What a month, what a month, what month, what a mighty good month

Y'all, Oprah made me cry.

I know, I know... it's been a month and that's a weird thing to start with, but I sat on the couch of the home I nanny in today and bawled my eyes out while Oprah said her farewells and made a damn fine case for a future career as a preacher. But what really started the waterworks for me was Os monologue about everybody's tendency to feel unworthy of the things in their lives - to which I said Ouch, Oprah, I think you hit a nerve.


Encouraging people to take responsibility for their own lives, she told her audience that the very fact that we were born, that we exist, makes us worthy. Of everything. I wish I could blow the lid off everyone's own feelings of unworthiness, because I know it's a common thread we all share and want to overcome, but I am only familiar with my own. So I share this with you, blog readers, I struggle often with feelings of unworthiness within my life. It's hard to face that sort of thing, especially when you're staring something or someone you love in the face and wanting to feel like you deserve to be there, in that moment. But what I'm rapidly coming to find is that the people in your life who are meant to be there, they see you, hear you, love you. This doesn't comfort me in every moment wherein I feel less-than-deserving, but it's starting to bridge the gap between my own judgement of myself, and my desire to live the happiest life I can.

The personal novella part of this blog is over now. You can breathe again.

Sooo clearing up the elephant in the blog, it's been a long, long time since I've stopped by. My utmost apologies. But y'all, it's been a busy/lovely month. School's doneskies for ze summer, I got a raise at work, temperatures have rapidly climbed to mascara-melting heights, and my side of Austin has started to clear out as people head home for the break. Here's a quick recap of my life for the past month for those who are interested (i.e. bored):

My kitchen has become my own personal culinary academy.

A few fruits of my rapidly growing cooking obsession:

Fettucini with homemade alfredo sauce

Pizza on my first ever attempt at yeastless dough!!

Parmesan crumb topped macaroni and cheese (clearly I'm into carbs)

In more kitchen developments, I'm become a kitchen cleaning fiend. Observe:

When I discovered we have a broom, I had a bit of an emotional moment. I secretly love sweeping. Except, not-so-secretly. 

I'm a no-holds-barred animal lover, and my love of choice lately has been elephants. I've been pondering weighs (get it?) to make having pet elephants legal. For now I'm just happy to wear them on my feet:

I have, however, adopted a new little love. Her name is Charlene, and she's fast climbing my list of favorite possessions ever:

(For those who are confused, I sometimes sing shyly, and probably poorly, in front of people.)

So, as you can see, it's been a hectic, but wonderful few weeks for me. I'm crazy excited for the summer: starting my job full time, splitting my time between Austin and Atlanta (!!!!!!), and piling up more and more things to be grateful for everyday.

I hope you're all having a summer you feel worthy of!

- L

Betty Davis Thighs... OR The Little White Girl Who Could (Get Funky)

I'm obsessed with Betty Davis.

No, not the one you're thinking of. I know, I know, when you think Betty Davis you think Bette Davis... as in the eyes. Well, there's another one. Possibly even a better one. Observe:

This Betty Davis is a crazy iconic funk singer from the the 70s, who was married to Miles Davis for a hot minute. And she's fabulous. I mean, just look at what she's wearing. Look at those boots! I want those boots. And that shirt. And to be her. 

My boyfriend is quite a fan of Miles Davis. I've always known who Betty Davis is, but it wasn't until my gentlemanfriend (all one word) started on his MD kick that I was reminded of how much there really is to appreciate about her. She of course has a wonderful voice at the core, but that's only the surface of it. A lot of the time she doesn't even make use of the straightforward vocal skill she's clearly capable of... her whole career seems to be an experiment in funkifying the norm. She was one of the first truly raunchy female singers, and one of the first to take funk to an even further place.

Oh, did I mention she was also Jimi Hendrix's little lady? Yeah. Yeah. 

So, here's my goal ladies and sirs: I honor and admiration of B-Dav, I'm vowing to funkify my life in as many ways as possible. I realize I'll probably never have a voice comparable to hers, so I'll have to search for other places in my life to sprinkle with the spirit of funk. The quest begins bright and early tomorrow morning... er, today morning.

The goal is to get this:

Living more like this:

I have quite the journey ahead. If you see me around sporting a horribly failed attempt at an afro and wearing silver thigh-highs, I apologize. Girl's gotta get funky.

Also, everyone in the world should listen to this as often as your ears can hear:

Wish me luck on my endeavor! May the funk be with you.

