[Am I hallucinating again? Does that really say hot air balloon rides? Aliens may have abducted my blog yesterday, but I don’t think they abducted me and messed with my noggin. Maybe they erased my memory. Either way, yay for massive balloons and me inside of one.]
Next week brings Independence Day. This obviously brings with it celebrations, pyromania, and most importantly one much-needed day off of work. A certain conveniently placed party will be going down in my neighborhood. A neighbor of mine gushed about the annual fireworks show over the pond a few weeks ago in a Pilates class, and naturally, I have been impatiently waiting to enjoy the spectacle from my third story balcony ever since. I like it there. It is safe there. Just because I love fireworks doesn’t mean that I am not pathetically terrified that they are all defective and will somehow turn in to
heat Becca-seeking missiles as soon as they leave the cannon. There is a chilling childhood story that explains the origins of this fear, but it really isn’t chilling at all… at least not to anyone besides myself. I’ll keep that one in the vault for now.
Speaking of fear, I’ll get back to that balloon thing. Assuming that wasn’t an epic typo, this 4th of July is starting to look up (literally). Read the rest of this entry
Since I have been boasting about Pandora lately, I’ll share with you some of my favorite stations.
1. Jack Johnson radio- The only station chill enough to listen to when you have to get up early. It’s effective at preventing morning rage. Also, I like to imagine this while I
drag ass get dressed (dinky video is dinky).
2. Spin Doctors radio- Because I hope to hear Two Princes over and over and over and pretend an attractive male is singing it to me. Preferably he is wearing either lumberjack stuff or anything in this post. Copious amounts of facial hair is also a requirement (Chris Barron knows what’s up). I then get to swoon for approximately four minutes and twenty seconds. Everyone should swoon. Read the rest of this entry
Last evening I ventured out to a bar which is actually in a hostel here in Lafayette. I have only been there once, about a hundred years ago. It took some coercing on my friend’s behalf to get me there, as I was being a grandma. It is the only hostel I have ever heard of in Louisiana. The Blue Moon Saloon is like being in your own dream back yard. A grooving band hit the stage shortly after we arrived. I found myself really digging the accordion playing lead singer and swaying bodies all around me.
Sometimes when you live in one place for such a long time, you forget that you haven’t seen everything your city has to offer. If you can get out of your comfort zone, there are still good times to be had.
Happy Mother’s day y’all.
- 8 Things that Separate Great Hostels from Average Hostels (bootsnall.com)
- USA Hostel’s San Francisco, CA, and Hollywood, CA, Locations Named #1 and #2 Hostels Nationwide (prweb.com)
Long time no see. Now that I have gotten a split second to exhale for the first time in a week, here I present all the wonderful pictures I took this weekend at Festival International de Louisiane (please note the extreme sarcasm). I have always generally failed at taking pictures of anything anywhere, let alone at an interesting event I will want to remember and share with others. I could venture to the moon and back ending up with nothing to show but a few pictures containing half faces and blurred nothingness.
Not only was I so busy this past week that I had to put the blog in time out, but I was even unsuccessful at documenting my weekend via enchanting photos to make up for it. Typical. This failure happened, embarrassingly enough, also due to
tequila technical difficulties. Unfortunately, I temporarily lost the ability to tell whether my Iphone camera was in picture or video mode, so I basically ended up with these photos below… and a bunch of three-second videos of me posing awkwardly waiting for a flash that never came. Lovely.
I also threw in a picture of the most peculiar Diet Coke box I have ever seen, and a picture of me after attempt to coloring my hair “dark red blond” flying solo. Should I stick to hiring the professionals? I feel a bit… little mermaid-ish.
