Selfie Confessional

There's nothing more hilarious and head-shake-worthy than seeing a young person post one of those duck-faced selfies online.  Posted with the impression that the world will come to the obvious conclusion that they are so very sexy and mysterious. 

The giggling over-30s in the audience are amused by the fact that they look more silly than sexy and less mysterious than, well... somewhat congested and constipated. But, we let them have their fun.

Why?  Because, apparently, once we start cleaning out old picture files from our own hard drives, we also find ourselves in danger of unearthing some pretty embarrassing shots we'd forgotten about. (Yes, we.)

Some appear to be attempts at updating our profile pics, shots in the car are obvious results of our lunchtime boredom and there are usually several folders labeled "Test" which accumulated after we broke two, yes TWO, cameras in the span of 2011. (I'm still sticking with "we" here, folks!)

The glaring difference is that adults takes selfies for strictly grown-up purposes:

Because our caring Facebook friends would never forgive us if we let a sunburn go undocumented.

Because toenail polish changes are a must for the family album. We need at least 20 of these per year.

Because the world has no idea how adorably casual we look when reading privately in the backyard in our LBDs.

Because we grown-ups understand that a mirror alone can't be trusted when figuring out a new haircut.

Because sometimes we have to selflessly document dye jobs for blog posts.

Because sometimes we need proof that we're still as cool as the people on our t-shirts.

Because we secretly buy real fox tails up north on vacation and we'd like to keep the un-P.C. secret between us and our hard drives.

Because no one's going to honestly tell us that we don't look cute when scrunching up our noses.  We have to take one of these to find out the truth.

Because every adult is curious how their crow's feet hold up in EXTREME CLOSEUP.

And, because we're finally at that age where we actually are too sexy for the shower curtain.

A Little Me Time

Sometimes, as a boredom deterrent, I have to create games to entertain myself with.  On a Saturday like today, which consisted of laundry, more laundry and not combing my hair... the game of the day is Song Titles for Narcissists.  

The game is simply played by taking song titles with the word "You" in it, changing the you to "I" or "Me" and then giggling silently to yourself.

Here's a few that I came up with:

• "Say Me, Say Me" (Lionel Richie)
• "All I Want is Me" (U2)
• "In My Eyes" (Peter Gabriel)
• "Thank Me" (Alanis Morrissette)
• "Nothing Compares 2 Me" (Sinead O'Connor)
• "Someone Like Me" (Adele)
• "Need Me Now" (Lady Antebellum)
• "Waiting for a Girl Like Me" (Foreigner)
• "F*** Me" (Cee Lo Green)
• "(I Just) Died In My Arms" (Cutting Crew)
• "Every Breathe I Take" I'll be Watching Me (The Police)
• "I Hate Myself for Loving Me" (Joan Jett)
• "I Can Leave My Hat On" (Joe Cocker)
• "Me and I" (Lady Gaga)
• "God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on Me" (N*sync)
• "I've Got It (The Right Stuff)" (New Kids on the Block)
• "Wish I Was Here" (Pink Floyd)
• "I Belong With Me" (Taylor Swift)
• "M.E." (Method Man and Redman)
• "Any Way I Want It" (Journey)
• "I'm Still the One" (Shania Twain)
• "The Way I Make Me Feel" (Michael Jackson)
• Guess we can throw in the unedited "Man in the Mirror" while we're at it.

And, my personal favorite:

• "I Like the Way I Move" (OutKast)

Well, that was fun.  Feel free to play along at home.  Now back to folding!

Silence Isn't Golden

 

The rear speakers in my car blew out a few weeks ago. I came to this conclusion when instead of hearing the classic rock stylings of Detroit's WCSX on my ride home from work, "psst-psst-psst- SQQQQQQQUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEE-ooooooooohhh-sssQQQQQQQUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-oooooohh-SQQQQQQUUUEEEEEE...ffffft-ffffft-fffffft... POP!" was heard in its place.