- L

Innumerable Addresses to My Bed

It's flirting with one o'clock in the morning, and I am staring at a very bright computer screen with the words of John Berryman staring right back at me. Eleven Addresses to the Lord. This is the epitome (pronounced until I was sixteen as ep-i-tome) of poetic beauty.

Yet I'm struggling to keep my eyes open.

It's not that I'm bored by the words of the late Mr. Berryman. It's not even that I'm offended at the overt religiousity of the piece. It's all beautiful and elegant and graceful to behold - but there's something very savage about experiencing it on my dinged, overheated mac in the wee hours of the morning. This feel distinctly like the sort of thing I should be marveling over in some cloth-covered book on a particularly lazy Sunday afternoon. Technology and classic American literature are like cat and mouse. I have yet to decided which one's which.

Late-night-insight attempts aside, I saw something truly magical tonight. I was invited by my playwriting professor to sit in on a run-through of his company's western musical I've Never Been So Happy. Risking an awful joke, and even more of my dignity than this blog is already taking from me, I have to tell you, after this performance, I've never been so amazed.

I apologize.

Fervently.

The Rude Mechanicals are a well-known Austin theatre company. I've heard nothing but wonderful things about them since arriving in this vibrant theatre community, and tonight they lived up to every iota of praise. This musical is one of the most purely interesting things I've ever seen. Watching the specks of rehearsal I caught, followed by one of the most impressive "run-throughs" I've ever witnessed, this company has my ultimate ideas/dreams/goals/visions running through every inch of it. Go see this production. I'm serious. If you see no other play, movie, concert, or miscellaneous performance in the next two weeks, SEE I'VE NEVER BEEN SO HAPPY! You won't regret it. I promise you that.

Hope y'all are happy as a hipster in a hat shop!

- L

My Inbloguration. Get used to the puns.

Y'all, I don't blog.

I have the highest respect for the blogging community, and am a fervent follower (well, stalker) of many a b-log. Fashion blogs. Baking blogs. Music blogs. It's stupid how much of my free time I spend reading the personal witticisms of others. I know a lot of people who blog and tumbl... something I don't quite understand, but have been told is a thing.

And so I thought, why not me? I like to write, and I like attention - THIS IS PERFECT! I'll just keep telling myself it's a way for my family to keep up with me, and I'll sleep like a kitten, without an ounce of shame in my own self-adoration in sight. What a douchey kitten.

To get this blog on the road, let me tell you a little about myself. I realize that's a little idiotic considering that if you're reading this chances are you either already know me, I've told you to read it, or you heard about it from someone we went to high school with and are just dropping by to see if I'm still such a shitshow. Spoiler alert: I am. But in a less tragic-hair-color-choices kind of way. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII amastudentattheUniversityofTexasmajoringintheatreemphasisinplaywrightingI'manannyfortwowonderfultwingirlsIlovemyjobmorethananythingIhaveawonderfulboyfriendhe'samusicianIknowwhatyou'rethinkingbuthe'sactuallyincrediblytalentednotjustlikeohmyboyfriendisaguitarplayerandplaysalotofcallofdutyHe'scompletelylegitIfyouwanttohearhisbandletmeknowthey'regreatAlsoIlovetobakeIt'smoreofapassionthanahobbyIhaveadognamedBowienotafterthesingerbutit'salongstoryIcollectflowersforwearinginmyhair.

Got all that? Now that we're suitably acquainted, I guess I should lay out what this blog's deal is. Here's the thing... it doesn't really have a deal. I'm just going to type at you and hope someone reads it, and maybe over time it will develop a sort of running theme. Until that day, kindly excuse my random rantings. I shall try to at least make them funny, but no promises. I only have so much sass to give.

Oh, also, I would like to apologize in advance for all of the following: bad jokes, references to Will Ferrell movies, pictures of baked goods, rants about various temperatures, pictures of animals, videos of my boyfriends (awesome) band, completely unfunny puns (see blog title), dreams aloud that I might one day be a singer, stories about shopping excursions to Target, musings about queso/fried rice/cheese in general, shameless plugs of things I'm working on, and personal videos of stripteases.

Just kidding about the last one. I'm not sorry about that.

Well, I've taken up enough of your time. Honestly, if you're still reading this, and you're not my mom, I should probably get to know you better. You're clearly someone with as little to do as I. Call me. Let's go get some chicken fried rice sometime.

Hope your life is delightful
- L

PS - To any and all family members who may be reading this, I really was kidding about the stripteasing thing. Sorry I'm such a heathen. It must be all the drugs. Kidding again. Please don't write me out of any wills!