The list of sky phenomena that never get old to me includes:
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’m doing with my life–more than usual, even. This bout started after reading a social media post that resonated with me, and then, thanks to the algorithm, continued from there. I now keep seeing posts emphasizing the importance of spending your time on this earth in a way that’s meaningful.
But the reason I took the awe quiz was more about my perpetual quest to find “team-builder” activities (read: ice breakers) that I don’t hate.
Continue readingMarc’s is a discount grocery store. It’s the kind of place where if you’re looking for something specific, or a certain brand, you may be disappointed. If, on the other hand, you’re delighted by random finds, you may be pleased.
Continue readingHad I known that because of the low water level in the Delaware River that it would take 8 hours to raft 12 miles (with 2 stops to rest), I probably wouldn’t have gone on the trip.
A strenuous hike to me is one that makes you short of breath for a minute or two while you navigate repeating stone steps, or a slight incline on the trail.
Yesterday’s hike involved scaling a sheath of rock that was mostly smooth except for a few grooves your feet were somehow supposed to find while you tried not to think about what would happen if you missed one and slid to your death.
There are some things that cannot be bad.
Camping? Could be bad if the place is bad.
New York? Could be bad if you’re in a bad mood.
Camping in New York? Could be bad if you don’t own camping gear.
Camping in New York at Malouf’s Mountain, however, is just one of those things that cannot be bad.
The words to describe this experience don’t exist.
If I had to grasp blindly at ones that do, I’d probably touch briefly upon magical, and spectacular, and incredible.
Not that every expression or idiom has to be completely based in reality, but–whoever came up with, “She wouldn’t hurt a fly,” has never had a fly stuck in her house for 3 weeks.
When I came back from California, I found the fly in my apartment; whether he flew in with me or got in while I was gone was unclear. It didn’t matter, really. The important part was he was here, and I couldn’t get him to leave.
At first, I thought of him as a sort of omen, because when I got back from my trip was around the same time I started feeling like things were deteriorating with a guy I’d just begun dating. It’s a sign! I thought. Something wasn’t quite right, and this fly was here to never let me forget it. Continue reading “#791: Kill a fly”
City kids in the country–can it get more clichéd than that? Probably.
As we were about to enter the bar for a birthday party, my friend said, “Tonight could be the night you meet the guy you’re going to marry.”
Then we walked in and discovered the bar was taken over by the New York Gay Football League.
“If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you, too?”
I can now answer for certain, yes. Yes, I would.
Things you should know when visiting Fire Island: Continue reading “#672: Visit Fire Island”
I don’t like thunderstorms. It’s not because I’m afraid of them. It’s because they put a damper on fun outdoor activities.
Such as a Cyclones game. Half of the people planning to go to the game with me backed out because of the impending storms, and we didn’t even make it into the stadium last night before the thunder started. And the lightning. And torrential rain.
If you felt like listening, I’d talk for hours (or at least a solid minute) about how I hate getting flowers. I’ve probably talked about it here at some point, and you probably didn’t feel like listening. Point is, I’m strangely proud of the fact that I shy away from clichéd romantic things. So I would always make it very clear to any potential romantic interest that I was nuts and did not want a token of affection in flower form anywhere near me.
Then, last year I met someone who refused to indulge my silly insistence that I hate flowers, and he brought me bright sunflowers on a random Saturday. Okay, I thought. I can handle this. I can be someone who appreciates getting nice, non-cliched flowers for no reason.
That was progress. But I still clung to the notion that to be given flowers in a public place, or on a big holiday, or not exactly to my specifications, was a thing I would not welcome.
…by myself.
My least favorite Christmas song is “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” because it’s ridiculously depressing. When I hear it I imagine someone sitting by herself in her house, decorating a tree, and missing–someone. Whether she’s alone due to death, or distance, or something less distinctive isn’t clear. All that matters is that she’s alone.
And if there’s any time when being alone sucks, it’s Christmas time.
I’m not a hiker.
But I’m also not a quitter, or, despite what it may seem at times, a wimp. So when given the chance to hike–which I don’t get very often–I’m going to take it. Continue reading “#524: Hike Mt. Taurus”
I hate getting flowers–I know, I’m a disgrace to my gender–except under very specific circumstances. And even under those circumstances, I only really like one kind of flower. So it should be no surprise to learn I never buy flowers for myself or anyone else. Continue reading “#324: Buy flowers”
A New Thing Every Day 