All the Small Things:

Here's that list of all the little things I want to buy... It's more for me as a check list that I strikethrough as I get them.

1.) New Journal.  In black.
2.) A new copy of Wristcutters: A Love Story, because I lent mine out and never got it back....
3.) Sundresses...size XS from Kohl's.
4.) A new barbell for my conch piercing, on with a diamond or pearl ball....
5.) Canon EOS Rebel 18.0 Megapixel Digital SLR Camera
6.) Pottery Barn Creativity Table in antique white or black.
7.) Pottery Barn Napoleon Backless Barstool x 2 for creativity table :) In antique white or black..
8.) Antoinette Fainting Sofa from Urban Outfitters in Carbon color
9.) A pet that does not have gills..maybe a Manx cat.
10.) An apartment.

...no tail, no problem, just love...

Fail, Shyly:

   Today is a beautiful day for a sundress. Even though the snow clouds are rolling in.  But it's what I planned on wearing, because dresses are all I ever like.....

...plaid sundress in snow...

   And I keep making lists of things I need to buy, but have to save my money. Every penny for Starbucks, taxes, phone bill(s), and college loan debt.  For a Sarah-sized apartment, in which I can escape each day and be my own.  Creatively decorated, and my friends would always be welcome to spend the nights. We could watch movies and eat popcorn....Mmmm mmm mmm mmm good.
   BUT.....my stress level has reached an all-time high. No wonder my hair is gray and falling out. No wonder my anxiety attacks come in threes or fours per day. It all makes sense now. Money is my supervillian. And I just bottle it up. Point the daggers inward. This kind of pain would kill normal people. Thank god I'm insane or something. Mental disorders do have their perks, I guess.
   I paint on a happy face, and let my insecurities eat me from the inside out. They've already begun on my heart and brain. But I read the Zen of Zombie. I'll be okay. Rule #32, Enjoy the Little Things, right? So I may be an epic failure in the eyes of my parents. "A thorough disappointment," as they say. But you wouldn't have known I was failing if I didn't tell you. Sneaky.
   At least, I can say, my sundress makes my day better, and it's all I'll ever like.

   Today's agenda:

   1.) clean Aristotle's bowl and sexy grotto.

   2.) watch Away We Go over and over.  Then Shaun of the Dead. 

   3.) still working on # 3.....

Beautiful Disaster:

   I'm like the little bird someone found alive after a hurricane. 

   I'm not a monster everyday, I'm little and boney.  

With seaside eyes, big candy lips, and Kardashian hips.

Every day I feel like I am doing a really really bad impersonation of myself. And my last two entries were pretty rough. But I've come to the enlightened decision, that I am here, with my anxiety, for a reason. Because I can handle it, when others would just give up. I am the example set. Because I can take it.

  Life sucks right now, but it will brighten.  I have faith.

Where Anxiety Hides:

Once upon a very real time...there was a little girl...

Image taken from:

   Sick lullabies pull me farther down, down a Rabbit Hole.  And it's dark and twisted up in here.  Branches are bleeding sinews of dead trees, wanting sunlight. Crying out, out and up, but the entrance is so far gone.  My heart pounds in my ears, and I can hear everything, and nothing. 

   It's all in my head. It's all in my head.  Again, the shadows creep around me, closing in.  The fear bubbles up out of the rotten ground.  I'm so so cold and scared.  Further I go, I want this to end. I'm falling over crumpled vines and rocks and broken glass. My seam is unraveling.  

   And I realize I am in my head.  But all of this is real.  Alice is not in Wonderland. She's a rag doll in her own mind.  And all of this, this putrescence and pain is what it's really like when an anxiety attack happens.  

   Oh, let me go, turn me into a seashell or a sparrow, I wish this upon no one. 

   Finally, the fit delivers me back to sanity, the sereneness of reason.  It's dim and still cold, but I hear rushing waves and smell the sea brine.  If only, If only, I could find this place in the darkness......I feel so small and weak. 

  

White Noise:

   I'm a waste of space and air.

There are no shadows and I, am tired of the bright.

Every fault and fissure is illuminated and I feel over exposed.

Photographs with faded edges.

The tears try and come but I choke them down. 

NO ONE WILL SEE ME CRY EVER AGAIN!!!!!!

I'm crawling into myself and not coming out.

Dark and twisty.

All tangles like dead branches in winter.

I am the thing that goes bump in the night.

I am the monster.

The First Poem I've Written in Two Years:

Away we go,

Even breathing feels alright.

