woof woof...

Ben: "So I'm thinking of starting a musical theater troupe with highly trained dogs....I'm going to be the director."

Noell: "Like a canine version of 'Shakespeare in the Park'?"

Ben: "Yes, exactly."

Noell: "Nice. We need more of those kinds of things....What will you perform?"

Ben: "Cats."

Thanks for burning out my retinas Mr. Mercedes.

Halogen headlights are direct descendants of Satan himself. They seem to come standard on every luxury car made after 2006, and I detest them.

I truly believe that halogen bulbs are yet another way that we, the working class, are being beat down by the man. Every day, the retinas of the working and poor class folk are being singed out by entitled luxury car-driving tailgaters. It's an atrocity...and it has to stop.

My friend Ben, a self proclaimed "cat man", chillaxing with his feline friend.

When we were 16 and sophomores in high school, my friend M. and I used to say that if we weren't married by the ancient age of 30, we would move to a big house in the country, with thirty cats and a wrap around porch. We vowed to sit on the porch all day drinking gin and tonics, and harassing the neighbors in our nightgowns. And at Halloween time, the mothers of trick or treaters would refuse to allow their children to come to our door because we were "the drunk lesbian cat ladies" (which they would say to one another in a whisper as they pointed towards the house).

30 seemed so far away then....

Engorged...

Woke up with the glands in my neck engorged to the size of two fat juicy grapes, and hurting something fierce. Whatever I'm fighting, I hope I win. The only thing that seems to dull the pain is huge cups of hot ginger tea with honey, and listening to Kid Cudi"s "Day 'n' Nite" on repeat.

Mary Oliver's "Landscape"

Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that they have no tongues, could lecture all day if they wanted about spiritual patience?

Isn't it clear the black oaks along the path are standing as though they were the most fragile of flowers?

Every morning I walk like this around the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead.

Every morning, so far, I'm alive. And now the crows break off from the rest of the darkness and burst up into the sky—as though all night they had thought of what they would like their lives to be, and imagined their strong, thick wings.

One of my favorite yoga teachers in the whole world, B.B., read this to us the other morning, before we began our practice, and I almost cried. Every time I take one of her classes I burst out of the doors of the studio with my heart cracked wide open, wondering "what do I want to be when I grow up?", truly believing that the entire galaxy is at my fingertips.