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Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Thoughts on Weddings, Shooting the Messenger, and LOL WHUT?

Weddings. Strangely they happen. And they're sealed with kisses.

Some seal them with two.

I write short stories about them... a lot.

That is strange. 


At work, I'm the messenger. It's a terrible position in which generally people yell at me when they dislike something. And there's very little I can do about it. So when people rant - 9 times out of 10 - I have to take what they say like a grain of salt. Even if it seems like they are completely tearing into me. Good thing I have a lot of sarcasm at my disposal to dispel the anger to the best of my ability.

Sarcasm, I CHOOSE YOU!


Okay, so this was super random.... But why does a day just feel so much shorter when your busy, but you wish you had more time because you still have a long list of things you want to get done... or planned to get done. I swear, time traveling is a real thing. Like trolls stealing your left sock.

Thoughts on Writing Challenges, Taboo, & One-Liners

I want to observe things for the Memoir Project every day; write about love every day; write a poem a day; find something to keep my inspired every day.


It really shouldn't be that hard to guess "rainbow" from clues alluding to "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and the fact that it's a weather phenomenon that appears after a big storm.


Did this post bother you yet?

Monday, May 30, 2011

Thoughts on My Dog, Curtains, and Trailers

We've had my dog, Whitaker, since I was a junior in high school. We have a major love for beagles in my household, mostly having to do with Snoopy - although he doesn't look like most beagles - and how much we love The Peanuts and Charles Schultz.

In comparison to our previous beagle, Shiloh (cliched, I know), Whitaker is probably the sweetest dog we've ever had. He's calm, passive and really isn't much of a biter. When you're feeling down, he's a fantastic cuddler and great at warming up your clothes on a chilly morning - if you don't mind dog hair. One of the few pets we've owned where I had the chance to truly pick which dog we got. And really, he's been fantastic.

He makes funny noises when I hug him, or bother him in his sleep. Even when we sit on opposite sides of the couch, he'll moan and groan as he tries to make a nest out of the blankets. Or if there's an off chance I'm bugging him, then he'll groan about that too.
Whitaker is super friendly; as in he will greet anyone walking by our yard and whine at them until they pet him. So yes, he's comfortable with strangers. A guard dog he's not. But despite his small stature, he tries his best to look and sound tough whenever he hears a weird noise. In the morning, he'll wake me up when he needs to be let out, or when his stomach grumbles at 6 AM on a Saturday.

I'll probably never be a cat person - although the idea sounds nice - because on occasion my allergies get set off. But I like the loveable looks my dog gives me when I'm sad, or when I get home from work. It's nice to feel wanted, needed or missed.


Thoughts on Journaling, Teal Goop, & False Hopes

I shouldn't be proud to not be writing in my journal every day.  I've pledged to myself so many times in the past that I wouldn't let my personal writing lapse, even if nothing exciting happened that day, even if I don't want to record the day's events for posterity.  But I haven't given up on writing every day, be it fiction or nonfiction.  And if I'm not writing about it in my journal, I'm out doing it.  So, I'm proud.  May this be a summer of catching up on journaling when I can.


Sunday, May 29, 2011

Thoughts on Cheez-its, Guy Friends, and Re-reading Roleplays.

There's something about Cheez-its that makes them so addicting. When they say "Get your own box" they aren't kidding.

Maybe it's the delicate mix of cheese, salt and crunch that makes them so irresistible. Or the fact they don't leave behind much residue on your fingers. They are simply one of the best snack crackers ever. As the snack saying goes, "You can never have just one."

Thoughts on History, Movies, & Photography

I don't belong here.  Have I mentioned that here before?  Maybe; I can't remember.  I might just be getting myself all mixed up with every other time I've ever mentioned the fact that I'm all wrong for this decade.  Well, all wrong, except for an addiction to the Internet.  And a growing appreciation for hip-hop.  And a great sadness when I think that, if I were twenty or thirty years older today, I might not have watched Supernatural from the beginning.  And think of all the hot guys I wouldn't know about!

Then again...think about all the hot guys I've missed out on.

