GIGANTIC Palm Leaves

It doesn't totally look like it here but those palm leaves/branches/whatever the appropriate term for a palm leaf is are HUGE.  

And I don't mean huge like "as big as your head."

I mean HUGE like "as tall as your house."

These are seriously intense palms here, people.  

I'm pretty sure one of them could crush a fully grown person.  Certainly an only 3 quarters grown person like me.  (See what I did there?  Made fun of my own stature via an allusion to a post I wrote yesterday.  Nice.)  (Plus I just used the word allusion - though admittedly, at first I typed illusion; but I corrected myself - which always makes me happy.)  (Why does using the word allusion make me happy?  It's a pretty cool word and I don't think people use it enough.  I like to give some attention to frequently ignored words every now and then.)  (It's like charity - only with words instead of, you know, things that may actually need some charity.)

(Cavort is another word that falls into that category for me.)

So... new rule.  (With apologies to Bill Maher for using "his" phrase - I follow him on Twitter so I think it's okay.)  I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be allowed to blog this late at night anymore.  Apparently 10:45 pm is now too late for me to be rational/logical/cogent.  And that obviously leads to rambling: Never good.  This is one of the major drag parts of being an "adult" (or "functioning member of society" or whatever).  

For some reason it's like my body suddenly decided that at the age of 26 it was just plain done with my shenanigans.  (I am shocked I spelled that correctly on the first try.)  It's like all of the sudden it insists on sleep; like at least 5 hours every night.  And suddenly it's all "feed me on a regular basis" and "lay off the sixth cup of coffee will you?" and "hey maybe today instead of chugging Coke and eating potato chips all day you, I donno, move?" and "WTF? Bitch, you crazy?" (because sometimes my body has a big attitude with me) and whatnot.  It's like it expects me to feed it and hydrate it and, I don't know, take care of it or something?  To which my response it "Um, no."  Here's the scoop, body.  You and me?  We have a deal.  You've been going along with it for well over two decades now and that right there is implied consent.  I get to be a totally selfish bitch and not care about or for you in the slightest and you, frankly, deal with it and keep me alive anyway.  All that jibber jabber you've been hearing about vitamins being good for you and rest making you feel better and how shoulders aren't supposed to sound like bone saws when you rotate them?  Lies.  Innuendo.  Hurtful, hurtful gossip.  You should ignore it; that would be best for everyone involved.

Basically what I'm saying is I'd like you to continue/go back to acting/feeling as though I'm still seventeen please.  Remember those days?  They were nice.  Staying up until 3 in the morning to finish that AP English essay about voice or something then waking up again at 7 to get to Junior/Senior Band on time.  Surviving on a diet of Coke, bagels, and whatever Mom made for dinner. (Oh! and "Grandma's Brand" soft-baked cookies!)  Or in college?  Staying up until 4 in the morning talking to boys online and watching Futurama on Comedy Central.  Rolling out of bed for 9 am class.  Having more than enough meal plan money to eat just fine but usually being too lazy to make ourselves much more than cereal.  Ahhh.

Look I know we have to get up way earlier than we've ever really needed to before.  I agree - 5:40 am is much, much, much too early to be awake.  But seriously - could you maybe let me stay up past 9:30 pm just one or two nights a week without turning me into a jabbering idiot?  I mean seriously, body, what more do you want?  I feed you.  I clothe you (I even make you look somewhat cute!).  I even exercise you!  I jogged you for a quarter mile today and walked you for 3 miles!  (I realize you're mad at me for that at the moment but I am assured eventually you'll think it's a good thing)

In short - you suck, body.  Stop being such a judgey d-bag.  

Kisses!

Cait  

Reminders of MoRay

One of my favorite people in the whole wide world is Maureen. I met her on my first day of college and six weeks later we moved in together, as both our original roommates were terrible. We spent all four years of college living together. She's this amazing person. She's hilarious, smart, gorgeous, and just little buzzing ball of energy. To this day I think if there's ever a time when I really, truly need a laugh, or a kind word, or someone who just absolutely gets me I know I can turn to Maureen. In short - she's the bomb.

One thing that really sucks is that she lives far away now and I don't get to see her very much. (I need to start thinking up reasons to go to Iowa more often...) Thankfully, I have several small reminders of her around the house. Sometimes the reminders are little things. I've never had any personalized things because my name is spelled weirdly. Once and awhile I come across a Caitlin (with the second i, which is not how I spell my name) but that's as close as I get. It must have been two months or so into our freshman year that Maureen went off the the Mall of America to go on a scavenger hunt (looking back on it, that really is a great place for a scavenger hunt). I couldn't go for reasons I'd rather not discuss (because he really was such a tremendous tool) and Maureen came back with a little, tiny bag (I think it was supposed to be for candy or something) that said Caitlin on it. She has taken a sharpie and crossed out the i and written a y in for me. That still makes me laugh.

Maureen and I used to collect our quotes. It started the night we moved in together and, while sitting on the floor unpacking something, she asked me "what's that song, by that girl, with the music?" I swear to god, she's not a ditz at all. She almost immediately laughed at herself and said something to the effect of "I could vague that up for you a little if that would make it easier." Over the summer my parents sent me home with a box full of my, for lack of a better word, crap because they were tired of it taking up room in their house and wanted it to take up room in my apartment instead. It really was an entirely random box of stuff ranging from 9th grade to my senior year of college; very little of which actually meant anything to me and most of it ended up taking up space in the garbage and recycling. Alas. However, on the back of a postcard of a sculpture that's in the permanent collection at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts was a post-it. It read "Alright! Let's pit ya & stick ya with a pimento!" Maureen has an olive complexion that almost always looks lovely. Except for when she wears varying shades of green. This particular quote came from describing a green sweater she had tried on while shopping that day. I'm not even joking - finding that post-it made my week. It's probably made two of my weeks, but that sounds weird... anyway. I kept that post-it and put it on my bookshelf so I see it every so often on my to and from bed and every time it catches my eye, I laugh a little bit. Because that's how freaking awesome Maureen is.

Sometimes the reminders are a bit bigger. That's another really great thing about Maureen (and a really kind of shallow thing about me): she gives great gifts. She always really understood my style and could root out these super cool things that I absolutely love.

A few inches over from the post-it is my favorite candle holder. Maureen gave it to me for Christmas one year, though I don't remember which one. It's deep purple and has a leafy pattern created by the difference between regular and frosted glass. It's doubly good because I dig it whether there's a candle lit in it or not. In fact, since we weren't allowed to have candles in on-campus housing this started out being the holder for my bottle caps, which then developed into the giant jar that now exists.