Azores Day 10: My Love/Hate for the Ocean Grows

It was a perfect beach day, Blog. I perused two swimming holes; one where I "almost died" and another that has proven to be my favorite despite it being the location of where my phone was ruined the last time I was here.

Tides, man. I just can't get over them.

 I "almost died" because a wave knocked me back onto some rocks at the Vila Nova swimming hole pictured above. My fear of the ocean is so great, that when I see it coming for me with all its might, I am paralyzed with fear and do things like fall over on to sharp rocks and scrape my knee. To be fair, I would have been fine had the people hogging the railing let a tourist through, but alas, I was left with nothing to grab onto and thousands of gallons of water coming at me, bro. Blood was drawn, but in the end I survived. Obviously. Because I went to another swimming hole afterward.

Swimming hole #2 has a name I can't remember and a vendetta against my phone.

Though I lost a phone that is more expensive than my car the last time I was at this locale, I have to admit it's my favorite swimming hole on the island (so far). Sure the pictures just make it look like a bunch of concrete was poured on some rocks, but this place is the bomb. The accessible water was clear and deep today as we showed up at high tide. Kids were diving off of the high cliffs into narrow channels and Carly and I even were brave enough to jump off a ledge a few times into the really really salty (seriously is the Atlantic more salty than other salty bodies of water?) water.

When I was here in May of 2012, this was the place where Carly and I foolishly forgot about the moon's gravitational pull on our planet's oceans as we left our belongings on what we thought was dry ground and went off exploring all the rocks and shit that this awesome beach has to offer. After a short 15 minutes we returned to find our stuff all but washed away by the incoming tide. Turns out salt water is the absolute worst thing to happen to an iPhone and I lost all 300 pictures I had taken during my previous four days on the island.

The whole ordeal might be a little bit why I'm so thoroughly documenting my second time visiting this obscure place. Also, I doubt I'll ever be back here again.

Well, today Carly and I made sure we stayed far away from the water with our belongings. But that didn't stop us from drinking tiny beers and standing on a ledge with Portuguese people flying, flipping, and diving into the water all around us. Carly almost got hit by a child in a speedo. It was the best thing I witnessed all day.

That's all for today. I've turned into a total beach bum who fears the ocean. Tomorrow should entail sewing (what?!), more Air Force fun with Thirsty Thursday, and a game called Bunko. I'm somewhat excited.

Azores Day 8: Awkward Beach II - The Tide Is In

Blog, I meant to ask Casey and Carly what the far-off booms are that I've been hearing throughout the evening, but they went to bed and I just realized that I'm not in America anymore. "Left-over Fourth of July fireworks" isn't a viable excuse here. Neither is "Portuguese people love celebrating our independence a month and a half late and on our behalf".

I guess it's just some weird Europe or Air Force thing that I don't know about. STORY OF MY ISLAND LIFE.

Another story from my island life is my excursion to the beach today. You might remember my first encounter with the Vila Nova beach from just a week ago. In case you don't, then you clearly have either a tragic case of amnesia or no interest in yourself Blog, both of which are disappointing situations. But fine, I'll baby you as I am wont to do and will sum up my last Vila Nova beach experience by saying that it was awkward. It was awkward because I overthink my existence when I'm alone in new and strange places and don't know how to just go into the goddamned water already.

But today, Blog. Today I found a nice spot that was both accessible to, and safe from the water. I set up camp and immediately made my way down to the stairs where last time I realized I didn't know the Portuguese word for hello (it's ola) when I encountered two ladies already in the water. Today it was just dudes in speedos and more small children running around on slick concrete. And today I knew what I needed to do. I walked down the stairs into the water and swam Blog. I swam for a full five minutes and then got scared that the ocean was going to kill me because the tide was high and water was flowing over the slick concrete and that kind of shit is just scary when you're literally from the geographic center of North America, ok? Besides I needed to write my morning pages for the Artist's Way even though by this time it was the afternoon. Whatever, Julia Cameron. I'm giving it my best shot.

The ocean can do things like DEVOUR CONCRETE STAIRS. Beware.

Despite all the self deprecation, it was a successful afternoon at the beach! Until it started raining and I was forced to pack up and walk back to the casa de McSwenny. But hey! I took a sweet scenery picture because that's what you do when you're on vacation, right?

Where Island Meets Ocean: A Love Story

Tomorrow? I'll probably take a picture of a cow. Get ready!

