inspiration

Sunday List of Indulgent Antioxidants

I worked at the Italian deli all day yesterday before going to the Cal Poly winter jazz concert with my friends Kellyn and Alex, and their respective sibling and friend.  The jazz was amazing!  I kept catching myself with my mouth hanging open at the sheer talent of these musicians.  They absolutely blew me away.  They were smiling most of the time, glancing around at one another, just enjoying each others company on stage…  I felt  like a privileged observant to the beauty that they created.  It was like the most eloquent team sport of all eternity.  

I love team sports, I love watching team sports.  I always pick a charismatic, good looking guy to cheer for and I become so proud of his accomplishments I just want to hug him afterward.  It keeps my imagination alive.  Last night I chose the drummer, ignoring thoughts that reminded me drummers are usually slightly unhinged. 

Today I woke up, cleaned up my loft in my black panties because I felt sexy, did my laundry (in my black panties as well) and then Eva and I picked up our best friend Rayna on the 1:00 train.  We ate lunch at the Del Monte Cafe which is right near the train station and is delicious and adorable.

When Eva and I got home, I went back to my place in a contemplative mood.  Lately I’ve been trying to set aside ‘thinking time’ so that I can ponder my little head off and then go on with my life rather than living partly in my imagination all day.  Classical novels condemn such characters… but I’m a dreamer and I’ll tell you what–I’m not the only one.

So to satiate my thoughtful mood, I poured myself a heaping glass of merlot (my true love), broke myself off a square of dark chocolate and read a book about Italy in my loft while listening to classical guitar.  Now I’m feel slightly affected, slightly horny, and very satisfied with the natural lighting in my loft as well as my use of time on a cloudy Sunday.

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inspiration

Rioting Perfumes & Salami

My favorite quote from the movie I’m Not There:

“It’s wrong to say ‘I think.’ One should say, ‘I am thought.’

‘I’ is someone else. I am present at the birth of my thought.

I watch and  I listen.  I draw a stoke of the bow, the symphony stirs in the depths or comes with a leap to the stage.  It began with waves of disgust and it ends as we can’t immediately seize this eternity.  It ends with a riot of perfumes.” 

 

And now, a short story:

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Salami Love

By Erika Anderson

While working on Valentines Day, I decided to invigorate my afternoon by putting an anonymous valentine on the porch of the cute boy who lives directly across the street from the sandwich shop.  Actually, handsome is a better adjective. But at the time I didn’t think of using the word ‘handsome’ because I was aiming for a charming, elementary school type of card.

I watched him open the door and get the note, which wished him a happy valentines day and told him that I think he’s very cute.    He got the card, closed his door, and 3 minutes later he flung his front door open and started walking across the street and toward the shop with great conviction. In a flurry of bewilderment and nervousness, I switched off the shop lights and turned the sign (it was 6 o’clock, anyway.)

That was last Saturday, we’re closed on Sunday, but on Monday he came into the shop and asked my boss, “Does a girl with the initials E.A. work here?”  She told him ‘yes!’  and that her name is Erika.  He told her that I had left a really nice valentine for him…  I wasn’t working but I heard about this straight from Sheri herself.

Then on Wednesday, he came in again (not out of character, he’s a regular customer).  This time he spoke with Austen, a girl that I work with who also left a valentine (only it was for his roommate.)  He said “thank you” for the card and commented that our cards said almost the same thing.  When she told me this I blushed; I should have used the adjective ‘handsome’ instead.  She told him that it was me who wrote his valentine, and she told me that he smiled a lot.

Today while I was finishing taking the order of a 30-person tour bus, there he was.  I was talking to these other cute boys when he walked in and so it gave me a few seconds to compose myself, extinguish my blush and take a few inconspicuous deep breaths.  I was cool and calm and collected when he approached, smiling down on me knowingly.  I smiled back and took his order sweetly and succinctly.  He complemented my nail polish.

The rest was just a few fleeting smiles and silly glances.

Walking home from downtown this afternoon, I found myself daydreaming and strolling at my leisure.  The sun was shining, the birds chirping and I was swinging a paper bag with dinner inside of it.  A block from his house, my eyes wandered in his direction.  They have a mind of their own sometimes.  My eyes have a mind of their own, and my own mind was somewhere else, dreaming of this tall, athletic boy who gets a turkey and salami sandwich with mayo and avocado on sourdough.

My mind was lost at this point; ‘wandering’ is a delicate understatement, although still an appropriate description of what it was doing.  Just at that very moment, I turned my head forward and was substantially slapped! in the face by a strong palm frond. SMACK!!

I kept my pace as if nothing had happened, but that palm frond truly slapped the sense back into me.  If it hadn’t done so, I think I woulda had to slap my own self.

-The End-

 

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inspiration

Comparing Boy to Muffin

Today my friend Alex and I were making breakfast together, talking about the concept of “he/she’s just not that into you.”  I asked her if she wanted to split a chocolate raspberry muffin with me because they’re so dense I can’t eat one to myself.  She happily conceded.  

Continuing our conversation I announced that, in a particular situation, a particular boy ‘just isn’t that into me.’  She suggested that maybe he’s just too shy, or too unavailable and he can’t effectively make his interest well known.  It being the very thought that I’ve comforted myself with all along the while, I declined her generosity.

We then babbled about how, when remembering his eyes, I accidentally mistook depth for apathy.

She responded, “Well, he’s just about as dense as that chocolate muffin you’re eating!”  I laughed and agreed but added that it was, in fact, very delicious as well.

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inspiration

Road To Redemption

At first glance, T.I’s new show Road To Redemption seems like a glorified attempt at reducing his sentence after being arrested by federal agents last year on weapons charges.  He faces 30 years and has been on house arrest for the past year, aside from completing 1000 hours of community service.  So it’s fair to assume that he’s launched this show (called T.I.’s Road To Redemption: 45 Days, which refers to the 45 days till his incarceration) as a final act of… redemption.

I just watched the first episode of the show and I’m blown away.  I have to recommend it.  It’s a reality show like we’ve never seen and it has content that HBO would kill for.  This show is not, in any way, a soft attempt at inspiring some young hustlaaaa to put his life on the right track.  TI is tough, brutally honest, and inspiring.  I can’t think of a better person to re-route these guys on a better path, unless maybe Biggie Smalls rises from the grave.  This show is awesome and ya’ll need ta watch it!  Ha.

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inspiration

Hairika’s Hairiation

These photos are in chronological order in an attempt to point-out my incessant, but pathetically minuscule variations of hair color and hair cuts (even as a wittle babyy)

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I’m getting it colored next week, I cant wait!!  Color, no cut because I’m growing it out for the first (serious) time ever.  All the other times I didn’t really mean it. I’m going lighter for more of a change, even though looking at these thumbnails I like my hair darker better… hmmmm….  well, I guess we’ll have to see.

bed time, exhausted, which is probably why I only have the energy to write an extremely narcissistic post.  please forgive me.

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inspiration

Mary Oliver

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August

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is.  In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

 

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth
remembered me, she
took me back so tenderly, arranging
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.  I slept 
as never before, a stone
on the riverbed, nothing
between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among the branches
of the perfect trees.  All night
I heard the small kingdoms breathing
around me, the insects, and the birds
who do their work in the darkness.  All night
I rose and fall, as if in water, grappling
with a luminous doom.  By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.

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