It's clear. It's obvious. Like flight.

It's you.

I see you, hiding in your hands.

Thinking no one understands.

I've stapled the itinerary to 

The insides of your coat.

I've rented us a plane,

And even a boat.

Away we go.

The lights fall off the windows of the car,

Reflections stripped and pulled far.

It's going to be just fine.

Come on, love, and take my arm.

We're in this together, away from harm.

I've stapled the itinerary to

The insides of your coat.

I've rented us a plane,

And even a boat.

And all of my days,

Spent anxiously waiting,

For someone like you.

Someone whose patient,

And ready for this taking.

Away we go, my love, my sea.

Sitting oceanside, right next to me.

It's you.

Come out from hiding.

Because the future will be oh so exciting.

I've stapled the itinerary to

 the insides of your coat.

Girls Have Party Cakes:

   According to Boscoe, only girls have party cakes.  I guess, it goes back to being nearly three and seeing life in that innocent but oh so wrong kind of way.......Too bad the boy knows where his mooseknuckle is.  And is so proud to show me with such a big smile.....

  Tonight we all watched that really lame Cirque de Freak: Vampire's Assistant movie...and the only comic relief was Boscoe and Cash dancing around and playing with Pop-Eye and Viggo the Rabbit.  Cash showed me where his nose is (as he pointed to his chin), and said, "node." And he danced so amazing to the song, My Body's a Zombie for You.  That little one is going to be a real lady-killer. He gently bopped Pop-Eye on the "node" and continued to sway to the music, like prom...Kids are so entertaining I forget to be an adult, sometimes....

....Boscoe eventually settled down in my lap and we shared our "cop pon."  (pronounced, cop pawn...or popcorn for you older-than-three-year-olds.)  While Cash played Let's Make a Mess with Jen and Jacob.

Cash on the left, and Boscoe on the right. 

...Make my hairs big, Daddy...

   At least I learned I have a party cake........

Almost Three-Year-Olds:

  Last night, The wee one told me a story about lightning. About how, "he not gonna come to my house and burn it down. He not dat mean. And I was a bolcano (volcano), and even da wightning (lightning), him come and him burn dis house [as he points to a house in a book about hurricanes...], but not mine because he not mean."
   Apparently the wind and the lighting live in the same house, but they are not mean.  Bug* (my nickname for the wee one) was very clear that they were not mean. "And even I was a angel, and den da wightning came and him okay."
   Moral of the Story: three-year-olds tell tall tales to stall bedtime... but it's so worth it.

...Pirates and bolcanoes...Angels and handfuls of attitude...

I Drew Some Deer:

...not all deer can be famous...

If Kevin Devine Only Knew:

   That his song, Lullaby for a Snow-Faced Girl, made me feel things I had long since boarded up and put into some proverbial attic in my heart.  Locked away and forgotten, like love most often is.  But the lyrics and his wavering voice ripped open my wounds and brought back all those feelings I had forgotten. Like breaking, and cracking, rib cages wide away and exposing the red red heart.  And I cried.  Because it was one of those songs that makes me feel human again, rather than some Jabberwocky-esque monster in little girls' clothes. 

   And feeling human, is foreign.  Crying is nothing new, but Kevin Devine has no idea. 

 Like Jacob said, "his lyrics perform surgeries on my soul."  

...we'll be fine...

...Kevin Devine...

Image take from:

sleep peacefully. 

like the way you look this morning. 

with faith in your eyes. 

and me in your hands. 

a whispered promise in your heart. 

lullaby for a snow-faced girl. 

is what i'll sing. 

watching you, the whole time. 

it's three-o-five on monday morning. 

or is it night? 

i don't know. 

is it night? 

i don't know. 

but we'll be fine. 

we'll be fine. 

we'll be fine. 

we'll be fine. 

we'll be fine.

Pudding Should not be Eaten in Pound Measurements:

   I've come to the realization of many things.

   1.)  I do not like my forehead.  It's more of a five or sixhead...

...so I chop my forehead and can feed an entire third-world country with it....

   2.)  I am a hopeless romantic, and it sort of makes me want to vomit, but the idea of love ever succumbing to my witch-like tendencies seems laughable.
   3.)  I love zombies.
   4.)  There is something that lives under my bed and it growls...and it is NOT me snoring.
   5.)  That art is romantic even when the subject is bloody zombies because the brush strokes and lines are painfully soft and endearing.  See also Hi Fructose magazine, as this is my new favorite periodical.