- Festival International de Louisiane (25andfly.wordpress.com)
- Festival International de Louisiane in L (gulfscapes.wordpress.com)
Guess what? My little city is actually hosting a massively entertaining event that is going down this weekend (it actually begins tomorrow, but in my mind it isn’t until the weekend – way to go work). It is an all around, five-day, celebration of the arts in downtown Lafayette. There will be over 100 music performances, local food and drink vendors as far as the eye can see, and arts and crafts merchants on every block. Want some banana leaf art, botanical glass, or something fashionable from Africa or New York? You got it. I personally don’t take the food vendors lightly either. If you ever have the chance to attend this festival, I strongly suggest you do not either. We have some of the most serious grub at this thing. By serious, I mean orgasmic.
As I am writing about how incredible this happening is, I can’t help but feel a bit hypocritical. Read the rest of this entry
I have a pretty fair collection of “how I knew” moments that I decided I would enjoy writing about. I would like to make this the theme for one post out of each week. What do you think? Today I’ll stay on my train of thought from yesterday and tell you how I knew I wanted to learn the drums.
For starters, I have been a music junky since I was able to walk, which I figure coincides with being a dancer. Dance and music are like lungs and air. One just doesn’t work without the other. Learning to play instruments growing up was always an interest of mine, but I never really stuck with one in particular. I got frustrated with guitar, because I am not very dexterous and have tiny hands. If you have followed along, you know just how well I wasn’t at using my own voice box. Piano and I had a fling, but the chemistry just wasn’t there. We all were forced to play the recorder, but who takes that seriously anyway?
My infatuation with drums started in high school (more specifically I was probably 16). I had a friend who, unlike your typical teenage girl, decided her “thing” was rocking out with her… sticks out. I was always envious watching her play. I remember going to her house and always secretly eyeing her set with curiosity. One day, she caught me staring I suppose, because she asked me if I wanted to learn a beat. Naturally, I pounced at the opportunity. She showed me how to hold the sticks along with a proper cross-stick technique. From that day on, I remembered that one simple beat. I would find myself practicing it just using my hands, with pens and pencils, or with whatever was lying around. To me it just sounded fancy, and I was proud of myself for learning and retaining what she had taught me. Anytime I got lucky enough to encounter a set I would beg to play this sole beat repeatedly. Yet still, it never crossed my mind to pursue anything more. This was probably because at this time I was on the up and up of the dance world, never really leaving room for other passions.
Fast forward to August 2011. There I was, freshly out of college, about three years retired from the dance scene, working my 8-5, newly single, and frighteningly bored. Read the rest of this entry
Well folks, it is official. I may die today. It doesn’t help that every time I glance at a clock I seem to always catch 9:11am/pm, but this is getting ridiculous. Alright, I agree death is a little extreme, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I land face down in some freshly splattered cement or catch a pipe to the dome at some point today. I do work in a construction shop after all. I think I will just sit in my office with a neon fluorescent hard hat planted on my head and call it a day. Just not move an inch. I certainly will not accept any date requests from men named Jason tonight (like I get asked on dates by anyone under fifty anyway, pshh). In all seriousness though, I am pretty elated that I have almost hit 1000 page views Read the rest of this entry
Promised mortifying childhood photo delivered in 3, 2,…
[Elementary School Choir circa 1998]
There I am. On the right. I’ll allow you time to compose yourself.
There was more than one surprise lurking in my inbox yesterday. The second surprise was a notification from Facebook informing me that my friend had posted this charming little photo of me from our fifth grade yearbook. What an action shot huh? While she didn’t take this particular photo herself, she does happen to be a photographer. She is in the inauguration of her photography career, and she takes some stunning photos. She has sense of humor on her as well. You can check her out here if interested.
Back to the performance. With my frizzy curls, bucked teeth, and what appears to be copious amounts of lip stick, I was obviously feeling no shame. In fact, these younger years seem to be the ones in which I was the boldest I’ve ever been. Today I won’t sing in front of anyone. Although I love to sing, if ever I am caught open mouthed, my lips immediately become negative and positive ended magnets. What happened between then and now? Well, I have a hunch about what halted my youthful audacity. Read the rest of this entry