girl to do? I would like to think that I am funny, interesting, creative, or at least weird enough to keep around, but I am losing faith.

Well, new action must be taken. Hopefully more to come...

Insanity

They say I am insane, I've lost
my mind. All the signs point
to a mentally disturbed person.
I talk to myself and have a dazed
look in my left eye and a confused
look in the right. But to be sane
is to pretend and to pretend
is to be insane. I talk to myself
because there is no other
whom I can console.

Untitled Poem

You gave me up like you give up
chocolate and mystery novels.
I wish I was chocolate because
then I would be sweet and fattening
and would be granted a reason
to be given up. I wish I was a mystery
novel because then I would be mysterious
and not trust worthy. And betrayal would fit
into the story. Instead, I am shifted away
with the masses of those who don't deserve
you, while I - I don't deserve this.

Friends

The truth about friendship is that it is a lie. Friends are supposed to look out for one another and be there for each other. But we have morphed the definition into something that is selfish. And therefore friendship does no exist. Therefore, love does not exist. We, as humans, have voluntarily decided that life is a place to fill the needs of self.

We have reached the place where 4 years mean nothing.

I have come to understand that 1,460 days are just days we will either forget or regret.

How can one easily delete another out of their life without a word of reason, a word of hope?

Friendship doesn't exist.

Celebrity Obsession/Crush

Last night I was sitting at my second home, Starbucks, with my great friend Kate. Somehow we got onto the subject of celebrity crushes. Kate willingly admitted to me her celebrity crush, one of the players for the Portland Timbers whom she described as an "African prince". Our conversation brought to mind a past conversation I had with a friend over a year ago. Basically, my friend was raving over Keira Knightley and was insisting that I also was REQUIRED a celebrity crush. On top of that, my fellow friend and blogger, Jamila, has a sick and strange obsession with the fictional character of Chuck Bass. Frankly, I was feeling rather left out of this epidemic of celebrity obsessions.

Fast forward to about 11pm. I was sitting in the burgundy recliner at my home deciding on a movie to watch. As I clicked through the nifty Netflix selections that are made available through ONE disk (I'm obviously thrilled with this), I made a decision. Opening credits went by and then his face appeared across the screen - and I knew.

So here I am at about 6pm getting ready to officially announce my celebrity crush. As of right now only my mother knows, so this is a big deal.

First of all, there are no limitations with celebrity crushes; marriage, age, children - these things are irrelevant. So with out further ado, I present Mr. Cary Grant!



It is also irrelevant that he died over 3 years before I was born. Just be happy for me, ok? So who is your celebrity crush?