   6.)  I would rather wear dresses.  Every day.
   7.)  Kaiti told me she ate about 10 pounds of banana pudding and this should never be done.
   8.)  My life is on stand-by.
   9.)  The mistakes I've made in life are not as bad as other peoples' but I am not those other people, so I will therefore, continue to harbor negative memories and regrets close to my heart.  Always.

   10.)  My dream life would be to live simply.  To have a nice house, creatively decorated.  Not a huge place with tons of space, because I'd probably be afraid to go into half of the house...however, it would have big rooms and an island in the kitchen and a wrap-around porch.  With a yard for kids and a dog.  I'd be the director of an art gallery, and a professional blogger.  I'd be a wonderful wife and mom.

   11.)  I have to stick to my routines, or I have anxiety...
   12.)  I am indecisive about books and food and clothes...because my anxiety limits me...and I need to work past this.
   13.)  Aristotle cannot turn left.
   14.)  Job-hunting is one of my LEAST favorite things, but must be done.
   15.)  I'm learning that living with myself isn't too bad.  Just lonely.

Grab a Beer and Let it Burn:

   I wanted tonight's post to be somewhat mellow.  For multiple reasons. 

          a.)  I am somewhat tired

          b.) Bobby Hill is gracing my screen with his lovely awkwardness and innocence

          c.) I got stared at today by two cops while I was pumping my gas at the station on the corner.  It was so completely chauvinistic and obvious that I wanted to say something, but they're cops! They'd have arrested me for "Indecent Mouthing Off"......Because if I could have, I'd have given them a few pieces of my mind, and those words, were not exactly school-yard-innocent....

    The were on those little "momocycles*" and stared at me the second they pulled up.  And didn't stop until they walked in the store.  One even walked my way but changed his mine and followed his partner in criminally-undressing-me-with-their-eyes.  How middle-school are we, hmm? If you wanted to say something to me, you should have nutted up and said it.  But no, now I am left fuming in my Civic, because I saw you!!! I saw your goofy face gaga-ing over my little figure!!! And I had to sit there and keep my mouth shut!!!!!! 

    I feel like the three-year-old I nanny has more class...even when he's got Lucky Charms' marshmallows sticking to his cheeks and a booger in his hair from an earlier excavation.

...mini Wolverine, momocycles, and no pooping in "da pants..."

*momocycle is how we say "motorcycle" when we're three, sleeping in "da big boy bed," and learning to go "tee-tee" on the big potty.

Anything is Possible:

If that isn't the biggest croc of crap I've ever heard.....

   If ANYTHING was possible, than I'd be happy and anxious free forever by tomorrow.

   If ANYTHING was possible, than I could time travel back in time and say things I should have. 

   If ANYTHING was possible, than I would believe in love.  Not candy hearts or cookie cutter crap love, not the forever in each other's thoughts, or the growing old in each other's arms kind of love either.....But the kind that has the ability to rattle my core. The kind of love that can sweep over deserts and rip apart jungles, bringing up trees and tigers and all.  The kind of love that would obliterate any stereotypical movie-ruined idea that love currently is.  A love so real and strong, I'd be moved to my deepest wounds.  I mean to say I see love, with my parents still married after 25 years.  And my sister goo goo gushie for her man, and it's beautiful, a little nauseating, but it's pure.  I just ask, why don't I believe it is possible for myself?  Why do I need such a lofty and overwhelming overtaking by love to feel it?

   Where are the miracles and angels? Where are the wondrous mysteries? Where is the gosh darned romance?  Who misplaced faith and put proselytizing bigots, brainwashing our souls, in faith's place?  And where did I put my self confidence?

   I am standing here, with all that I am, with my hands in the air.  I give up.  I'm tired of weighing the pros and cons of every little thing, wondering constantly.  I mean, I'd absolutely love to believe, but I've just never seen any proof.

   

   I am losing to apathy and to over-jaded and faded ideals and times. 

   I think I was supposed to be born in a different time.

   

   If ANYTHING was possible, I'd have the answers I need at this very second, and this post would not be made.

   If ANYTHING was possible, I could put all this bologna to rest and just be.  But not everything is possible.  

   If ANYTHING was possible, I'd have my answers.  I'd time travel and make miracles.  I'd fall in love, and it would rattle my little bones so wonderfully, so exponentially, diamonds would appear out of my eyes.  I wouldn't have to muster any confidence to say the things I should, the words would just come.  All my walls and faults would be broken, like shattered glass, into a million little pieces.