Anyway, history was always one of my favorite classes in school, all through my years from elementary to high school.  Drawing from my vague knowledge of certain time periods in American history and what the movies have told me, I've narrowed my possible destined locations to two decades: the 1940s and the 1980s.

I know war is hell - not from firsthand experience.  It's just something you know is wrong and we should probably be trying to avoid at all costs.  But the World War II era is just so intriguing.  I don't really know what it's like to go without.  I don't know what it's like to have a sweetheart overseas, someone to write to and pray for.  I want to dance at the officer's club to swing music and join the armed forces as a nurse, or work in a factory.  Or play baseball, like in A League of Their Own.  As terrifying as it must have been to live through that, it also seems incredibly exciting to have been alive in such a time of change and upheaval.

But I don't know if it's something about the romance of that period drawing me to the '40s, or the whole decade.  Whereas, with the '80s, I'm sure I would fit right in.  The bold colors, the music, the movies, the celebrities, the TV, the fashion - I have died and gone to shoulder pad heaven just thinking about it.  Who knows?  In another time, I might be the East Coast's answer to Cameron Crowe.  I could have run off to Hollywood at the height of the yuppies and made a name for myself in a John Hughes film.  I might have been in Top Gun (or, at least, swaying with my well-coiffed boyfriend to "Take My Breath Away").




Saturday, May 28, 2011

Announcements! Call for Submissions! Exclamation Points!

The Memoir Project is very heavily text-based, hm?  Well, that really was the focus, originally - the written word.  But some things are indescribable; a picture is worth a thousand words.  So we here at "Big Myth We Live" are very happy to announce the integration of multimedia elements into the blog!  The aim is still for aspiring authors and dabbling writers to try to write about the details that make them who they are.  But, if you'd like, you can also collect photographs, make a video, find a clip of your favorite song, anything that will help sharpen the memories.  Of course, we'd appreciate a few words of introduction and/or description, so you can't skimp on your writing now!  But we're very excited to see what we (and you!) can come up with to present our lives as faithfully as possible.

This leads to my next point - you!  We'd love to line up a few guest posts, and we welcome any and all readers, skimmers, or first-timers to create a post about their three chosen details of the day to share here at Big Myth for the Memoir Project!  It can be three videos, a picture and two long written pieces, a song and a slideshow, or the typical three short blurbs - whatever you're drawn towards.  But we can't do it without you, so contact either me, katiemickgee, or Dominic Knight today and start dreaming :]

Thoughts on Scrabble, Accents, and Growing Apart

Word games are a guilty pleasure. Probably because it's one of the few places I can use my large vocabulary and not feel bad when people don't know what the word means. But when I speak aloud, I generally dumb down my language. It's a habit from work since there are plenty of people that barely understand English, so I have to keep things simple.

Unfortunately it's a terrible rut to fall into. I don't have the ability to have too many spur of the moment intelligent conversations. Strictly, everything I talk about is either work, or video game related. On occasion we speak about what recently appeared on CNN via the break room televisions.

I stick to Scrabble, and Word with Friends too much. I need more stimuli than this.


Thoughts on Chlorine, Mirrors, & the Art of Traveling Light

I absolutely love the smell of chlorine.  That sounds sick, seeing as it's a potentially harmful chemical, if ingested in large quantities.  It also really smarts when you get it in your eyeballs; trust me, I work at a pool.

And that's the exact reason I love the smell of chlorine.  It's not exactly a crisp and clean smell, though you do know the water must be safe, if you get that scent early in the morning.  It burns your nostrils and wakes up your brain.  It makes your eyes sting and water, when you forget your goggles.  And God help the poor soul who actually swallows a mouthful or two of chlorinated pool water - moreso because no one really knows what kids are doing in the water, not because of the chlorine.  It's almost sweet, not sour, and hangs in the air and on your clothes long after you've climbed out of the pool.

One of my favorite things to do in the dead of winter is to dig out one of my village-issued swim instructor T-shirts and summon up the sights and sounds of a summer that exists only in my memory.  Watching the older kids paddle through laps through my aviator shades, the world tinted brown or blue or gray.  The bridge is in the distance, across the bay, promising the beach later in the day, maybe, and boats sometimes pass too close to the bulkhead for the lifeguard's comfort.