You know? That high-pitched bad frequency feedback you hear at every amateur rock show each time the novice guitar player wanders out in front of his amp, "SSQQQQQUUUEEE-OOOHH!", then looks around confusedly like, "Dude, what was that noise? Where is it coming from?"

Well, that was my ride home the other week. For twenty minutes straight. With the radio turned OFF. My ears rang for days. DAYS, I tell you!

I had to beg my father to drop his fork full of dinner, calling from my cell phone in the driveway, "Please come out and disconnect this thing! I can't take it! The noise!" He came outside and we went through the same, "What noise?" conversation that takes place every time he's called out to my car. (Too many amateur rock shows in his day?)

There were some perks to losing the rear speakers though. When toting a carload of kids around town the following weekend and having a song arise that's totally their jam; their "Turn it up! Turn it up!" pleas were easily squashed by my, "Oh, so sorry, Karlie Rae Jepsen. The rear speakers are blown. This is as loud as it goes." (Volume turned down to three.)

But, then madness happened on today's morning drive. I usually have the Christian radio station on in the mornings, setting my mind and spirit in place for the coming day. When I started off my drive they were taking calls from listeners, "My life... ppppfffftttt...that bridge...p-ppt-pfftt-ppt...my family is in... Ptt-[silence]-pttp...sooo low...ptt..." "Wow! What a sto...ptt-[silence] Let's lift up... pfftt... in prayer.. Ptt-[silence]-[silence]-[silence]..."   Augh!

Now the front speakers! In my mind there was some depressed soul out there dangling from the side of the Ambassador Bridge and my curiosity couldn't be any further fed. I convinced myself the word "bridge" I'd heard was just part of some analogy I'd missed in between the sputters and silence, but said a "Please help whoever that was with whatever that was all about..." prayer (almost verbatim) just in case.

By lunch, the front speakers were useless and the radio could only be heard from the radio itself. This reminded me of the transistor hand radio I had in the early eighties.  A vintage sound.  Better than nothing!

By the five o'clock rush hour commute, even that had evolved into "Here I am... [silence]... again. ♫ Here I... [silence]... the stage. ♫ [silence]" That's it! I threw in the towel and the radio went off. Twenty minutes of silence can't be that bad. Stereos aren't a necessity. It could have been the engine to die. It could have been the transmission.

Silence isn't so quiet though. The first thing I noticed, without having music to distract me, was the squeaking of my seat every time stopping and going caused the slightest shift in my body. Red light. Squeak. Green light. Squeak. Right turn. Squeak squeak. I spent the next quarter-hour wondering if I had recently gained weight.

I briefly tried to make my own music. For some reason a medley from Les Miserables was all that came to mind and mouth. It took very few stanzas to realize that my own voice wasn't something worth listening without a full set of speakers and a pro on the cd player to drown me out.

The squeaking of the driver's seat then met the harmony of the pinging of invisible debris being flung at my windshield. I didn't see a thing, but every few feet was met with, ping! Ping. Ping! Ping. Dust particles? Microscopic insects? Gravel shavings? Is it possible to hear glass settle?

The "quiet" of the red light of my final left turn caused me to notice dozens of birds up on a wire.  I'd never noticed them up there before, but they are likely to be sitting there every evening like thirty little dots all in a row. I'd never noticed them chirping before. I'd never noticed them actually interacting either. One bird kicking the other to his left like a bratty little brother. This made me laugh and almost hear the next sound of my drive. I preempted the honk that was sure to be coming my way as the light turned green and I was still gazing skyward.

The last sound of my evening was the pop of my speakers' last dying gasps. "Remember us! *pop* Make sure our story lives on... *pfft!*" And so, it has.

I may never adjust to the sound of silence before my budget affords a new sound system for the car. But, at least I managed to honor a deathbed promise. *pop!* [silence]

Bird Watching

Our backyard was such a flutter this afternoon with all of our favorite colored Michigan birds.  Bright red cardinals, blue jays of all sizes, woodpeckers, robins, chickadees.