Azores Day 5: Island Lady Friends

Real quick, Blog. I'm drunk and I hung out with these ladies all day (hence me being drunk; I don't do this on my own).

Lajes goodness at its best.

Like I said, I'm drunk. And it's late (for this time zone anyway) so I'm going to bed. I just didn't want to miss a day blogging. Even if it's just a quick "hey look at this awesome group of island girlfriends I have". That's right Blog. I don't mind bragging about my friends. Because they're awesome and salty and sunburnt because we all hung out at the beach today. Yes this is a surfacey "my life is awesome" post, but I truly feel lucky that I can go to a (seemingly) random island and end up with a solid group of lady friends to hang out with. I might as well show my gratitude for it via the internet.

I'm being bold putting a bikini picture up because I'm drunk and everything is a good idea right now.

Bye!

My Yearly Fringe Post: 2013

I didn't write in July, Blog. I didn't do it. It's the first whole month I've missed blogging-wise in several years. I'm sure your Blog-heart is broken, as I know mine is. There's only one way to come back from the tragedy, Blog. It's time for my yearly Fringe post.

What's my yearly Fringe post, you ask? Why, you can take a look at what I had to say last year to get an idea. Basically I've fallen into this habit where every August I express my complex and conflicted feelings about the Minnesota Fringe Festival to my one and only Blog, Blog. That's you. Never forget it.

Fringe has to do with theatre and theatre, unfortunately (fortunately?), is the one thing in this world that I love to do. Ever since I was cast as a cow in the Missoula Children's Theatre production of Beauty and the Beast when I was 7 years old, I have been in love with, and a slave to the performing arts. Because of this, the Minnesota Fringe Festival  is both my best friend and my worst enemy. It provides me with the most straightforward opportunity to participate within the vibrant theatre and performing arts community that lives in Minneapolis. And the reason I love living in Minneapolis is because of that vibrant theatre and performing arts community's presence. I want to be in you, vibrant theatre and performing arts community. Luckily the Fringe Festival allows me to penetrate you without the aid of cheesy pick up lines or date rape drugs. We can just exist together and share our love and art and a beer together at The Crooked Pint after 11 o'clock on any given night come the first two weeks of August.

And the first week of those two weeks is just like the start of any relationship. It's new and exciting. It's blissful and carefree. We've opened our show! Everyone remembered their lines! My friends loved it! I've gotten a chance to make myself completely vulnerable by exposing my heart and feelings and abilities on a stage in front of an audience and it's all been accepted! I don't see any sort of an end to this huge success! I'm living in a dream that has only four performances left and you'd better buy your ticket now so you can live this incredible fantasy with me!

Then the halfway point of the festival hits and shit starts getting real. Real real, yo. You get a review like this one and don't know what to do with yourself. Your initial reaction is one of rage which then develops into defeat. "I'll never do theatre again," you say to yourself. "This is my last Fringe," you decide. "I guess I should get to slitting my wrists now since that's the only viable response to this entire situation," you reason.

A good night's sleep later, you realize that everyone is entitled to their opinion and that bad reviews, even scathing ones that seem to almost personally attack you and/or others within your production, are a means to build character and even improve the art that both nurtures and dominates you. "Who cares what they think?" you declare. "I'm just as worthy of being a part of this festival as they are!" You know it's true. At least you keep telling that to yourself in order to prevent the blade from slicing the translucent skin covering your vulnerable wri--err--feelings and emotions and stuff.

Here's the ridiculous part: after all the emotional turmoil that comes with your beating heart being slashed to bits in a public arena for all to see, you want to do it again. You completely and wholly intend on submitting your application next January. You know you'll be heartbroken and disappointed if your number isn't drawn. You already know in what direction you'll take things if it is. We are slaves to this sick and wonderful thing. Year after year after year. We love it and we hate it but for some reason we can't live without it and fortunately (unfortunately?) we have realized that and have managed to produce one of the most prominent Fringe Festivals in the country.

Thanks vibrant theatre and performing arts community of Minneapolis. You're one of a kind and I'm both sad and relieved that this version of our summer camp is coming to an end in just a few days.

Here's to next year! (and my number being drawn, because it has yet to be)

I Tried to Avoid Spoilers, but Maybe Ignore This if You Haven't Seen the Most Recent Episode of Downton Abbey

Blog.

Downton Abbey.

W.

T.

F.

I haven't cared about a TV series in a very long time, and now I know why. IT IS AN EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER. Caring about fictional TV characters sucks. I'm depressed about make believe things, Blog. Make believe things that happened 90 years ago, 4,000 miles away. This has absolutely nothing to do with me, BUT OH HOW IT DOES.

