The invincible summer

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

-Albert Camus

This has been one of my favorite quotes for a long time. I discovered it for the first time about 12 years ago and I wanted nothing more than to find my invincible summer. I was pretty sure Camus had it right — there WAS one. I just needed to figure out a way to find it. And I think I have.

I decided at some point, somewhat subconsciously, that this would be a summer full of skirts because I was sick to death of dying in jeans because I was too scared to show off my chubby, pasty legs. I found a couple of skirts at the thrift store and that was pretty much all the encouragement I needed (that and a few 100+ degree days). So far, I’ve worn jeans thrice in the past two months (Giants game, Harry Potter, and one day when I was too lazy to shave my legs, which was dumb since I didn’t shave them the next day either and wore a skirt) and it has been AWESOME.

In case you’re sitting at your computer wondering why this is a big deal, I’ll tell you why: I’M FAT. I’m unabashedly fat and anyone who has anything to say about it can kiss my fat ass. Seriously. Kiss it. IT NEEDS LOVE TOO.

Okay, where was I? Right. Being out and fat and all of that. So anyway, I figure that I have just as much a right to be comfortable in this god forsaken heat as the next wilting flower, so I’m going to wear WHATEVER I WANT when I go out. That includes sleeveless dresses, tank tops, shorts, and skirts. And let me tell you, internets, IT IS AMAZING. Seriously. I look at the weather forecast. I think about sweating my ass off in uncomfortable, rigid denim and then I move to the next section of my closet and find a skirt to wear.

This has been a long time coming for me. I have hidden my body for years and years, afraid of what people would say or think if they saw my FAT all over the place. And then I reached a point where I was tired of being uncomfortable just so everyone ELSE could be happy. Eff that, you know? Life’s too short to sit around and worry about what other people think. It’s hot during the summer and I want to wear skirts. I love skirts. I love dresses, too, and I rocked one this afternoon at Target. It felt good, not worrying about how much I was sweating under the little shrug I usually pair with the dress (for work).

Beyond the obvious perks (boost in self-esteem, not being miserable outside), there’s a fun bonus for me: MORE FRECKLES. I hated my freckles when I was little and I wanted anyone who thought they were cute to drop dead immediately. HOW DARE YOU THINK MY BURDEN IS ADOR ABLE? But now I get it and I love them. I have discovered an entire crop of them on my legs and they are glorious.

Another perk is that I have a tan line now! One I achieved organically (which means I didn’t have to get burned first)! At the pool! See, that’s another thing. I have pool time now. When I was a little kid, you couldn’t get me out of the pool. Ask my mom about the time I insisted on swimming in a hotel swimming pool when it was like 50 degrees out and then I got horrendously sick. But when I got older, I skipped the pool because ugh, I’m too fat and noooooooooooooooo. While I’m not entirely in love with my swimmy suit right now (when you buy one so late in the season, you don’t have much choice), I don’t mind going out in it. I still have some swimming pool anxieties, but nothing bad has happened yet so my anxieties are unfounded.

Finding your invincible summer is not easy. I didn’t even realize this was mine until I was right in the middle of it, literally DURING SUMMER. I’m enjoying life more now than I think I ever have (childhood excluded) and I think a lot of it is because I’ve unlocked this achievement. Now if I could just achieve Gamer Babe from Half Moon Bay status, I think my life would be complete.

Space filler, time waster

Since no one ever answered my questions in this post, I’m going to answer them myself. Every party has a pooper, that’s we invited YOU.

What’s your favorite song at the moment?: Transatlanticism by Death Cab for Cutie

Where do you want to vacation this summer?: AT&T Park. Duh. Or Canada.

What color shirt are you wearing right now? Gray. It’s a very comfy t-shirt; you’re probably jealous you don’t have one like it.

What sports do you like? Baseball and hockey and college football and college basketball, please and thank you.

Do you know that the All Star game is tomorrow (or today, or yesterday, or three weeks ago, depending on when you read this)? Yes I do and the NL won and home field advantaaaage.

What’s your favorite snack? I love nuts and popcorn and watermelon (since it’s summer om nom nom)

Do you like sweets? HAVE WE MET?

Have you ever put your feet in the Atlantic Ocean? How about the Pacific? Yes and yes.

Which ocean do you prefer? Pacific. Sorry, Atlantic. Your beaches are weird and you’re about the same temperature as pee. I like my beaches more Pacific Northwesty and my water hypothermia cold.

Babies make great birth control

No, really. They do.

If you’re single, like me, and you enjoy your single existence, like I do, then you know that to spend five minutes in the presence of a child, no matter how cherubic and squishy, makes your ovaries retract up into your ribcage. Don’t argue. It’s science.

I work in an office with four other women and we enjoy a very unusual work environment: absolutely no drama. It’s strange but it’s true. It’s a nice place to work because we’re all friends, we all support one another, and there’s no competition (except for last month but that was for the sake of free food, so c’mon). Two of us want to have children. Three of us absolutely do not.