And it's not even the memories that makes me love the smell.  It's the smell itself, so singular and indescribable.


Friday, May 27, 2011

Thoughts on Flash, Procrastination, and Flirting

There's just something about listening to Flash by Queen that makes me want to write a superhero story. Obviously it's the fact that the song was for a superhero, but all I see is the delusions of grandeur that the world in which a hero would live in could bring about to the Average Joe.

Either that, or the ridiculousness of the super villains. It probably already exists, but it'd be a blast to write a book parody about every trope that's in a comic book. I'd go crazy with that. But how could you not?


Thoughts on Humor, Pirates, and Headaches

Yes, I'm running late on this post. My apologies.

On my other blog, I wrote a short story recently called "Ceiling Tiles and Laughter." And for the most part, I'd say it's an example of how dark my humor can get. Though, perhaps it's on the lighter side... I'm sure there are darker things lurking, it's just a matter of if I'll let them out of their cage.

But that story was from a plot twist in a roleplay a friend and I were doing on instant messenger. The character loses his leg and that brief flash fiction was his way of finally accepting this life changing event and working on moving past that. For the most part, I can't see any other way of moving past something so traumatic as losing a limb, than by using some amount of humor to help yourself cope. That's probably why whenever I am thrust into a crazy situation - although not life threatening - I tend to use humor to ease my own nerves. And even if it's not dangerous or crazy, just stressful, I laugh it off with others as we're going through it to make sure I'm not freaking out and taking out my anger and frustration out on other people.

So I hope that if I ever have to lose a limb or face something tragic, I could look at it - probably after a string of other emotions - with humor and to set others at ease, not just myself.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Thoughts on Fidgeting, Neville Longbottom, & Feeling Grimy

On my summer days, I like to strut around in a bathing suit without makeup and get tan.  Oh, and I get paid for it.  Because I'm a Red Cross-certified swim instructor.  What can I say?  It's summertime and the livin' is easy.

But, there are days when it's sunny and hot and I can't convince myself that sitting inside is a good idea for very long.  On these days, when I don't have work, it's either feel guilty about wasting a beautiful day, or get my ass outside and tan.  I do go outside and I do enjoy the sun.  For awhile.  Until I start getting distracted.

Let's just say, if I didn't have an outdoor summer job, I'd never get tan.

I don't have the attention span to just sit.  I can read for hours.  I can watch a movie or multiple episodes of a show.  I can be online.  I'll even lay out at the beach.  But, when I'm in my own backyard, there are just too many distractions; I can't sit still.  I drink too much water as it is, so I'm constantly running inside to the bathroom.  I sit in a chair, lay on my stomach, sit in the grass.  I listen to music, I read.  I get hungry.  I want to read something else.  I need more water.  I just keep fidgeting, up and down, inside and out, running around, always moving.  And, what's odd, it's entirely a summertime affliction.


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Thoughts on Sleep, Lack of Sleep, and a Headache

Unfortunately, today isn't that interesting.

Hopefully this will be my only short post because I'm sleepy.


I had a bizarre lack of sleep, which I'm not sure what caused it.


A strong headache is also putting me to bed early. Pills haven't worked, and neither has water. Hopefully sleep will be my cure. 

Thoughts on Peter Pan, Being Traditional, & Dressing for the Occasion

My dad just realized he was almost fifty (he's got three more years).  We were joking about something while watching "Criminal Minds," and he started waxing philosophical about the matter.

"Do you know any fifty-year-old kids?" he wanted to know, with that look on his face of amazement and something like pain.  I must have made a face, revealing my confusion, because he elaborated, "Because I still feel like a kid."

In a lot of ways, he is a kid.  We're so dumb together, making fun of even the movies we love, laughing about our shared genetic stupidity, swapping computer tricks and book reviews.  He's an adult in all the usual ways - going to work, paying bills, buying stuff, doing taxes - but he does it with such ease and nonchalance, you wouldn't know he's worried about anything.  Usually, he's not worried.

Like a kid who doesn't know any better.  Like Peter Pan.


Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Thoughts on Twitter, Flip a Coin, and Family Time

I'm pretty sure I have a terrible addiction to Twitter. There's something about the social feed that I just can't get enough of. Perhaps it's that I can get a glimpse at the life of the rich and famous I follow, or get the opportunity for one of them to tweet me back if I ask them a question during the occasions they'll play 20 questions.

Twitter - in comparison to the rest of social media - has really bridged that gap that used to exist with celebrities and the Average Joe. Sure, generally celebs follow each other and stick to their own circles. But Twitter has allowed people to see into their busy lives and find out about the projects they're working on or see pictures they snap in real time.

Not to mention, a lot of good things have come from Twitter. Charities raise money by tweeting and getting retweeted. Family can connect to each other in a disaster to inform of their well-being. Celebrities get auctioned off, the winners receiving a phone call and a "follow" from the celeb. News spreads, and people are kept informed. Advertising can occur for free and can generate a lot of interest. Grassroots movements can rise up and literally take the world by storm - "Help Nathan Buy Firefly" being the best example.

If there's any social media site I know I'll stay a member of, Twitter would be the one. I've had some of the best conversations on Twitter that really, it's a way to connect with people all over the globe and feel more apart of their lives than just chatting on some anonymous forum. It feels personal, and yet the best area to market yourself when trying to gain followers and getting noticed by perhaps some big names out there. I'm going to stick with Twitter, because once I get published - maybe make it on Oprah's Book Club? - I want my fans to have the same kind of contact with me that I've had with my idols.

Thoughts on Family, Friendship, & Food

I have friends whose families have been in this town for decades - maybe even centuries, I don't know.  I'm not an outcast around here, but since my family is so tiny, it's weird to see so many people who can be so committed to each other and supportive of one another.  I'm an only child, which has never been a huge issue, though I have contemplated what it would have been to be a big sister (or the annoying kid sister with a crush on all her adorably protective older brother's friends).  It might get lonely, but I hear the horror stories and realize how lucky I have it to be on my own and totally accepting of that.

But we don't really talk to my dad's side of the family; just my mom's.  Through her, I only have one grandmother, two aunts, an uncle, and exactly one cousin.  One.  Some of my friends can't even keep track of ages and birthdays for all their cousins.  I've never been excited for family get-togethers, because there's never anyone my age to talk to.  I've always been a little grown-up and, now that I actually am an adult, they still treat me like a child.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Thoughts on "You have 10 seconds", "It's His Idea", Hooked on Phonics

I talk pretty fast. If ever I had to be in debate club and count words per minute, I'd feel bad for whoever had to count my speed. And no, this is without coffee - with would be too dangerous.

But that has to do with my mom. She's not someone I would call simple by any means. Not only did she design our house - no, she's not an architect - she also holds a patent for an invention or two. However, my mom likes simplicity. So whenever I would talk to her about something - i.e: Harry Potter, video games, or anything I'm truly interested in - she would look at me and say "You have 10 seconds." Well, ten seconds or until I could tell she wasn't listening because her eyes would glaze over and she would change the subject. And no, I'm not an expert in persuasion or holding people's attention.

Thoughts on Being Someone You're Not, Sarcasm, & the Seven (or More) Words You Can't Say on TV

They tell you to be who you are, to face each day with confidence and every hater with proud defiance.  They tell you bullies quiver when you stand up to them.  They tell you the underdogs will make it, too, and live far more fulfilling lives than the popular kids.

By "they," I, of course, mean motivational posters.  And the people who grade the New York State Regents.  Absolutely terrifying.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Thoughts on Flip Flops, Losing My Religion, and MP3 Players

Being Japanese and Hawaiian, people would expect me to be completely comfortable with flip flops. In truth, I actually only started wearing them about two and half years ago. Strange right? I would use shoes basically wherever I went, and since I rarely go swimming, I had no need for them when at a pool or beach.

Truthfully, I desperately hate things between my toes. My mom used to tease me when I was little by putting a finger between any of my toes, and I would freak out. So I was desperate to stay away from them and stick to corny sandals - but no socks, thanks.