A while back, I let you know about how Downton Abbey was a catalyst for me to feel feelings again (coincidentally on the same day I auditioned for the theatre I'm doing right now). It has since turned into an evening obsession since I realized I could successfully stream season 3 from the PBS website using various hotel wireless connections that prove to be better than what I have at home.

And then last night I realized season 3's finale was on PBS itself. On the actual TV, Blog. I watched it as myself and every other American who cares about fancy parties and servant snobbery began to HATE JULIAN FELLOWES FOR CREATING THIS DEVASTATING WEB OF LIFE AND DEATH THAT WE CAN'T QUIT.

Why'd you do it, Julian? Why?

Instead of feeling alive as I once did, I feel dead. Just like some of the cast, APPARENTLY.

Someone who watches this show, please come down to The South and hold me. Andy knows nothing about this. At least I got him into The Bachelor enough so we can bitch about Sean and the harem of waifs he's been whittling down over the last few weeks.

But Downton, Blog. WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN AT DOWNTON?!

I need to sleep now. Good night.

It's Time To Ramble

I think the summer weather makes it less enticing to spend an evening drinking and writing in you, Blog. No offense to you, it's just the weather. Sunday evenings are probably the most consistent evenings I have these days. They are usually the evenings I have to myself. Where I cook, do laundry, catch up on my domestic duties...

I've decided I'm a commitment-phobe in the furniture department. For some reason I've ended up being a 28 year old woman who sleeps on a mattress on the floor. I'll be the first to admit that I'm no homemaker, but this is ridiculous. Why don't I have a bed, Blog? I am able to spend thousands of dollars so I can go to Europe on a regular basis, but I can't spare a couple hundred for a simple bed frame? This needs to come to an end. Next weekend (if I don't end up going to Winona for some Great River Shakespeare Festival action) I'm going to Ikea to peruse beds. It's going to happen. It needs to happen.

Another grown-up thing I'm trying my hand at is having and using a credit card. I applied for one, Blog, and I was approved! I don't know why I was afraid of being denied. Maybe because the only other time in my life that I tried applying for a credit card I was denied because I didn't already have a credit card.

Yes, I get it. I'm a 28 year old woman who sleeps on a mattress and has never had a credit card. Really, we can make me sound like a pathetic failure at life it we really wanted to. While we're at it, I've never seen The Princess Bride. I even have a copy here in my apartment, but have no way of watching it because this computer is so old the DVD drive doesn't work. So close, yet so far. And in the end, I frankly don't give a shit.

That's the thing. Other people want me to see the Princess Bride. Society wants me to have a credit card and a bed. I'm perfectly happy without any of those things in my life, but at the same time outside pressures have brought me to a crux. If I'm not going to get married and have kids, I might as well have a fucking bed, right? I might as well commit to something besides a family, since that's just not happening for me right now. I might as well buy slabs of particle board and curse and swear for hours as I torque the shit out of the hardware that holds it all together... Just so that my mattress isn't lying directly on the ground. God it's so stupid.

I think I'm going to start a thing on Facebook, Blog. I'm going to post the following picture of my journal from my adolescence in hopes that others will follow so we can all share the ridiculousness that used to live in all of our minds. Also, it happened to come up during my high school reunion that the girls in my class thought Mr. Voigt was sexist; a memory I had completely forgotten about. But apparently I had shared my concerns about the whole debacle with Betsy, the pre-internet version of you, Blog. (I used to be fancier in my writing entity naming in those days.

Dear Betsy, I'm going to state!! In music that is. I love music. I just wrote a really emotional letter to Angela.  I feel better now. I had to do it. I said all the things I love and stuff. It made me cry. Mother is going to make me turn off my radio and go to sleep so this might not be long. All the girls in my class (including me) want to get Mr. Voigt fired. He's sexist. Me and Tiff were doing cartwheels because the weights we needed were being taken so we were bored. And he made us run laps for 10 minutes. And then the boys would just sit around and they didn't run laps. I could talk forever on this but I have to go to sleep. Gotta go!! -Loving Sam

That's right Blog. I used to sign everything with the moniker "Loving Sam".

With that, I'm out.

