Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!

you have many talents...

(...in bed).

Thank you, ten dollar minimum chinese food delivery guy, for fresh vegetables and rice. Bless your little tip-loving heart. I've been living on... well, nothing, popcorn, sugar free popsicles, etc. - and I needed some substance.

I've been all caught up making these mix tapes I'm in the middle of. All stuck, all not being able to do anything else at night at home until I get them to a place where I've done all I can do on them.

"Good afternoon, it's a great day at Jeff Lewis's office. How may I help you?"

keep me searching for a heart of gold
you keep me searching and I'm growing old
keep me searching for a heart of gold
I've been a miner for a heart of gold

there's no way to the heart better than awkwardly -

I fucking love mix tapes. In a year or so, I'll be better at them. Like going to the gym, only different, but the same... we have these rules right now, hardcore rules, 90 minute tape rules, that make me reminisce about rented apartments and notepads and times all mapped out and watching as the end of the tape creeps and unwinds, fingers crossed, all hoping it's good.

The days are ticking down and I feel like there's no way everything is going to get done. This weekend is When Things Really Get Serious, where kitchen things start going away and big bags start going to Goodwill. Buddy's new mom is picking him up on Friday, or more accurately, I am bringing him over, so I can see where he's going to be setting up shop. Her name is Lori, and she's awesome, and she says things like, "Well, it's his house really, I just am going to get to live here" and when she sees him she all nuzzles up with him and lets him bite her and is just frigging awesome. When I met her at the meeting last Friday, she had pictures all printed out and everything. Color. The size of a whole piece of paper. I'm so, so lucky.

I love aching. I wonder if anyone aches for me. I'm reminded of that card where it says something like to the world, you may be one person, but to one person, you may be the world. How amazing. Speaking of all that, I did some hardcore stepwork last night, all making lists of what I am and what I'm not, and what I want and what I don't. This stuff is so fucking enlightening (fucking enlightening, you like that?) and you know what was on the top of the "I want" list? Mix tapes. I want mix tapes. It's a big list, and Gale was all like, so what if you met a guy that worked in a bottling factory, and I was like, well, he'd better know who Glen Hansard is. Gale, suprisingly, has no knowledge of mix tapes. I ached for her, just briefly, and her husband is a musician, and I'm sure he could make her one. I'm going to see if he can do it for her for her birthday. So she really knows what I mean, you know? Besides, stringing together love songs is easy. It's telling a past story of ache accurately that's harder I think. There's so much hope and open pastures with love, real love, I think, even though I don't think I know what that is.

all busking and screaming

seven pounds!