Happy CHA Year

Glim? Delightfully perfect?

10 Things I Learned in 2010

1. Spanish...mas o menos.
2. That it is not important HOW the dishwasher gets loaded.
3. That I can be a pushover and it's okay to ask for better.
4. How to make ajiaco.
5. The consequence of not going home.
6. How wonderful my friends are and how hard I'm willing to work to keep them.
7. What it feels like to not have a job title define me.
8. You must be courageous everyday.
9. Why it's better to keep an ill opinion of someone to yourself.
10. The right blush and mascara can make all the difference in the world.


Photo by: Li Hui via Lola Is Beauty

The Right Idea

From the ever inspiring This Is Glamorous...

HOLIDAY SURVIVAL TIPS

HOLIDAY SURVIVAL TIPS by ckferrari on Polyvore.com

Soooo...

Adiós Bogotá! No more faking my way through casual conversation with confident nods and weird versions of Spanish phrases. No more "pulgares otro vez" and "todos son rojo" at work. Suck it, crazy taxi drivers. Suck it, avocado lady. Suck it, rain. Suck it, altos. Suck it, stomach parasites. I'm done!

And now we are here...
Ain't no party like a Scranton party, 'cuz a Scranton party don't stop. Indeed. It's been a non-stop party. And by party I mean, pasta-eating marathons around the clock. It's craziness. I've volunteered to make dinner tonight. Going for chicken breasts stuffed with oregano and feta, sauteed swiss chard and roasted fingerling potatoes. Suck it, pasta.

Since I am finally State-side and finally FEELING BETTER, I promise to update this silly blog more often. As, Ryan, needs something new to read!

Awesome

“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”

- Maurice Sendak
[via Catherine Campbell]

http://lost.net.au/vic/?p=1986

Moving Day

Moving Day by ckferrari featuring flats shoes

F'ing Fall

IT'S DECORATIVE

GOURD SEASON, MOTHERFUCKERS.

BY COLIN NISSAN

I don't know about you, but I can't wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I'm about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it's gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There's a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash.

I may even throw some multi-colored leaves into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I'm going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking gourd necklace for myself. People are going to be like, "Aren't those gourds straining your neck?" And I'm just going to thread another gourd onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply, "It's fall, fuckfaces. You're either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you're not."

Carving orange pumpkins sounds like a pretty fitting way to ring in the season. You know what else does? Performing an all-gourd reenactment of an episode ofDiff'rent Strokes—specifically the one when Arnold and Dudley experience a disturbing brush with sexual molestation. Well, this shit just got real, didn't it? Felonies and gourds have one very important commonality: they're both extremely fucking real. Sorry if that's upsetting, but I'm not doing you any favors by shielding you from this anymore.

The next thing I'm going to do is carve one of the longer gourds into a perfect replica of the Mayflower as a shout-out to our Pilgrim forefathers. Then I'm going to do lines of blow off its hull with a hooker. Why? Because it's not summer, it's not winter, and it's not spring. Grab a calendar and pull your fucking heads out of your asses; it's fall, fuckers.

Have you ever been in an Italian deli with salamis hanging from their ceiling? Well then you're going to fucking love my house. Just look where you're walking or you'll get KO'd by the gauntlet of misshapen, zucchini-descendant bastards swinging from above. And when you do, you're going to hear a very loud, very stereotypical Italian laugh coming from me. Consider yourself warned.

For now, all I plan to do is to throw on a flannel shirt, some tattered overalls, and a floppy fucking hat and stand in the middle of a cornfield for a few days. The first crow that tries to land on me is going to get his avian ass bitch-slapped all the way back to summer.

Welcome to autumn, fuckheads!