yeasayer

fuck. this was good. it was really good. any show that can capture my attention for more than four songs is doing a fucking stand up job.
pete, the music writer guy who is friends with kate, was standing next to us at the show. he said he just saw them at pitchfork and they changed his life. he said he had a moment of self-actualization during their show. lolz.
the sound is something super epic.
something like an 80's prom dream where you run out of the gym doors with a ripped pink dress and mascara running down your cheeks.
that's what it sounds like to me at least.
a bit duran duran meets paul simon's "graceland"
made my week.

loving this

"I saw my belly's electric red hair
toward my breasts, feathered bird,
And I laughed.
I saw humanity vomit in a shaky church basin
And I did not listen to my heart.
I saw a camel dressed and leaving for Mecca
Without the thousand and one sand vendors and the scaly
Of the black crowds.
But I could not go with them
Laziness had reduced the better part of my fervor
And routine had retrieved the dislocated
Dance of the big toe."
Joyce Mansour

peter pan syndrome

i just want to work at exactly the times i want to work! is that so much to ask!
maybe not.

each day here i get a little bit closer to freelance.
i really like the idea of being my own boss but i also see how that can entail quite a bit more work that this. taxes and health insurance being gigantic pains in the ass.
it is a little bit nice to not think about anything, drive to the same place at the same time everyday and have people tell you were you're going to go. not bad at all.
so i guess i will be making my third pros and cons list of the week. somehow they just manage to make me more frustrated. but i like lists.

it's summer again. and i have still managed to temporarily suspend every notion that i am an adult. somehow, every year at this time, i expect work to let out.
"see you guys in the fall. have an awesome summer! call me!"
i am still wondering why i am not running through the sprinkler right now. instead i am buttoned into a very scratchy, coco channel rip off staring at the glowing rectangle and answering stupid phone calls.
everyone with half a heart has peter pan syndrome.
it's just harder to deal with when it's this sweet outside.

Hindsight is 50/50.

Nostalgia is a pile of mud.
A chunk of something,
Shaped into nothing.
A useless emotion.
A silly notion,
To look back and think it will still be there.
You drive into the sunset and listen to the music swell.
It’s a lie and you know it.

Hindsight is 50/50.
Half true and half what you wanted to do.

You’re not going anywhere.
You think you’re going somewhere.
Your tires are stuck in the mud.
Watch the horizon.
You’re stuck in the mud.

If you can feel anything,
It’s because of something
You felt before.
There is nothing new.
The wheel rotates.
But the pattern is a predictable.
It is a circle.
Nothing ever changes.
You are not new
You are not new.

No inspiration will come.
If it was ever there,
It’s there now.
And if it never lived inside you
It never will
It never will.

dear maniac lifestyle

Once again white-knuckling the pendulum as it swings wildly to the other side. I guess it was inevitable that I go shake the willies out after being in virtual isolation for such a long time. I am having pendulum remorse this morning.
I woke up almost unable to breathe from the insane amount of cigarettes I have smoked in the last three weeks. Then I decided, masochist that I am, I would step on the scale, just to check in. Shitballs. Worst idea ever. I have pretty much eaten my weight in butter and pizza this week. I also haven’t run for pretty much the entire month of may. (which is more the fault of my bum foot, but still not much of an excuse.) I also muddled through this morning putting the milk in the makeup drawer and pouring coffee into not-a-mug. I haven’t slept. Not a good sleep. Not in a while. It’s starting to inhibit my ability to drive myself from A to B in a safe manner.

I need to find a sustainable lifestyle before I totally lose my shit. Don’t get me wrong, hanging out with friends and getting back into karaoke is most excellent fun. But I can’t see myself going in a good direction here. I used to look at Kate and wonder how the hell she does it. Rage, work, rage, work. But now I know how she does it. She comes home from work and goes directly to bed. That kind of sleep schedule is a sure fire way to give me a case of the depressos.

