Catching Up With March

The thought of not having a single post for the month of March sent me into a tiny panic, especially considering that my my two-year blogiversary was on the 15th of this month. Yay, go me, wish I could have given it a big how-de-do like last year! But I guess two years isn't as exciting in blog anniversaries as it is in relationships, sobriety achievements, or employment security, at least not when you haven't been able to blog much, if any, lately.

Right now, I'm working on a huge field study for one of my classes on my Spring Break. Did I mention that Spring Break in grad school is kind of a joke? Thus far, I've done three classroom observations, caught up on housework, helped J move, and worked on the four papers I have due shortly after returning to class next week. I've been daydreaming about warm beaches and fruity drinks a lot, but it's not the same as the real deal.

Oh, did I mention I moved earlier this month myself? S and I got kicked out of our old house by the aforementioned banshee of a roommate for various reasons, including but not limited to a coffee maker. It was an added stress to us in every way to have to relocate, but now that we have our own cute, little cottage without drama and with plenty of working appliances, we're much happier. Even my dog is palpably more happy.

I have so much to say, but the inability to remember it. The only thing fueling my exhausted brain these days is coffee, so instead, enjoy these things I've been into lately:

Yeah, but what about the 89 OTHER body types? God, fashion designers, you stress me out.

The overwhelmingly positive response from most of the country concerning gay marriage rights.

Actresses Without Teeth, in one of those "This is so horrifying, it's uncomfortably funny" kinds of ways.

All the Game of Thrones press leading up to the third season premiere. TOMORROW, TOMORROW, I LOVE YOU, TOMORROW. YOU'RE ONLY A DAY AWAYYYYYY.










Seeing Sara Bareilles in May, and seeing John Mayer in September. (His tickets aren't on sale yet, but I'm trying to have some positive self-fulfilling prophecy go on here...)

Happy Birthday, Baby!

John Clayton Mayer, love of my life, you are the ripe age of 35 today. Well, yesterday, but I wrote this in my brain well before the clock struck midnight.

Not only are you a fox, like a "I'd let my head hit the bed withOUT your hand behind it" fox, but you have gotten me through every break-up in my entire 25 years. Without fail, you have released an album that exactly coincides with the particular brand of heartbreak I'm sipping at that precise moment. You saved me from a lot of dark nights.

A lot of people don't appreciate you, but you know I always will, baby. You're not too poppy like a lot of folks tend to say, despite that really fucking weird "Say" song you put out, but we all make mistakes. You're not the bad guy people make you out to be, because if anyone actually listened to songs like "I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You)," "My Stupid Mouth," or hell, even "Daughters," they would say "Oh, yeah, maybe that guy has some issues like we all do, but at least he's honest about them." Th'fuck's wrong with honesty?

Oh, and did I mention you play a mean guitar? CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE SHIT THAT GOES ON IN "OUT OF MY MIND?" IT IS UNPARALLELED, BABE. UNPARALLELED!

So thanks. Thanks for the mean pickin', the soulful singing. Thanks for "Room for Squares," then "Where the Light Is," then "Battle Studies," now "Born & Raised," and all the others in between. They all did, and still do, get me through the worst and the best moments of my life.

Oh, and how could I ever wish you the happiest of 35ths without mentioning the fateful night I climbed my way to your platform as you were playing "Why, Georgia?" I somehow eluded security and used the heads of two strange men as my stabilizers. I probably made sure the girls were lookin' mighty fine, and then I looked up, right into your eyes, BEGGING you to look at me. You scanned the crowd, looked into my eyes, kept moving, MY HEART WAS BROKEN, but then... then you did a damn DOUBLE-TAKE and stared at me as you sang "Everybody is just a stranger, but that's the danger in going my own way." And then you held that gaze until some floozy threw her bra at you, and we all laughed, me out of psychotic anger that my MOMENT, my time with you was gone.

That bitch. Still love you anyway, boo. THANKS FOR THE MUSIC!