  I can only hope, that the answers will come.  So when I'm dying, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be wonderful things, not twisted and dark ones, to look forward to.

    ....I won't be holding my breath....

I'll Smile for the Fact, I'm Here:

   It's probably time I talked about Severe Panic Disorder, and living with it.  It's probably not what you want to know, but my earlier post was basically pointless, and I think maybe I should stop making excuses for why I don't go out, stick to my routines, obsess over my food and clothes, and why, at the end of the day, I try and smile.

   I was diagnosed with Severe Panic Disorder, two summers ago.  Basically, this means out of the blue, on any given day of the year I can go into a panic attack and struggle with every day events that most people can do without ever a given thought.  Sometimes, I relapse and have multiple attacks in one day...

  I get clammy hands and very sensitive to lights and sounds. I start breathing fast and my heart races. I get very cold, and I cry.....nearly every time.... It's irrational to you normal folks, yes. And be thankful. Because being scared of nonsensical things sucks. 

   Anything can set an attack off.  Stress adds to the frequency of my anxiety attacks.  I've learned a few pathetic coping mechanisms that help a little.  The old hands over the ears trick works, I call it "Ear Muffing."  It looks pretty ridiculous. Sometimes rocking back and forth with my eyes closed helps too.  Either way you look at it, I look like a fool.

   The doctors say I'm mildly obsessive-compulsive, on top of extremely anxious.  For those of you that know me, this is one of those, "well duh" situations....

   I mean, I hate it when my food touches other food on the plate, I hate if shirts are too short, or too tight, or even too loose. I hate it if my pants slide up and my socks show.  These are only things that to you may seem like annoyances, but to me, they set off attacks.  I can't tell you how many times I've cried because my shirts get baggy and I can't change.  Or some mornings nothing fits right at all.  This means, shopping is the very last thing I ever want to do.  Ever.  I hate putting thing after thing on, only to find it makes me anxious...

  I find that after I get over a fit, I get super mad at myself.  Because it's like, why don't I work properly?

   I was told it's my "Smother Reflex" in my brain overacting to stimuli and it sends a message to the rest of me saying, "Oh God, look, your carrot is touching your roast, PANIC!!!!"  Or, "The shirt is not long enough, it's sliding up, it's no good, no good. Cry. Panic. Panic. PANIC!!!!"

  I hate big crowds because I get overstimulated too. 

  I can't handle it if I can decipher every sound in a room. 

  If my peas role into my taters, it's mighty irritating.

 And if all I want to do is hide away under the covers, but my pants are too short, well...I cry. 

  Basically, Severe Panic Disorder, really really sucks rotten eggs.  

...my log of symptoms...

But, at the end if it all, I log how I feel, and realize, I lived through it.
 And I try, try my heartest, to smile.

  

   

Foxes are Clever, Tigers are Cunning:

  mis favoritas:  as in, my favorites

Animal: Elephants, Foxes, Hedgehogs, Lions, Rabbits, and Wolves.
Blogs: Kaiti's, Dooce, Girl's Gone Child, Perez Hilton

Color: Black or Pink

Food: Popcorn from the Hollywood Theatre out on Interquest Parkway

Movie: Wrist Cutters: A Love Story

Song: Goodnight and Go, by Imogen Heap (*P.S this song is MIMZEE's weekly tune, go have a listen..)

Word: Mariposa.  It is Spanish for "butterfly" which I do not like the English word at all.  It reminds me of flying sticks of butter, and then I think of buttered popcorn from Hollywood Theatre out on Interquest Parkway, and then I crave it and realize I only go to the movies to eat it, and can't afford to go to get any popcorn today.....UGH!!!!

Why should you know these things, you ask? Because my little blog here is about me and my little life and the people and things in it, and now you know them.  Pat yourself on the back.

But more importantly, today's post was supposed to be light-hearted because I haven't really got much else to say.  I'll find more stuff for you all later. After I go down to the corner Creativity-Is-Us store and pick up a 6-pack of Bloggerlicious Bubble Gum, and some Thinkerbelle Thoughts........

...creative as an apple mariposa...

image taken from here:

Because Fish are Humans Too:

No, not really...They are better. 

Introducing my little Aristotle.   

   He is most excellent, the color of a star. Literally, Aristotle is white, lavender, light blue, and a little electric pink.  

   I saved him.  On this most awful and redundant of days. Yes, Valentine's Day.  V for vomit a little in my mouth.....He was in a dirty little cup, and all the other Betas were deep red or dark blue or floating at the top of their dirty little cups....He was there, and I knew he was The One. 