They inspired me to go outside while the laundry was running and try my hand at bird photography.  By the way, my little point and shoot camera only zooms to 8X, so I didn't have the highest of expectations when trudging outdoors.

My first shot: I can't tell if it's a quickly moving bird or a leftover dead leaf that couldn't bring itself to take its plunge to the ground yet.  Sigh...

Matters weren't helped by the fact that a noisy blue jay alerted the avian world of my presence with his rude warning cackle.  I quickly learned the bigger the bird, the bigger the brain.  All deliciously chubby birds of color quickly fled, never to return, leaving me with nothing but a tree full of dull, tiny, chattering sparrows.

One brave cardinal decided to dare the berry-lined fence that divides our backyard from our neighbor's.  But, he was stubborn enough to stay twigs-in-face, apparently fully aware of my mission.  It's a camera, not a gun, Mint!  (Oh yeah, "Mint" was my childhood nickname for every cardinal that lived in the woods behind my family home growing up.  I would pretend there was only one and his name was Mint.  I'm guessing "Mint" came about when I was at a loss of words when searching for "Cinnamon".  I'd beg my mom to let me adopt Mint and keep him in a parakeet cage, but she never gave in.  To this day every cardinal is still Mint.  And, today, Mint was gorgeous, although a slight pain in the arse.)

There was also a chickadee who braved a safe distance, staying high enough out of reach and far enough to not quite capture by lens.  This led me on a goofy game of "What Part of  Being Human Makes the Birds Stay Away?"

Since I had been using my soft-footed "Indian Walk", I knew is wasn't my noisiness.  So, I then decided that the problem had to be: 1.) Me being an obvious large blob moving around a large open space and 2.) My eyes. 

To resolve issue #1, I moved my search up against the storage shed.  I leaned against its yellow wall and tried ferociously to blend.  #2's conclusion was drawn because I was bored enough to allow my brain to wander to the remembrance of that butterfly we once learned about in long-past science class, who has the natural defense mechanism of bearing spots on its wings that resemble an owl's eyes.  This makes birds think twice before diving in to eat it.  Since my own eyes are especially googly, I decided that birds must be equally intimidated by mine.

As a solution, I created this method of preventing my eyes from seeming like a threat: Don't look up for too long.  Looking up makes you eyes too big.  Hood your eyes between glances.  You might look half-sedated, but only the birds are watching and they don't know of these things.  Then cautiously glance again in the other direction.  Eyelids up.  Eyelids down.  Eyelids up.  All around.  (There was a little photo journalism initiated here to document the theory, but I decided it best not to share...)

Did I think this strategy would really work?  Eh, I was willing to pretend.  The day you give up playing make-believe is the day your eternal state of boredom begins.  Boredom, I resist.  So, I will play the eye game. 

And, soon came closer another chickadee.  Not afraid because of my eyelid shields.  Right?  Well, he soon flew away too and I felt defeated.  There was this baby blue jay with a tiny little tuft that I was really  hoping to get a shot of but, like I was still coming to terms with, the smart birds kept away.

I tried the front yard.  Eye game in play, trying my best to look bored and nonthreatening... No dice.

Changing subjects, I briefly tried to lure a frisky black squirrel from the neighbor's yard.  If you just asked, "Black Squirrel???", you must not be from these parts.  Whenever someone visits from out of state or even from outside our ten-mile radius, they're always taken aback by our squirrels.  Yes, we have your everyday grey squirrels too.  But, the sight of one painted black causes some to ask, "What is that?  A skunk?"  Yes, around here we're into removing skunks' white stripes, giving them lipo, and teaching them to climb trees.  And, with that I hand them their free pass to the 21st century.  Metro-Detroit: Our wildlife as diverse as our schools.

Well, my squirrel buddy seemed to continue to favor the neighbors yard, so I decided my best bet was the whistling tree of sparrows.  It was becoming pretty populated by now.

I then decided I wanted to catch a bird in flight, so more games of attraction ensued. 

