Life As a Pearl

So here's a true story about me: I have a daughter who is turning three on Thanksgiving. This will be the third birthday I've celebrated with her--the only one I missed out on was her actual birth. So, day of birth aside, we've spent some time together. During that time, my daughter's hair has grown [out of control]. It's grown and it's grown and because maintaining hair is the responsibility of the parent, I've made numerous appointments to cut her precious little afro. I have not, however, pulled the trigger. Why, you ask? It's just hair, you say. Wild hair, for that matter. Why don't you just take that baby [not at all a baby anymore] to a Great Clips and get her shaped up? Well, aren't you smug. I think I mentioned earlier, I've tried. I really have. But beyond the fact that my little lady would sooner stick her hand in a wood chipper than sit in a salon chair, I. Just. Can't. I could lie to you. I could let all this be her ...

To Sir With Love Dangerous Minds Dead Poets Society Finding Forrester Boston Public Mona Lisa Smile etc. I love lists. Did that list do anything for you? Did it, at the very least, get a song stuck in your head? Come one. You're either humming Lulu or Coolio right now, depending on your era. I'm humming both and it's kind of an awkward mashup. If you're good at anything other than getting songs stuck in your head, you might have noticed a pattern to my picks. If you're not actually good beyond the song thing, read on. You'll surely understand the connection before I'm done here.  For a few years now, I've been teaching college writing classes--some creative, some academic. And while I know my actual job is to get them proficient at writing, I'm an overachiever. I look at these students and I see infinite potential. Then I put my glasses on, and the reality comes into focus: I'm staring at a room full of incredibly lucky k...

You know how your Great Aunt Margaret always looks at your baby's long fingers and says she's going to be a piano player? And how that guy bagging your groceries always tells you your slightly-taller-than-average boy is going to be a basketball player? Or how, when you accidentally leave the scissors on the counter and your toddler gets ahold of them, she's going to be a Monster Truck driver for three months because of that sweet mullet she gives herself? Well...I've got a long-legged African baby. And let me tell you, folks, she's destined to be a runner. At least that's what I've been told by no less than three thousand people in the last two years. If qualifying for the Olympics happened based on popular vote of the people, Ayana would have run last year. It would have been a staggering disappointment for Americans everywhere, but she'd have been there. (Shut up, fact checkers. I know the summer Olympics didn't happen last year.) But here...

Have you ever had a friend who makes you feel old? The one whose face registers confusion when you ask if she tore out the Haim or the Feldman poster from her Teen Bop. Apparently, she's a Team Edward, and that makes no sense to you. In your world, vampires sleep all day, party all night, never grow old, never die. In her world, they sparkle. In her world, Facebook is for old people. If you're not tweeting, you've got a foot in the grave. In her world, the drum solo in Coming in the Air Tonight isn't a religious experience. In fact, it isn't even a thing at all. In her world, Alanis Morissette doesn't actually exist. And she has a degree in gender studies (or something related). How is that even possible?! Well, my dear friend who makes me feel old (you know who you are and you know I LOVE you), you're welcome for making you listen to Jagged Little Pill (twice) a few months ago. You're welcome for making you a little older that night. You're ...

Not every topic in the world is made for blogging, right? I mean, I think we can all agree my rant about spiders was pretty much for me, although I did appreciate the input from my readers. I'm obviously not the only person alive who feels a pretty serious aversion to the creepies and crawlies; I'm just the only one boring enough to write about it. Whatever. A swing and a miss. But here's the thing. I think I've hit on a topic with universal appeal--something everyone  is going to want to read about. I'm sure it's obvious to most of you already just what that topic is; but for the rest of you stragglers... glutenfreesingles.com If you have trouble separating out those words to make some kind of sense, lemme help. Gluten Free Singles. Dot Com. Now let me just say something right now. I am the world's BIGGEST fan of the gluten free bandwagoners. I know people are (inexplicably) annoyed by these folks who choose a GF lifestyle; but not me! As a lifelo...

Remember that time you were in high school and you listened to all the really cool music, but when you went to work they had it on the country station because it was the only station in town so you learned all the words to a lot of late 90s country songs? No? Well then you didn't live my life. Either that, or you don't care for run on sentences the way I do. Whatever. Obviously this is a story about me, so don't worry about it.  So there I was, filing insurance claims, answering phones, and wishing this one-horse town would get a second horse and, just maybe, a rock station. Well as my mother always said, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. In this case, the beggars got all the horses they could handle (most of them are tied up in front yards on Central Avenue). But no dice on that radio station. I could be wrong, but I believe even the one from my high school years is now a thing of the past. It's taking me too long to get to my point. What I'...

No, this isn't a post about how my brother and I have ended up sharing our family's vacation home for the fall. But that would  be an interesting post. And would mostly be a detailed list of who won the classic game of Sorry when. This is also not a post about the family who is renting my town home while I'm here in Pitkin. But that might be a good story too, considering the last text I got from the gentlemen was whether on not I'd left an adult hamper. I'm honestly not sure if a laundry basket falls within the parameters of "furnished." Nope. Jesse is a fun person to share space with, and my renters seem like truly lovely people. Fun and lovely. Just the kind of atmosphere I'm trying to create in my living space. But for years--my whole life, even--I've been battling an enemy that's more creepy than fun, more crawly than lovely. I'm talking about spiders, people. The big ones and the small ones and the hairy ones. The poisonous varie...