  Aristotle already likes his new bowl, and getting his picture taken.  He loves his sexy grotto and he stays on the side of the bowl closest to the couch, on which I sit.   

   Boy knows his stuff for sure.  He's a little shy, but aren't most celestial things?

Aristotle and his star bubbles.

Welcome home little Tot.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Aristotle watches tv. And he has acrobatic skills.  Basically, my little Tot is my star. 

...there's a reason the celestial beings migrate to the sea.

Heads, Heavy:

   Being a Nanny Extraordinaire means I know my super heros, villains and Transformers.  I work with professionals-only the best-G. I. Joe figurines and Thomas the Train and Friends. And I make stories up lickedy-split. Just like that.
   I bring comfort and love when boo-boos appear. I kiss the tears away.
   I sing them lullabies, and make smiles run from ear to ear.

   And it is in the tiny moments when I hear, "Miss Saiyah you sing bitaful (beautiful)." or "Miss Saiyah I wuv you," that make even the crappiest of pants so completely bearable.

   Today we learned patience.  When Miss Saiyah is on the phone, and you say, "Stop dat talking now," I will give you a warning and if you get fresh with me again, timeout. 3 minutes, Bub.
   After some tears and a wee little hissy fit, loud enough to wake the dead, we kicked it old school.  I find that Scooby Doo and "milkadees" works wonderfully for the two-year-old.  And a York Peppermint Patty with some lukewarm water does wonders for the six-year-old.  Along with some mighty good cuddling via Miss Saiyah*, it's the best.  Nothing tops the feeling that I get, knowing, these kids think I am "the bomb."

Image taken from:

*Miss Saiyah is pronounced: Miss Sigh yuh

   But the kicker part to nannying is that after I tuck the boys into bed and kiss their handsome little noggins good night, is that I can hand them over to their amazing and gracious mom and say, "They were so so good."  And then take my happy little butt home and be an adult again.

   It has never been work to me. Always nannying. always fun and rewarding. Always one of my favorite things in the world.

   Puglsey came home from Golden and we're about to watch a movie, Law Abiding Citizen. I'll be sure to tell you my criticisms tomorrow.

Life with Wednesday Addams:

   It's been hard enough, in our depressed economy to find myself a career.  I've started working on a novel. And have decided I want to learn how to make Origami paper cranes.

....So much for career searching.....

   It's just that hearing "no" after "no" really makes my already low self esteem even lower.

   So I spend my days reclusively and vicariously living through cartoons and blog feeds. Occasionally, when I do venture out, it is for coffee, or nannying...
   Recently, it's been feeling like I live with the Addams Family.

(That's me, in the little brown dress; Wednesday Adams.)

Image taken from:

   Like my dad, Gomez, says, "You went from years of going 90 miles and hour, to Park...Things are going to seem completely strange. The key is not to let Park become your routine."

So now I have to find something to do with my time, when job hunting is not enough.  Something for me. That's why I started MIMZEE (which is actually just mimzee but the font on this thing enjoys capitalizing things....)

   Last night I watched Coraline, for the 42nd gadillionth time, but I love it.  At least I don't have a creepy cockroach mother waiting to sew buttons onto my face in some creepy little door. No, my Morticia works her butt off at work and loves me even if I am quiet and she worries. 

   For all purposes of today's post, Puglsey is a girl.  My little sister. She's got a voracious appetite for learning and swimming and she is an inventive and diabolical genius. Sometimes, I wish I was a driven as Pugsley. 

   But for now, life is just a punchline. I live in a twisty house, with a dumb dog. And parents that love me. And my scheming sister lives up in Golden and I miss her always.

    ...............At least I've got my cartoons and imagination, right?

Image taken form:

Thanks for joining me on my journey

Friend Feature: Jacob A. Slann

  My friend Jacob Slann was the FIRST PERSON EVER to follow my little blog, in the history of MIMZEE. I am so lucky because he always had faith and interest in my little writings, and I am SO SO THANKFUL!!

 So, I told him I'd write a feature here on MIMZEE discussing the 

Coolest Zombie Gilligan Kid Ever.

  Sort of my way of bowing down and saying "I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy!!"

  Let me start by saying Jacob is a bona fide gangsta.  He goes to school, and has two amazing sons.  (We'll get to toddler juggling and/or tossing in a minute.)

   Although he is, "not a man of patience, and hates roller coasters," Jacob can still rock a room with his personality and charisma.  