Also, summer is upon us now and I have every intention of behaving like a high school senior. I want to go swimming at night, attend bonfires in back yards, assume no responsibility whatsoever and gossip about other people’s boyfriends. Now that I’m 27, all I want to do is act like I’m 17 again. I refuse to get old.

dangerous cocktail

hello blog.
i kind of hate you.
i want to tell you my feelings but you just come back to bite me in the ass.
that's why all the neglect.

well, with that out of my system, i had a miraculously good saturday. got up at 6:45. went to running club in dublin for the first time ever. I would say about 40 people showed up. A bit uncomfortable at first, but they warmed up. It was 25 degrees at 8:00. I realized later that the hour and the cold weather were the culprits in the cloud of silence and cruel glares that preceded the run.
I ran with a woman who looked about my age named Trish. She has two children and lives in dublin. She wanted to talk about the price hikes in country club fees. Needless to say, we had a hard time relating. I redirected her attention to the run and things got better. She definitely pushed me to make it all 10 miles. (and at a respectable pace)
i thought i might lay down in a dublin soccer field and die right around 8.5 miles, but i finished. Praise allah.
afterwards, everyone puts their cute post-race flips flops and hoodies on and sits on the floor of columbus running company with mugs of coffee and talks about running.
wow. people really do this. creepily, it has a bit of the same vibe as a christian sunday night youth group. thankfully, sans dogma and doctrine. so i will continue to go.
i met a lot of cute girls in my age group who wanted to talk my face off about running, triathlons and marriage. righteously awesome.
to be noted: finished a 10 mile course, drinking black coffee and talking to people you feel like you might really get along with is a dangerous and delightful cocktail.
i was delirious.
after realizing i had chugged 3 cups of coffee and talked for over an hour, i bolted out to drive down to athens to visit my favorite graduated student.
glorious day. sunny, all the trees were blossoming.
evie and i spent the majority of the afternoon cooking our faces on the back porch and walking around "town".
we had sammies, took a rest and went out for more food.
casa is, by far, my favorite restaurant right now. most delicious. we ordered vacation drinks and laughed at my half-face sunburn. I had temporarily forgotten how delicious it is to talk to a friend for twelve hours straight.
remarkably good.

also, we saw saturn's rings through a giant telescope on campus. pretty sure it was some sort of astronomy class.
crazy good day.

oats and berries

I am constantly oscillating from loving my newfangled peaceful life to wanting to rip my clothes off and run down the street smoking a joint. Let’s be honest, I’ve had a big life shift in the last 2 years. It’s been a gradual turn to the hemingwayesque lifestyle I’m leading. (Minus the self-loathing and alcoholism.) But I will say I’m shifting in my seat a bit. My proverbial ass is numb.
Living in the country has been a lot like eating right and exercising. I know that it’s good for me in the end, but the daily grind of eating oats and berries instead of double deep fried fatty-fatso is really exhausting.
My body has thanked me for not drinking 6 nights a week. It’s a lot easier to keep weight off when you’re not consumed 4000 calories of Strongbow and cherry bombs. But I’m now lacking in a diverse Rolodex of fresh anecdotes.
I can no longer tell you about how last weekend I was so drunk and out of control that after getting water on my shirt, I told everyone I had hypothermia, took a bath during a party and came out wearing a towel and a bubble bath beard screaming, “I’m Abe Lincoln”. Or how I was so drunk I got in someone else’s car and tried to start it. Or maybe how I woke up with a sharpie message on my stomach proclaiming that “laurensbelly.com” was a real website. No, sir.
But I can tell you how I warmed up a little beanbag for my back pain, applied it to myself and watched a documentary on fonts. Or how I got so crazy one day I actually put some chocolate into my homemade granola. Or perhaps how I did an extra 10 minutes on the stationary bike at the Y. I’m so out of control.
Don’t get me wrong, I get away. I go on vacation just about three times a year. We go south, we go to the city, we ski. My mother’s not happy unless we’re vacationing one a quarterly basis. And that suits me just fine.
It’s the nightly excursion that I’m missing. Having a mate has tamed even the way a look. I used to cut my bangs short, wear black nail polish and dress like a life sized Polly Pocket. I really don’t have much of a need for that anymore. Besides, if I dressed now the way I did then, the checkout girl at the local Marysville grocery store would look at me with a bewilderment I don’t think I really need at the end of a long day.
Maybe this is what I’ve always wanted. Other people seem to think it suits me just perfectly.
My sister, for example, who when asked has described my ideal night out as a “bike ride to dairy queen followed by reading country living magazine and going to be at 10”.
At the end of the day, it has to be about what I want. The pros and cons list is short and obscure.
I’m pretty sure I prefer the experience of running on an open country road, wind at my back, wild birds in the sky, to the irritation of stopping for red lights and hurdling homeless people, potholes and Sparks cans.
I prefer going to bed in the silence of a Marysville night, with Clio the cat getting in my lap over “Bombs over Baghdad” vibrating my storm windows and the lights from the ghetto bird in my eyes.
I prefer chatting with the good women of the Marysville Lutheran Church at a Weight Watchers meeting over pretending to listen to some drunk girl with bangs and shiny gold leggings at Skully’s on a Thursday night talk about how she’s so over going to Skully’s on Thursday nights.
I think, in the end that it just means I crave the superficial. I like lipstick, boobs, action movies, fashion, cartoons, parties, cocktails, high heels, art, shopping, cars, and pop music. I long for all that deep-fried fatty culture.
I guess what I’m saying is I’m learning to like the oats and berries.