A round of "Eye Game" followed by a round of "See the grass. Be the grass." All the while whistling a melody that may have sounded more like the theme from Close Encounters of the Third Kind than any known bird call, but lo and behold...

There it is.  Right of center.  "Bird in Flight".

Shortly after, a round of fireworks/semi-automatic bullet-shooting went off in one of the neighbors yards, causing even the dumb sparrows (and me) to flee in every direction!

On my way to take cover, I found one last non-moving target of proof of active bird life.

Call me weird, call me Crazy Bird Lady (even though I've been openly campaigning for the "Crazy Cat Lady" title for the past several years...) but one thing you'll never be able to call me is bored.

P.S.  And, I guess it's safe to say that I'm a terrible bird photographer.

Inner Child 101

I'm beginning to realize why I get along with kids so well.  I loved being a kid and, well, I pretty much still have all the same interests and habits.

Here's a peek at my Inner Child Checklist:

• Children's Vitamins:  I still take one chewable Circus Animal Vitamin each and every morning.  Yeah, I tried the whole woman's multivitamin thingy, but I kept forgetting to take them.  You just swallow those.  There's nothing memorable about that!  I grew up on Flintstones vitamins.  They were the only drug addiction I've been afflicted with in my lifetime.  80's television marketing had me convinced that, if I took my vitamins, I'd become big, strong, fast and pretty much ripped.  I took this concept quite literally and one night I downed about ten Barney Rubbles and then punched my bedroom wall repeatedly, in anticipation for the Popeye strength that was sure to start kicking in soon.  Well, the anchor-tattooed biceps never did emerge, but I came to realize one sure thing.  That kiddie vitamins taste really good!  There's no way I'll forget to take that fruity mini-snack I get to enjoy first thing in the morning. Yum!  (And, this applies to all meds.  Why take nasty grown-up cold syrup when the kiddie grape option tastes so much better?  Read the back of the bottle, there's adult dosages on there as well.  It was meant to be!)
• Why untie shoes?:  I can't be the only one who still ties shoes loose enough so that they can be easily slipped on and off without the need to sit down.  I can probably count on one hand the number of tie-able shoes I own that can't use the slip-on trick.  But, I try not to buy shoes with laces anyway, if I can help it.
• Daydream, frequently:  Much too frequently.  My current fave is still the "Planning for the Publisher's Clearinghouse Win" one.  But, hero fantasies can also be exhilarating.  I remember after 9-11, having the recurring (day)dream of being on a hijacked plane while everyone around me is panicking.  I manage to calm everyone down, lead them in a prayer session and get down to brass tacks.  I trip one terrorist as he walks down the aisle way and slit another one's trachea with a Bic pen.  (All while yelling bad ass dialogue that I haven't quite scripted yet.)  My fellow passengers gag and bind the hijackers with pairs of pantyhose donated from an older woman's carry-on.  Then we storm the cockpit!  After we commandeer the plane, I announce over the P.A., "Are there any passengers on board who know how to fly a plane?  Anybody?"  Nope?  Well, I guess is up to me to figure out how to land this bird.  We restore connectivity with air traffic control and they walk me through a clumsy landing.  All the good guys survive and a round of ground-kissing commences.  U.S.A.!  U.S.A.! 
• Remember to still ask "why?" sometimes:  I don't like doing dumb things.  Especially for no good reason.
• The shopping cart waltz:

Jump to 2:15.  Yes, Anderson, I still do it too.

• Take the log instead of the trail: It's not always the shorter route, but it's usually funner!

• Smush the bread: I've always smushed my bread before I could take a bite out of any sandwich or bunned item.  It not only condenses things, but it also somehow give bread a better taste.  I can't be alone in this either, because now I'm able to purchase pre-smushed bread!