What changed my outlook on the idea? Well, for the most part, I wanted to be able to actually wear them. My irrational freak outs needed to be tamed. But I couldn't wear just any kind of flip flops. The cheap pairs that are basically foam and rubber wouldn't work. Knowing my luck, I'd probably be allergic to the material, or something disastrous would happen and I'd never be able to wear them. So I went in search of flip flops of a higher quality. To ease my woes, I was willing to spend some extra cash for comfort.

After wandering a few stores and only finding the cheap pairs, or something slightly more expensive than them - but still with a rubber tongue between your toes - I was about ready to give up. But then one store was carrying exactly what I was looking for, which was unexpected. I was looking for cloth or some kind of soft material that would go between your toes, and that's exactly what I found. And they have the added benefit of being made of 100% post consumer material, so they're super eco-friendly. Not to mention, I like the design on the cloth straps. So over all, it was a win-win and I'm not used to wearing flip flops.

Thoughts on Nancy Drew, Being a Girl, & Spending the Rapture at Applebee's

There are fifty-six books in the original series.  There are currently twenty-three (soon to be twenty-four) computer games, now in both the PC and Mac formats.  There was a totally awesome TV series is the 70s, a decent TV movie in the early 2000s, and a pretty terrible Emma Roberts monstrosity on the big screen rather recently.  Why all the fuss over outdated old Nancy Drew?

Because she's fucking awesome, that's why.

Pardon my French (which she probably speaks).  But, if you don't agree, it's only because you don't really know Nancy or you're insanely jealous of her wonderful life.  She's the only daughter of her lawyer dad, Carson Drew, she has a housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, and she has a totally hot, totally charming, totally chivalrous, totally college-aged, totally football-playing boyfriend named Ned Nickerson.  Her best friend, Helen, vanished after the second book, only to resurface later, married and with a mystery to solve.  Her two other best friends (she's allowed to have more than one) are the cousins Bess Marvin and George Fayne.  Bess is pleasantly plump, kind of dumb, and likes to eat, yet, ironically, she's the one you call for hints in the PC games.  George is lean, kind of dumb, and butch - she carries the bags, plays sports, and steps in as hero to Bess' and Nancy's damsels in distress when Ned isn't around.  As a good friend points out, today, Bess and George would probably be in a weird, incestuous, lesbian relationship, simply because of their odd relationship dynamic.  The girls shouldn't take offense to those descriptions, though.  Everyone is stupid in comparison to Nancy Drew.  And there's only room for one pretty, smart, heterosexual girl in River Heights, Illinois.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Thoughts on Farmer's Markets, Playing Fetch, and Super Dinosaur

Every day of the week, there's a farmer's market going on somewhere. Since most of them are closed by the time I get out of work, I'm limited to the weekend. And thankfully, my hometown has it's own every Saturday. There's a lot of great finds wandering the stalls. Besides local fruits and veggies, there's various cheeses, pickled garlic and olives; fish, flowers, herb plants, fire-baked pizza, and other fantastic edibles. It's quite the collection. Practically a department store of items - minus electronics of course - since there's also some clothing, and artwork.

Locals wander the stalls; regulars to the vendors and get their weekly fix of whatever they've run out of. Tourists staying in the nearby hotel venture down to see what all the activity is about, including the live music and terrific smells.

On occasion, I get the urge to go and find out what's new and delicious. I'm hoping someone will be carrying peaches - far too early in the year - so that I can cease eating from cans and jars, and enjoy the taste of a freshly picked peach until my own tree bears fruit. Or perhaps I'll pick up kettle corn for my mom, her popcorn weakness; or snag some fantastic veggies for a cheap price. I try to stick local with what I buy, but it's never easy when money is tight, so I try to do what I can. Although I have to say, if I'm going to indulge locally and at least once or twice a week, I'd have to buy the chocolate milk made not too far from here. It's the best I've ever had, and can't be topped by any national brand.

Hopefully I'll be able to support more locals as the years go on.