-Loving Sam

It Happens

Blog. Yesterday it was 92 degrees. As you can probably tell, my apartment was that of a sauna. That's why I didn't really spend any time here yesterday. Instead I went down to the lake to sun (burn) myself and enjoy the cool, clear water that the city of lakes has to offer me. I memorized lines, listened to music, and watched the cutest little puppy you ever did see frolic and play in the shade of a tree with his owner. Oh special lake day! The sun even went behind a cloud for awhile so my pale body could take a break from the glaring rays that were attacking it with both vicious heat and healthy vitamin D. I ended up getting a really weird sun burn that covers the right side of my back and a strip of my leg since I don't really have an eye for even sunscreen coverage and also have trouble reaching my shoulder blades.

Anyway, after some glorious lake time, I found myself rushing home only to have enough time to throw the juice I had purchased at Lund's for some lake hydration into my fridge and change out of my annoying moist (that's right, I said moist) bathing suit into some dryer duds before heading off to rehearsal for that show I was memorizing lines for. After spending three hours in a sweltering rehearsal room (but not as sweltering as my apartment, mind you) and saying things like "I hope you like Supervalu mayonnaise" and "I've been testing all the pens I found in my purse to see which ones still work" with a heavy northern accent and somewhat mannish voice, Sam, Molly , and I went to the BLB for some dinner. Sure it was the third, maybe fourth time I had eaten out all weekend, but whatever. Before I knew it I found myself at Improv A-Go-Go for the first time in YEARS laughing at people I somehow have the priveledge of knowing personally. Lucky me.

All in all it was a lovely day where I got to touch base with my theater/improv friends and enjoy some good rehearsal and performances. I even got to escape the heat a bit by finding solace in the air conditioned theater. Hooray!

On my way home, I was reminded my my hot house of a living space, so I decided to stop by the CVS and get some ice cream so I'd have a cool treat for when I was sweating in front of you, Blog. I always get fat in the summer because of this kind of shit. I lay around in the sun and then I eat ice cream. I'm so going for a run after I post this...

I digress, I bought the ice cream and went on my way home. Upon entering the hell fire that I call home, I noticed something strange. There was a light coming from my kitchen area. And not like I had left a light on. No, instead it was as if a night light had been turned on as if to gently guide my blind self through my darkened kitchen/dining spot. But hark! I do not have such a light in that part of my apartment. Whaa??

I turned the corner only to find to my horror that my refrigerator door was slightly ajar and the gentle light I had noticed was that from the light inside. My mind slowly did some what I call "life math" and added it all up to equal the realization that ALL MY FOOD HAS GONE BAD. And then a few minutes later... I HAVE NOWHERE TO PUT THIS ICE CREAM I JUST BOUGHT since my freezer had been affected by this as well. F.

I hastened to shut the door (that's right, hastened) and then opened it up again to see what damage had been done. Since I don't really eat regular food, it wasn't as bad as I had initially thought. I think the worst of it was the half gallon of unopened milk that I had purchased just a couple days before. Everything else, the butter, the wine, the orange juice... I had hope for.

Turns out that what ended up being the most annoying thing was the fact that I couldn't put ice in the lukewarm water that comes out of my faucet. That and I had to eat a whole pint of ice cream. I couldn't bring myself to let so much dairy go to waste after the initial shock of losing an entire half gallon of milk. But after sweating and sweating in my apartment, I needed to hydrate and cool off. That is hard to do when you leave your refrigerator open for six hours in a 90 degree room.

But then things started turning up. Half an hour after I got home, a vicious wind and rain storm blew threw the 'hood and cooled everything down. I probably should have closed my windows just in case something like lightening or a tree came flying through in an attempt to attack me, but I considered this opportunity to cool off the oven I live in too good to pass up. So I sat here getting rained on and talking to Emily on gchat. It felt glorious.

AND! The maverick in me came home today and hoped, just hoped that maybe that milk hadn't gone bad. Maybe, just maybe milk can still be good after sitting in 90 degrees for six hours. You never know until you reluctantly open it up, smell it, and slowly pour it down the inside of a glass just to be sure. You never know if milk is truly bad until you taste it. And so I did. And the milk was cold, smooth, and... delicious! Yay! I didn't completely waste $2.49!

Although I'm pretty sure I gained a pound or seven from all that ice cream last night. Having a warm freezer shouldn't be an excuse for eating an entire pint of ice cream, but I guess it's a better one than having your heart broken or losing your job or something. That would suck.