• Pick off the green things: Why ruin a good meal?
• Sometimes animals just are more important: It's easier some days to love the one who always wags its tail and is happy to see you, then to get along with the humans who bicker back.  I'm convinced that's why sometimes a pet's loss is harder to cope with than a human's in many ways.  Human relationships always contain a certain extent of complications.  There's always that harsh word that was once spoken eons ago, forgiven, but never be forgotten.  But, our relationships with animals are often the one true sense of unconditional love we've experienced.  And, that's why sometimes a purr or nuzzle can feel sweeter to the heart than a spoken word.  Kids get this.  I hope I'll always continue to as well.
• Sports are more fun with no rules:  I was always good at sports as a kid, but never enjoyed playing on teams.  I experience more joy when there's a lack of time limits, innings, or scores to keep.  And, sometimes made-up games are the best.  When my brother's family lived with us, we'd never laugh harder than when playing a improv game of Hit My Nephew With a Nerfball.  My brother and I would simply throw Nerf footballs around, trying to bean my nephew (who was around three at the time) while he ran circles around the backyard, cracking up.  My seven-year nephew once made an entire afternoon out of Block the Toy Box.  He stood in the backyard toy box playing goalie while we tried to toss every sort of ball we could find into it.  A ball in the box, we score.  A ball blocked, he did.  He's now a great defensive lineman on his peewee football team!
• Sing, Sing a Song: Don't worry if it's not good enough for anyone else to hear.  It's hard to stifle a song in the heart when it's raging to get out, so why try?  Singing is a sign of a joyful heart.  Kids make up songs about nothing.  I still do too.  Run out of lyrics?  Just sing about whatever it is you're doing, even if it's just laundry.  It's one of the quickest ways to trick yourself into a good mood.
• Sometimes a zerbert is better than a kiss: I heard once that a woman requires somewhere around a dozen touches a day to feel content.  That doesn't mean we need men playing grabsie at us all day.  Many times a five-year-old's zerbert will do just the trick!
• Avoid the grown-up table:  A visit to the kiddie table this holiday season will not only find you much less small talk, but way better silly talk.
• Laugh when something goes wrong instead of screaming about it:  Most things we scream about, really are funny when you stop and think about them.  Lighten up!
• Pigtails:  Any time, any place.
• Go. Out. Side.:  Now!
• And, never pass up a silly photo op:

S.O.S.!

I don't know if there's any errand more dreaded than the renewal of the driver's license at the Secretary of State's office. (Well, women, we also have that one doctors appointment out of the year to look forward to as well.)  You walk in knowing you won't be walking out any time soon.  There's no convenient time to fit it into your schedule.  And, you can never be quite sure of the potentially creepy company you might be forced to keep.

Well, I had the day off, so today was my lucky day.  I'd thought about bringing a book with me, but was trying to keep the positive notion that I wouldn't be sitting in the waiting area terribly long.  I felt so optimistic about this that I didn't even eat lunch before I left the house (big mistake!)  Stepping through the glass door, I was relieved to see only one person in line ahead of me.  Good reason too.  I had stepped through the wrong glass door.  The woman at the window, obviously frequently witnessing the same error, simply held up a finger pointing to her left and closed the window on me.

Walking in the direction of the friendly woman's index finger, I pushed through the correct set of doors and, yeah... that seems about right. A hundred people, a hundred smells, this was definitely the correct place.

I wait in the line you wait in to simply be handed a number like at the meat market.  I hear someone shout out "70!"  and get a little excited, even though I haven't received my number yet.  Knowing my jumping off point is the first check mark to this boring day.  When it's my turn to be handed my number I walk to the counter toward a woman who is refusing to make eye contact no matter how hugely I smile in her direction.  She fires off a question to the left of her personal space, which I assume is intended for me so I answer it.  It was the right choice because this prompts her to hand me a form and my number with the air of a person who's thinking "this job's so easy, I can do it with my eyes closed." Reading her thought, I want to respond, "Well, lady.  You practically are!" but I decide to peek at my number and walk away instead.  I am number "04".

As I try to find a place to sit I'm pondering whether the number calling resets at 100, since they're on number 71 by now.  It wouldn't be 1,000, would it?!  I'd better pick a good seat.