Thoughts on the East Village, Culture, & Getting Sleazy

It has a vibe similar to the Theater District in Boston, which you can only say if you've spent a significant amount of time in both (yes, visiting one a good number of times and living in the other counts as "significant").  That is to say, hipsters galore.  But you want to forgive the East Village, because they have really good mac and cheese at S'Mac.  There are people everywhere, wandering, working, searching, tourists and shopkeeps and NYU students and movie buffs on their way to where Sally left Harry in Washington Square Park.  Probably that guy at the store on the corner, selling Iceberg lettuce and crimson peonies, is a burgeoning actor - maybe he's in the off-off-off Broadway show around the corner.  Probably that woman behind the counter self-published a book.  Probably that old couple on the bench have lived here forever, coming to accept the changes in their neighborhood over the years.  And you can be sure they're all eco-friendly, in every way possible.

You don't need to think about whether politics hang right or left in that part of town.  As the streets and avenues count down, you can make your assumptions.  But it doesn't matter.  Because, as you move away from the tourist traps of Times Square (guilty pleasures for natives) and the bustle of suburban commuters in big city jobs, you can see that neighborhoods exist in Manhattan.  And, by God, it's a beautiful thing.  Everyone has a story, but they're quieter here.  Buying groceries matters.  People can make movies about the novelty shops and tiny cafés on quiet streets.  There are big names on the marquees of little theaters; there are little movies hitting it big on the avenues.  Locals know their waiters and restaurant owners welcome newcomers with easy familiarity.  It's just one little neighborhood on the Lower East Side, but visit once and I bet it'll be your favorite.


Friday, May 20, 2011

Thoughts on Store Bought Frosting, Smoothies, Semi Trucks

Through high school, and a few years after, I worked in a bakery. I've had plenty of experience with frosting and what goes best with various cakes and fillings, and what doesn't. Plus, I can make the delicious frostings from my old work, at home if I ever really needed. But I now wonder about store-bought frosting.

While skimming the back, I noticed in the section of "directions" they provide on how to best spread the frosting, the very last step was to store in the fridge for up to two weeks. And when I think about it, I don't know many people that have actually stored their leftover frosting in the refrigerator. Does anybody know of that step? I mean, frosting is pretty self-explanatory - unless you're making it from scratch. So what's the point of refrigeration? We've kept ours in the pantry for several months - handy for spreading on graham crackers for a quick snack.

Has anyone actually stored their store-bought frosting in a fridge?

Thoughts on Sleep, Sleep, & More Sleep

I'm tired.


I'm breaking my own rules.


I'll write something real tomorrow, after work.

Thoughts on Late Night Conversations, Walking the Town, Zombies

This is running a tad late - if you're on the East Coast - but I've had a great evening with a friend I haven't seen in a long time.

Actually, NoLifeinABox and I are known for our late night conversations when we hang out. We touch on such a variety of subjects, that it's so much fun and gives us a lot to talk about. Whether it's talking about government and city infrastructure, or Zombies and the bacon meme, we enjoy eachother's company. It's the sign of a good relationship that we want to hang out and just talk about anything and everything. There are times we disagree, but we have a good sense of respect that despite the difference, it doesn't matter. Staying up late talking has happened on multiple occasions. A few times it's been with other friends - a going away party, actually - and just enjoying our last night together before parting ways for college.

Sola and I on numerous occasions used to stay up late chatting, laughing, and just having a blast being able to spend time together. Nothing wrong with a great person to have fantastic conversations with; it's something I've missed recently, with a shrinking social circle. I hunger to have long talks and just someone that I'm happy to be around that we can equally share the talking space.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Thoughts on Love, Being Overtired, & Bathroom Acoustics

I am currently watching The Matrix for the first time.  I feel like it's constantly on TV, but the Fates always conspired to keep me from watching it - something else more interesting is on, Mom is home and won't change the channel, I turn it on too late to understand anything.  Like I always like to say, I'm also not usually the top to just sit myself in front of the television and turn on a movie.  I always feel like there's something more important I could be doing.

I also think the bellybutton bug freaked me out the first time I tried to watch this.  Because my dad, knowing how soul twin-ish we usually are with all this kickass sci-fi/fantasy action/adventure/sentient computers, was all, "You're gonna love this!"  And then I was all, "I'm eight and WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED."