  Colorado Springs is his home, and he's sure the grass is greener in his world.  

  Lately, Jacob's world has been enveloped and devoured by schooling, and family.  He is getting his bachelor's degree in Business, with an emphasis in the entertainment arena.  Which may come in handy with all of the hugs, boogers and the overwhelming amount of slobbery toddler kisses. Hey, boogers and baby farts are entertaining! Don't deny this.

   The oldest son, Boscoe Black will be three soon and his little bro, Cash Cavan will be two this summer.  Boys are notorious for being goofy and a total blast. plus these two are going to be heartbreakers...

   Time for favorites:

               Food: Sopa de Fideos, basically tomato soup but exponentially better- this soup has a little lime juice in there and some hot sauce. What the recipe? Talk to Slann. 

              Color: Black... it is a color. a FINE color. " Ask any Chemist and they will tell you it is."

              Book: Fear and Loathing in Los Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream, by Hunter S. Thompson. 

             Says Jacob, "This is not because I enjoy drugs (I am just not into that stuff). It is also not because of the movie. This book is so descriptive and written so well. Every time I read this book I picture things completely different. It makes my imagination set fires in my mind. These fires smolder out leaving a burnt spot reminding me constantly of what I have read."

             Song: Ballgame, by Kevin Devine. 

"This song has let every word I could not think of to describe myself and how I fell about life come to existence in one great song. Kevin’s albums are amazing and I beg you to listen to Ballgame loud and without distraction." 

Jacob also enjoys Connor Lovat-Fraser, known for his work in the band Boys Night Out.

***PLEASE LISTEN TO Torrid Love Affair***

   When Jacob isn't learning the basics of entertainment, or getting pwned (yes I said pwned) by his boys, he likes to play guitar, he's trying to get a little cover band started, "just to keep the creative juices juicing." Misfits and Justin Timberlake are on the set list. It's a reggae medley sound with acoustic assistance. Check Jacob's page for more info about the FistMits :)


    Like every feature in the Rolling Stone or Vogue, the people are always wanting to know what clothes and designers are being worn by the artist.  Jacob wears DKNY and B.C Ethics. Saying, "Usually I support the band and not the brand when it comes to my shirts."  
   It's the cologne that Jacob is a snob about. Lacoste Elegance, and Givenchy Play are his cravings right now. 
   And the classic Ralph Lauren or Versace glasses only add to the creative and truly awesome friend of mine that is Jacob Slann.

Thanks Jacob for following me on this blogging journey. 

              

   and if YOU, dear reader, would like to visit Jacob's Facebook page, it's http://www.facebook.com/JacobSlann.

Already Today:

Today at the Mimzeeum, I woke up at noon, which is literally the second time in my life ever to do so.

 I got some amazing snap shots of el perro, Simon.

...model sled dog...

...model window display dog...

...

It's early:

nice hooters

Laying Down the Law at the Mimzeeum:

Before I even thought of a layout for Mimzee, I wanted rules. And here they are, the laws of the Mimzeeum:

1.) If it would offend my Gran (Dad's mom) it will not be on here.
2.) If my friends do not wish to be spoken about, I will not speak of them. No last names ever.
    a.) now would be a good time to tell me if you are uncomfortable about me writing about our antics.
3.) I must be sure to credit ever musician or artist properly so that the credit goes to the right people.
4.) Spell check
5.) Be myself

Things you should know:

I have an addiction to Starbucks' Grande Extra Hot Caramel Macchiatos. (Step One is admitting there is an addiction right?)

My eyes are bluish gray. But they change with the weather.

I'm very small.

My hair is dyed... blonde, but sometimes dark brown.

If I had to live on a deserted island with either Megan Fox or Jessica Alba I would pick Megan.

I love art; specifically Banksy and Kurt Halsey, basketball; specifically the Nuggets, more specifically Chauncey Billups, Dooce.com, mi familia, the ocean, Perez Hilton, and Twitter.

I like boys, Denver, dresses, Pottery Barn, salads, and singing.

I hate cold weather, Facebook (but use it), traffic, and wet socks....

Dead twisted trees are more poetic than summer ones......

In the Beginning:

I plan on putting great things in here. Pictures, music, art and memories. Not to mention a whole lot of fantastic crap. Thanks for reading. Stay on this journey with me and it won't be boring.

Chuck Palahniuk said, "never ever be boring, because God will find a way to kill you off..."

Here's to my fantastic crap.

These chickens know fantastic crap. But they sure aren't boring.....