I peruse the room and have the immediate thought that this waiting room looks just like the congregation at a Baptist church.  The seats are packed except the fact that's there's not really anyone in the front row.  To the front row I go!  I choose my seat wisely, by leaving an empty-one-seat buffer on either side of me.  I'm not a stranger lover. I don't want to make friends here, I don't want to wake you up when your number is being called or watch your kids while you run to the bathroom.  I'm placed right in front of the tv.  That's where I need to be.

The nearest neighbor to my right is slowly dozing off.  The Christian side of my brain nudges me to look at his number, so I can be prepared to wake him when it's his turn.  Not, seeing a number in his hand, my other half plots at the thought of jumping one ahead in line when he misses his turn.

Two seats to the left lies a book on a chair. Oh man, I should have brought one!  A young man rushes back to the seat to grab his book territorially.  I'm trying not to make eye contact, but notice that he's dressed in the way that a guy looking like that only dresses as a work requirement.  I assume his street clothes mainly consist of worn jeans and concert t-shirts leftover from high school.  He is gangly of build and his hair is overly greased.  The cover of the book he's reading is purple and black, causing me to decide that it's probably some sort of Dungeons and Dragons tutorial. 

This is my new home for the next hour or so.  I hope I've chosen well.  Being in the front row has hindered my people watching abilities.  However, I can smell there's people all around me.  One strongly scented of stale and heavy cigar smoke.  On the tv plays a continuous loop of driving safety PSAs, Michigan tourism bits (hosted by local newswoman Lila Lazarus) and a cute commercial where a dad accidentally witnesses his daughter's first kiss.

The people-watching picks up as I realize that I'm seated right near the picture-taking station.  I giggle to myself at the younger females who come to the DMV in full prom hair. I assume they're turning twenty-one and need to make this license picture count!  There are some older women, too, who gave serious thought to their wardrobe selections.  Why else would they being sporting sequins and glitter on a Thursday afternoon?  Seeing that I don't live a lifestyle that prompts me to flash an i.d. card often, I gave much less consideration to my "look" with my mosquito bitten arms and butter stained top.  Although I did choose today's top based on the fact that it's azure blue and universally flattering. (I just didn't intend to spill butter on it at the breakfast table.)

As the tv reel starts its second loop I begin to tire of Lila's Miss Know-it-All attitude about Michigan travel.  I never really enjoyed her news broadcasts.  She's one of those types that looks prissy, but thinks she's down because she rides a Harley.  (She's also hosting the motorcycle safety bits.)  She thinks she's so funny because she warns us not to sit down in the cactus atrium at Frederick Meijer Gardens.  Hardy-har.  I know someone who met her in person and they said she was a real snoot-a-saurus. 

By now, I've privately nicknamed my neighbors Snoozy and Squiggy.  After too long I begin to become jealous of Squiggy's book.  I begin fantasizing of the crossword puzzle pad I now remember is sitting in my car.  If only I had grabbed it!  Then I realize that my Nintendo DS is in my purse and excitedly pull it out.  Oh crap! The kids used it last.  The puzzle game I thought was in there has been replaced by Super Mario Bros.  I try to check my email on it, but soon lose wireless connection. 

By, this point it seems I've become the object of the people-watching.  Squiggy jealously peeks away from his D&D manual.  Snoozy opens one eye to see what kind of toy I've produced (either that, or he began checking out my legs. I can't be sure.)  The disappointment in my own limited use seems to spark an electronics frenzy.  I hear someone turn on something behind me which is broadcasting some sort of sporting event.  I hear someone behind Snoozy suddenly blip-blip-blipping on their cell phone.  A mom programs her phone to a game setting and hands it to her fussy kid.  A mass revelation is made that, "Yes, we're all grown-ups. But, we seem to each be carrying at least one device each that can multitask as entertainment!"