Anyway, we just saw the part in the movie when Neo (Keanu - whoa! - for those of you who aren't pop culture savvy) goes to see the Oracle, the awesome old black woman who tells him not to feel bad about breaking the vase.  To avoid spoilers and give some focus to this little vignette, I'll just focus on the line that made me go all warm and fuzzy inside: "No one needs to tell you you're in love.  You just know it, through and through."

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Thoughts on The Valley, Work Crushes, Clear Tape

Every morning I drive through a valley to get to work. It's farm land, soccer fields, and where the majority of my hometown sits. Huge hot air balloons take off and land here, and people come to watch the spectacle of Ultimate Frisbee during a weekend tournament.

In the morning, I drive on a small back road to go down into the valley and across. The sun rises at my back, lighting my destination in golden rays. A light mist lingers mere feet over the farmer's crops and above the creek that cuts the valley in half. On the distant hill, more fog shrouds buildings, but is quickly dissipating from the sunrise.

I cross some railroad tracks that haven't seen a train in over fifteen years. Weeds grow between the ties, nearly hiding the existence of the iron beams and railroad spikes still firmly in place. Taking one last look at the valley, I won't see it for another eight hours, on my trek home with the sun once more at my back.

Thoughts On Silence, iTunes, & the Center of the Universe

It's so quiet here.  Even at midday, you can pause your music, shut off the TV, and get completely lost in the stillness.  I live on a relatively "busy" street, and you still only hear the occasional car speeding down towards the Great South Bay.  On weekend, sometimes, you hear laughing children, parents chattering, something delicious sizzling on a barbecue.

At night, you can see the orange glow of the streetlights, sometimes the flaring red of parked taillights, sometimes the light on the side of my house is triggered by leaves in the breeze or raccoons rummaging for leftovers, and it's enough to keep you up for hours.  But the quiet . . . it puts you to sleep.  You can be wide away, typing away, listening to music, the TV on for background noise, lights on and mind racing.  But, then, you pause.  And the moment the typing stops,, the music does, too.  The wind falls silent around the house.  You imagine hearing the lightbulbs hum, you analyze every tiny noise - because you can hear them all.

This is the terror of silence.  It is both a gift and a curse.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Thoughts on Fritos, Lunch Time Walks, Clutter

Food vending machines contain some super fantastic things. Like fruit snacks, cookies, candy bars, gum, and of course they'd be nowhere without chips. With so many chip types, it's tough to choose. But I'm a big fan of the classics. SunChips are great, but there's something fantastic about Original Ruffles, or Plain Lays. Most of all though, is how delicious Fritos are. The original delicious corn chips. If I want any kind of chip with my lunch, it's corn chips.

Maybe it's that they're awesome with chili, by themselves, or with salsa. And that's something you can't say about a lot of chips. So the instant the vending machine at work has plain Fritos, that's all I'll buy. They are the best compliment to a pb&j. The Chili Cheese flavor is not the same. Perhaps it's because I'm not a fan of the artificial flavor or the mess it leaves on your fingers, so I'm a fan of something that's clean and also doesn't turn your tongue orange.

Right now, the vending machine at work only has the Chili Cheese flavor. There is much sadness.

Thoughts on Job Hunting, Bedtime, & Inter-species Love

I actually applied for jobs today, instead of just saying I did to appease my mom and really spending all day sitting around my house.  And thank God I did.  A large book chain (which shall remain nameless) finally got in touch, after jerking me around for the last two weeks or so, to say I hadn't gotten the position.  No hard feelings, though.  I just hope Babylon Bean comes through now.  That would be fun.

It's not that I don't want to find a job.  I do - I really do.  I need the money.  My summer job doesn't start for another month and a half.  I'm going stir crazy, being cooped in the house.  I'm just terrible at talking to people with some kind of authority.  I have some kind of mental roadblock to asking for a job application in person.  And I hate talking on the phone.  And I feel like an idiot when I just wander into stores and keep spouting about employment opportunities.  That all kind of makes asking, "Are you hiring?" tougher than it should be.  Maybe I just think things through too much.

But, hopefully, something will come of all this.  New coworkers, new friends, new romances (even if only imagined).  I pictured myself canoodling in the stacks at this local booksellers chain.  But I can find love in a coffee shop, too.