Family Fourth

Blog, why haven't I taken up my family on invitations to the big Fourth of July bash they have every year? This weekend I went to my grandma's house and realized I haven't spent a summer day on Little Pine Lake in years. Seriously, years. The sandy shores that we played on when we were kids have washed away, but grandma's house and all the summertime memories that go along with it are still there. I got my first sunburn of the summer blog, and it was a real one. I actually went out on the water. I went to Zorbaz. I went swimming. I hung out with cousins. I did all the things I would do when I'd spend a week at grandma's in the summertime as a result of my parents attempting to get rid of their kids for a week. Well, everything but be towed behind grandpa's fishing boat in a sad attempt of tubing with a 40 horsepower motor designed for trolling the lake. But you know, I'm glad that wasn't experienced.

I was surrounded by family for a good solid 24 hours. Hanging out with family in bulk reminds you of how interesting, entertaining and annoying it is to hang out with people who are all kind of the same. My only regret is that I didn't get to experience going to see the fireworks after the baseball game in town and ooh and ahh with the rest of the Schmitz's. That, and the fact that I missed out on being a part of this gem of a boat parade entry complete with a canopy full of pre-teen girls in bikinis:

If you look closely you'll see patriotic decorations and the letter B. Why they didn't win is beyond me...

There's something really funny yet disappointing about having your cousins jump overboard in the middle of a boat  parade and swim to shore. I mean you guys can't ride out the whole route? Luckily this gave me a chance to make Mary find the patriotic beads that a boat previously had thrown our way, but missed the dock by about five feet.

Mary and Claire with the beast of a lab Libby, mid-parade.

 
Apparently every year, the float (no pun intended) that wins has nothing to do with the theme of Red White and Blue. I heard last year it was Batman. This year? It was even further off target. Can you say British Invasion, Yellow Submarine?

At least Clive is probably amused by this.

Anyway, it was fun for all. The weekend concluded with my grandpa ordering a ridiculous amount of chicken from the Pizza Ranch and everyone coming in from the lake, the cabin, the dock, California... and gathering around grandma's kitchen island to talk about what sports everyone plays and how annoying my cousin Nate was when he was a kid. The family get together is always an interesting one. Where else can you board a pontoon and hear the phrase "I changed everyone's diapers here except for Tina" and hear stories about your aunts cooling off in their training bras after bailing hay only to be happened upon by Uncle Ray? We cooed over a baby and yelled at the twins. We gave diving lessons to the kids and lost our bottoms when we attempted it ourselves (or maybe that was just me). And the great part is that it's all the same, just like it's always been, except everyone is taller, older, married, and pregnant. There's nothing like going home to grandma's...

My crippled cousin Anthony... or he just likes to take Grandma's Jazzy scooter off roading around the house.

Solitary Beach Time

Blog, there's something incredibly lonely about going to the beach by yourself. When you go, you see that most everyone else is at the beach with groups of friends or significant others. Beach by yourself means you lay there alone, reading, eavesdropping, and dipping into the water of your own means. It's wonderful.

Today is a perfect beach day and I have no one accompany me on my walk down to the water. I've run some errands and now I'm going to head down by myself. I'm going to bring a book, a notebook, my ipod and some alcohol. I'm going to lay out in the sun in my bathing suit this summer for the first time and enjoy the sun, reflect on my weird life, and soak in the fact that I (more than likely) am the only one there by myself, and only myself.

I have people in this life who love me with all their heart. Sadly, none of them are able to go to the beach with me today. But knowing that they are out there, living their own lives and allowing me to be a part of them is a great thing to remember when you find yourself at the beach alone.

Heat Wave

Blog. It's hot. Like, really hot.

I don't mean to make this all about the weather, but I'm finding it hard not to be exhausted from the simple act of typing. Kerin said it was 99 degrees this morning when she came into work. Bill Deville just told me it's 80 degrees outside. It's 11 o'clock at night blog. It should never be 80 degrees at 11 o'clock at night.

That being said, it's all better than lameass 15 degrees in January. You can't walk down to Sebastian Joe's with your best friend for some impromptu ice cream when it's 15 degrees in January. And that's why winter's a bitch, blog.

Why didn't I follow my instincts and find some sort of fan at Target today on my lunch break? The facade of the temperature-controlled environment in which I work strikes again!

In other news, I was going to write about something magical and now I've completely forgotten what it was. Oh yes! I revamped you blog. How do you like it? I figured argyle was an appropriate motif. It makes you look smarter than you really are. I know that sounds like it's a diss on you, but remember blog, I created you. I insult you, I insult myself. It's just more of the self deprecation that I so constantly crave.

