Category: kat

But wait there’s more today: in praise of Justin Timberlake

Yes, yes, it hit me in my bubble bath just minutes ago that I must also praise the Justin Timberlake song in my head.  No rest until I get it out in the open.

Wait-what? Justin Timberlake?  Yes.  Don’t be shocked.  He puts together little nuggets of pop perfection, not unlike Michael Jackson back when he was a cute black man (“Thriller!” “PYT!” “Bad!” you know you liked those songs, too), as opposed to whatever he does these days as a frightening white woman. 

Yes.  Justin Timberlake.  The song that was in my head as I soaked in my fragrant bubble bath was “Love Stoned/I Think She Knows Interlude.”  I think that is the coolest phrase, ever so perfect, “Love Stoned.”  Short, sweet, daydreamy, lost in something fantastic.  Say it. You know you want to.  Text it to someone.  “Love Stoned.” Download it and shake your derriere around in the living room with the blinds closed.  I won’t tell.

Those flashing lights come from everywhere
The way they hit her I just stop and stare
I’m love stoned from everywhere and she knows
I think that she knows

~~Justin Timberlake

House of a million rugrats

My house is the slumber party house.  Kids running around almost every weekend.  And I love it.

Minime is happy, I’m happy.  Girls giggling and acting nuts.  This weekend will be no exception.

But they’re getting older, so they bicker more.  PMS-like mood swings.   It’s still ok.  When they’re asleep, they’re angels.

Ah, when they’re asleep.  Getting them to go to sleep is no small task.  Last time, I think I was asleep before they were!  They were trying to take midnight bubble baths when all I wanted to do was catch some zzzz’s.

They eat more these days, leaving me with nothing but some dried lentils and amaranth in the cabinet only because they couldn’t figure out what to do with it.  If they could’ve figured out something to do with them, they would’ve eaten the dried stuff, too.  A plague of locusts in eyeshadow.

My butt hurts

I had the best run ever yesterday, really awesome.  The kind of run where I totally checked out, out of body experience, in the zone, whatever you want to call it…my feet were going but my brain was elsewhere.  Beautiful.

Running on the outskirts of downtown means hills.  Somehow all uphill, really.  And today my butt hurts, every muscle.  Hurts so good!

Arg

Right now, I wish I could say to someone “pay attention! Things are so close to being good.”  But I can’t.  They’re wrapped in their own stuff.

So I can say it to you, my FreakinUniverse friends, my ever-growing circle o’ friends.

I wish I could say something like “think about how awesome that was, let’s do that 5 times a year! And you can do your thing over there, and I’ll do mine over here, and let’s negotiate the details another time.”  But I can’t say that either.  I hate keeping quiet.

And I’d say something like, “I know you’re hurting.  Tell me what I can do!”  But I’m not sure there’s anything I can do, so I’m keeping quiet.  And not liking it, but staying out of it.

It’s not my place to say a word in this instance.  It’s my place to wait for one.  Arg.

Today’s been much better, thanks

Wow.  Today was much better than yesterday.  Actually, by late last night, all was better in the world, most everything back in balance and harmony.

But yesterday was rough…I guess it was rough because it can be tough to really feel anything, like get down in the feeling  and wallow, immerse yourself in the moment.   And it was very necessary to go that deep, and by midnight, things were better.

We spend our days skimming the surface, don’t we?  We are never truly happy–“oh, I’m happy, sure, but I’d be happier if…”  We never let ourselves be lost in love–“he’s super but I’d like him more if…”  Hell, we never even really let ourselves be sad–“my friend of 20 years just died, but I need to get back to work…”  In hindsight, I think yesterday was a good day of sorts in getting real, feeling, being.

 All is well. Really.

I am not having any post-Warren Wilson College acid flashbacks, I’m not going all hippie dippy trippy on you, friends, just trying to share what I know to be true from experience in the Things That Matter (the capital letters in that phrase aren’t mine, I’m borrowing them from a friend).  Step away from your computer and feel something, feel anything, all the way through to your soul.  It’s time we stop skimming the surface.

Darn you, Diggity–random Suburbia ranting

Ok, I had to watch Suburbia tonight.  It’s been nagging at me since we got on the subject of TSOL and the Vandals and me swapping spit with Bruce when I was 15.  Darn you, Diggity, you brought this whole thing up.

If you haven’t watched Suburbia before, well, I would say it might be too late for you.  Maybe if you grew up as a teen in a trench coat and a tshirt held together with safety pins, you could watch it and get it.  Otherwise, I think it might be lost on you.

I’d forgotten how bad ass hot the character Jack is in that movie!  And how STUPID all the female characters are, oh my god, stupid.  The male characters and the concerts remind me so much of growing up in Asheville and throwing ourselves around the loading dock of the Chesterfield Mill or the Spider’s Web or Squashpile to our favorite bands, and how music and friendship was absolutely everything in that moment.

And crap! I’d forgotten how horribly the movie ends!  Geez.  But at least it’s out of my system for the moment–the movie, not the music.