I just wish I knew how to make a latte.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Thoughts on Driving Home, Making Faces, and Hopeless Romantics

Having a car has given me a lot of freedom. Granted, I've only had it since November, but Trixie (because she reminds me of the triceratops from Toy Story 3 somehow) has fulfilled that milestone that the movies claim happens when you turn sixteen and get your license. It's the last sense of accomplishment before graduation and college. But really, getting a first car can happen at any time. The faux belief that every kid gets their first car from their parents at sixteen rarely occurs anymore.

Driving home after work is how I detox. I can sing to anything, dance like I'm in my room, and just be in my own oblivious bubble. There's the option to grab some food, hang with friends, or swing by the library and peruse the music shelves or pick up those holds. After a long day of supervising people, being cheery, and answering questions from both superiors and coworkers alike, I want and need time by myself. I don't have to feel like I've got people to entertain and make sure we're hitting our numbers. I can just be me.

Thoughts on Perfection, "Dawson's Creek," & Romantic Comedies

I'm a little awkward when I first meet people, overly quiet and shy.  Not the normal amounts of introversion; it's unhealthy.  But I think it's such a beautiful thing when I can finally open up to those same people, tell them I love them for being my best friends.

But hugging you has always been (and will always be) my favorite, Tom.  I've known you, probably, since about second grade, when I moved out to the island and, in my seven-year-old way, never thought I would make friends again, especially not in an elementary school that wasn't P.S. 193.  I don't know how or when we finally decided to be friends; I can't remember after all these years of bike rides, boy troubles, and mocking the children we passed in the village.  We were always so mature, so beyond all that.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Thoughts on Sunday Mornings, Rainy Nights, and Failed Food Experiments

Weekend mornings are quiet. Particularly Sundays. It's the last twenty-four before the return to work and only a small break in a week where every second counts. But it's not filled with To-Do's and errands, or with hanging out and chores. Those are all left up to Saturday. Sunday gets the things I should make time for. The list of things I love to do, but don't do on a day-to-day basis.

 But most of all, it's the early morning where I'm still in bed, wishing to drift to my dreams. Instead, I listen to the quiet murmur of a television in the next room, and the groaning of the dog as he moves to get up. In the quiet of the bedroom hall, I can hear his collar jingle about his neck as he stretches, yawns, scratches, and whines. His loud waking ritual signals he needs to go outside; and then get his breakfast the instant he returns. I know if I pretend to sleep, he won't wake me. He'll rouse whose bed he slept in. Upstairs he'll venture in the yard before returning for his breakfast reward. Thanking whomever fed him, with a burp to the face.

Thoughts on Milk Drinkers, Long Island Sunsets, & Friday Nights

Brittney likes milk.  She drinks a glass or two a day, when she can.  Alyssa doesn't like milk.  Whenever she slept over when we were kids, we'd demand pancakes (or make them ourselves, when our moms deemed us worthy of touching the stove), and I'd automatically grab the milk from the fridge.  Alyssa would ask for water, in  her quiet, unobtrusive way.

I don't really remember anyone else's milk status, but I do remember all of us sitting around my old dining room table after a birthday sleepover, eating pancakes and sausage and drinking our drinks of choice.  I seem to remember a lot of my friends requesting tap water back in those days.


Saturday, May 14, 2011

An Introduction is in Order...

Hello, hello, hello, and welcome!  Katie speaking, known as katiemickgee in most of the Internet realm, and ready to introduce you to what we here at "Big Myth We Live" hope will become something of a phenomenon among the blogging, writing, and casually observing set.

The Memoir Project is currently in its infant stages, born mere days prior to this introductory post, sprung from a love of reading, a love of writing, and a love of the mundane.  Everyone has tiny details they notice, the little bits and pieces of life that make the life you live uniquely yours.  It's the way the sun tumbles off the windowsill in the morning, as you read the paper and drink your tea.  It's the cat fur on the sofa and the chew toy abandoned in the corner.  It's the framed photographs on the wall, or the seventh grade art projects hidden under your bed.  It's the CDs stacked in the closet, the rain on the pavement, the way you enunciate a favorite word, listening to a friend talk about their favorite things.  It's your life.  And every single aspect of it is absolutely, unmistakably important.