i really like my friends.
it was pretty killer of evie to come all the way out to marysville to play games. plus she brought homemade soap. which, everyone knows, is the key to my heart.
extreme happiness.

90 day challenge

I have a new roommate! matty is his namo. Just as you think you are passed the age for having random roommates, here comes matt. fresh back from prague and thailand with plenty of explicit stories to prove it.
Matt got a job teaching at a columbus city school. They interviewed him two weeks ago, he started last tuesday. They wasted no time in filling the pregnany leave sub position. He seems to like it so far, but then again, he's had two snow days. Bastard.

Things are great so far. He goes to bed early, gets up early and eats healthy foods. We are definintely creating a wonderful environment here. Jimmy, being naturally healthy had already created that environment but i've been pretty good at forcing whole pizzas and pitchers of beer down his throat.

Now, it's a whole new game. We've started the 90 day challenge.
100 pushups, 100 situps
everday
for 90 days.
In addition to the actual work is the accountability. You have to mark when you've completed your set and also (when we have the time) get your picture taken with your shirt off to show your progress. Zoiks. It's horrifying. (for everyone but jimmy)


Being that jimmy is a total documentary freak, this has us thinking about making a short docudrama about our struggles and triumphs as we make our transformation into hard bodies.
As matt says, "fight club by may".
This can't really be my model persay. But i have to say, i can already feel a difference. I don't think i have had an abdominal muscle that you could identify since i was seven. So, this could be awesome. I have high hopes.

This weekend? Back to athens for evietime. Wish i could stay longer. Feels like a retreat down there. Maybe my tune will change when i see it with all of the snow.
better bundle.

defiance ohio

evie's camera makes me want a better camera. when she takes pictures of breakfast, it looks like the cover of gourmet magazine. when i take pictures of breakfast it looks like breakfast. which can be grim.

i'm running again. full speed. it's coming along slowly. i've started doing it at six in the morning instead of six at night, which is surpirsingly far more refreshing. i'd like to run a half marathon this year, but the idea kind of terrifies me. then again, so did a triathlon. so i should just shut up and do it.

i feel like i'm supposed to be having an identity crisis right now, but i'm too tired to even bother.
i don't think i could stand to keep this current job for more than three years. ok, maybe four. but after that, no way. i honestly can't even imagine having the same career for the rest of my life. i don't even really do the same thing everyday.
i drive to different meetings, different hospitals. i think it's just the 8 to 5 thing that really gets me.
i sound like my mother, but i mean it when i say that when i get home, i'm just done with the day.
tonight i planned to work out. instead i ate sugar cookies, painted my toenails and re-watched the best episodes of buffy. not very productive.
if winter wasn't so god damned long i'd be outside every night. i defy you, awful ohio winter.
i'm quitting hip hop class. i'm fed up with my 23 year old skinny, narcissistic teacher. she's always saying things like "my boyfriend can do this crazy sick move..." i'm not interested. she wastes my cardio time by talking about how fat she looks in the mirror. she weighs about 110 and she's my height. yeah, fuck that girl. we're through.
so now i'm off to investigate other marysville activities. the offerings are surprisingly diverse.