By the third loop of the television programming my number edges closer.  I eat half a granola bar I find in my purse.  By, then Squiggy has been called on and in his seat now sits a middle-aged mother and her kindergarten-aged son. I begin taking after Snoozy and allow my heavy eyelids to rest.  I continually feel the child's shoe drop onto my foot.  I peek once, they're a croc-type rubber sandal emblazoned with Spiderman's likeness.  I don't get mad.  If I were five and held hostage at the DMV, my shoes probably wouldn't find the will to stay attached either.

Number 03 is called, but doesn't show.  I'm half-way to the teller's station by the time she says, "No number 3?  How about number 4?"  A blonde lady is there to help me.  She too looks right through me as if I'm just the next check point on her way to quitting time.  I'm not sure I even passed the eye test because she's asks me, "No contacts?"  I correct her, "Yes. I'm wearing my contacts right now." She then sighs and hits a button on her keyboard. She doesn't want to deal with someone who can't tell an "O" from a "C".  She hands me my temporary license, rattles off her required speech and informs me that "Black Sweater" will be taking my photo. 

I feel bad for Black Sweater because Blonde Bore doesn't seem to know her name.  Black Sweater is the friendliest face I've seen today.  After two rowdy kids are chased away from the blue curtain and I'm standing properly in my box, two adults walk right in front of my shot.  "Oh! So sorry!" they apologize.  I giggle and accept (I'm just pretending I'm famous and everyone wants their picture taken with me.)  Black Sweater finally gets her shot.  She kindly asks me if it's okay or if I'd like another one taken.  I peer at her monitor and yikes!  It's anything but okay!  But, I say "Yes. That's fine." because, although my bangs look too short, at least there is no granola in my teeth. What else am I going to do? Sit here until my hair grows a quarter of an inch? (Although, that's probably entirely possible.)

I run to the door before this place sucks me away into an eternal vortex.  Safely in the parking lot, I don't even mourn this hour of my life I will never get back.  Because, I knew even then that at least it earned me today's blog fodder.

And, so it has.

August is Just Fine by Me

Autumn is my favorite season, but I'm starting to cheat on it with August a little bit.

I'll quit, I promise!  I could never leave my first love.  In its absence, however, I'm tempted by the misguided concept of "loving the one your with".  How unfair the seduction this first week of the month has been.  

Each day this week I have spent my lunch break reading in my car with the windows down, in order to simply touch my skin to this most perfect weather for as long as possible before returning to the manufactured air so poisonously pumped through the office corridors. I've found I have just enough time to finish one chapter of reading leaving a few minutes remaining to close my eyes and mind-travel.

Monday was a little humid, but with it was brought a sultry tropical breeze. When I closed my eyes I could practically smell the coconut oil and hear the palm leaves swish against one another. As the hallucination of swishing palm branches distracted me from reality, another balmy breeze caught me by surprise, salt of the sea most definitely in the air. I left reality for a moment let out a horribly audible sigh. Startling my own eyes open, I noticed a woman from a neighboring office shuffling down the sidewalk and stopping to look wildly around to see who was breathing so violently at her. Shoo shoo, office lady. I'm on a pretend vacation and you are not on the companion ticket.

The next day the air was more as one would expect here in Michigan. Lake-y. But, being tens of miles from the nearest sizable body of water, I guessed this could be attributed to the wormy puddles that had collected in the parking lot due to the previous evening's rain shower. Nonetheless, I had five minutes of daydreaming left and so my eyes closed, unwilled.  Imagined lake shore air immediately impeded by the strong scent of the Chinese restaurant up the block. Mmm... fried food. I can still work with this.  Let's call it a summer carnival on the shore instead until the clock changes to that unwanted hour and it's time to turn off my imagination and earn my keep once again.

And, so each afternoon has gone. Each productive morning interrupted by an unscheduled lunchtime rendezvous. The return walk to the office building feeling more and more like a death march with each lazy step. Oh, world, how do we do it?

I'm not usually one to stray.  Affairs seem exhaustively pointless to me. I do love the fall.  It's my sworn companion for life.  But, for today, August is just fine by me.