The heat is fucking up my thoughts. I'm going to go attempt to sit as still as possible and see where that gets me.

Coping with Birdland

Blog. The summer consequences of this apartment are making themselves apparent.

I expected it to be warm up here in the summer time. I don't have air conditioning and I don't plan on figuring out how one would fit in the french windows I have in this place. That being said, I must invest in a fan sometime soon. The lack of air circulation in here is managable during these early days of June, but if it continues being 80 degrees for the next three months, I'm going to have to take steps to make this place have some generator of cool air that is not my fridge.

How annoying and perfectly Minnesotan of me. Was it only three months ago I was complaining about the bitter winter that wouldn't end? And here it is, over and done with; the sun is out, the snow is melted, and I'm sitting here hemming and hawing about the heat that hasn't even been here for a week. I'm scrapping my complaints and will just focus on the fact that I need a fan up here. I don't need it to be 15 degrees again. That is a stupid temperature that is not welcome here. Unless it's January. Then it can happen but that's only because it's supposed to happen in January and if I'm perfectly honest, I get a little creeped out if it doesn't get that cold in the winter.

I digress. The heat is an obvious and expected summer consequence of living on the second floor of a building that was erected 80 years ago. The not so obvious and unexpected summer consequence that has been made blaringly apparent to me over this weekend is that of the birds, blog. The birds.

They wake up at 5:30 every morning and as a result, so do I. That is when the chirping begins. Oh, how pleasant, you think. You wake up to the melodious tunes of nature right outside of your window every day. How mother nature of you. Yes, it can be pleasant, but I don't need to be up at 5:30 in the morning. In fact, I hate waking up extra early because then I get ready for my day and have extra time before I need to leave for this or that and then I get bored and agitated because I could still be sleeping. So when they wake me up at 5:30, I do just that. I try to go back to sleep. Turns out, going back to sleep is tricky when birds are incessently chirping right outside of your window. But so it goes in the morning. I'm usually out of here by 7:30 anyway so it's not like I have to listen to them all day or anything.

Unless it's the weekend and I have no plans. Then I might end up listening to them all day.

Did you know that birds don't only incessently chirp in the morning, but they do so all day long and into the evening as well? I believe they are currently on hour 14 of chatting away about whatever birdly activities they've been up to today. Seriously birds. What the hell do you have left to say?

"Oh, it's so fun being a bird. Look at me fly, other birds." 

"Hey, I made a nest out of twigs and grass and random garbage!" 

"I laid an egg! Bitchin'!"

The chirping is also amplified because my window faces the apartment building right next to mine and thus a corridor is created where they prance around all day bouncing their bird sounds off the bricks. Sometimes they'll even fly right up to my window and hang out for a minute or two. It's almost as if they're talking directly to me. What am I, Princess Aurora lost in the woods? Are you guys trying to tell me that that woodsman is actually a prince and I'm really a princess? What's that birds? Watch out for Malificent and her evil spinning wheel! Whatever do you mean? Oh birds! You're so knowledgeable!

You guys going to bed anytime soon? You're getting annoying.

I can't help but point out that Amy #3 would be so proud of me comparing my life to that of a Disney movie. If she didn't hate me with her entire being, I might have considered revealing this accomplishment to her. Oh well.

The easy fix to this bird problem would be to just shut my windows. But of course, that would leave my apartment especially sweltering. So I take the good with the bad and keep the fresh air flowing throughout the 400 square feet I call home and let the sounds of urban nature fill its confines. After awhile my ears and mind grow used to the chirping and chattering anyway and I kind of just block it all out of my present being. Of course, once I'm snapped out of that self-induced bird-ignoring trance, it's really hard to get back to into it.

Shhh blog. I think they are growing tired. They're like the fucking energizer bunny all day long, but come 8 or 9 o'clock they grow weary of the fun they've had with their aimless flying, nest building, and attempts to warn me of danger and begin to hunker down for the evening. This leaves me with a few nighttime hours of quiet and solitude, which I take in with the utmost appreciation. It's almost as if I am their mother and once they go to sleep for the night, mama gets out the vodka and enjoys some time to herself.

But between the heat and the birds, this apartment is a great one. I love how small it is here and my desk is right by my window. And while the view isn't so great and the sounds outside can drive me a little nutty, there's something incredibly quaint about writing in you blog, and glancing over to opened french windows that reveal the outside banter of sparrows, traffic, drunks, and people taking out their garbage. What a nice little romantic life this can be.