I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this incredibly boring and unimportant information. I’m suffering from a severe case of L;AKDJFL;AKSDJFLAKDJF ALKDSFJ ALDJ AJFLKJDSLFKJDSF when it comes to words – just take a look at the three (3) drafted posts in my dashboard. Oh wait. You CAN’T. But trust me, there are three (3) drafted posts that I both hate and want to finish.

This is the problem with having an intense, passionate relationship with words. Stringing them together can turn into a giant clusterEFF. Like, in a span of three seconds. The past three nights, I’ve sat down to get some writing done (posts and otherwise), and my brain has transformed itself into a big brick wall. BIG. BRICK. WALL. I can’t scale it. I can’t knock it down. All I can really do is stand there and flail my ineffectual fists at it.

Why have I been given this incredible gift of needing to have words available to me 24 hours a day? I don’t know. Someone up there must love me A LOT.

I think some of the brick wall is made up of what happened at work last week, which STILL has me distressed even though I have proof that it was not my fault at all and that in my line of work, it happens to EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US. But still, it hurts your feelings when people don’t like you and think you’re an idiot. Even if you’re not an idiot and even if it’s not personal. It feels personal and that’s all that matters to my brain and my heart.

So I’m sitting here writing this post, with The Hangover on in the background (Bradley Cooper, me gusta), and No One’s Gonna Love You playing in iTunes. For a second there, I let the Tumblrites overtake my brain and I thought “IT IS SO TRUE. NO ONE’S GONNA LOVE ME” and then I remembered that that’s not FACT because a lot of people love me. I’m a loveable girl. It’s not MY fault that not ENOUGH people appreciate me.

Okay, this post is borderline creepy and completely weird. Do you have any questions for me, random people I probably know who don’t need any questions answered? Do you have any words of wisdom? Inspiration?

What’s your favorite song at the moment?

Where do you want to vacation this summer?

What color shirt are you wearing right now?

What sports do you like?

Do you know that the All Star game is tomorrow (or today, or yesterday, or three weeks ago, depending on when you read this)?

What’s your favorite snack?

Do you like sweets?

Have you ever put your feet in the Atlantic Ocean? How about the Pacific?

Which ocean do you prefer?


I’ve been particularly haunted lately by people who have gone before us. In dreams, in random thoughts popping into my head…I’m most disturbed/shaken by a dream I had over the weekend. I don’t want to go into it here; it was a little personal, but it was just an odd thing to dream about and while it wasn’t a bad dream – on the contrary, it was nice and relatively happy – it has stuck with me for the past few days and I’m not really sure how to shake the feeling.

In other news, this week is proving to be busier on the personal front as opposed to the work front, which is DELICIOUS. Have to run errands tomorrow night (hopefully to find some layering clothes for Thursday, which is…) and then we head to SF on Thursday afternoon for the last game of the Giants-Padres series. I am crossing my fingers for a win but the Padres spank us at home a lot, so who knows. But really, as much as I’d love to see a win, just being there is good enough for me. It’s going to be my first MLB game and the first baseball game I’ve been to in 10 years. I AM EXCITE, Y’ALL.

Our Fourth of July passed like any other weekend-like day: we lounged around, watched baseball, went swimming, and ate some grub. We’re not much for celebrating Nationalist holidays, so we were content to just eat some hot dogs and call it a day. I thoroughly enjoyed my day off work and returned this morning semi-refreshed but very sleepy. As per usual.

In honor of Thursday, where upon I hope to see this man eat a few Padres for dinner.

This is what the world is for, making electricity

I am kind of overwhelmed with feelings right now and I’m not really sure where it’s coming from. Well, I probably do. I’m coming off the busiest week I’ve had at work since I started. I love that I’ve been given more responsibilities but geez, the adjustment period is pretty rough. Plus, there was a mistake with my health insurance (our rep at the insurance place didn’t process my paperwork – THANKS, PERSON) and my paycheck, which is making things kind of tight until I get the rest of my paycheck in the mail. It was supposed to come Thursday. And then yesterday. But no. Ugh. I was planning to use that money for our Giants weekend in September and then the rest for, you know, life during the month. So it’s just kind of hard to wait, especially since I don’t know how much will be in the check.

Thursday night was weird because Electric Girl was hanging out with a friend, and hanging out turned into a stay-over, and I didn’t hear from her on Friday until early afternoon and since I am a worrier*, I was stressed until that moment. SO ANYWAY. Here we are now, on Saturday morning, and I’m listening to the same Bon Iver song over and over and over again. Except I  just put on a playlist, which is called “Tiny Vessels Transatlanticism” and it’s exactly what you think it is: Tiny Vessels and Transatlanticism. On repeat. I’m weird about music okay? Deal with it.

What I’m trying to do by listening to these songs over and over is spark some inspiration. I don’t talk too much about writing anymore because I’ve fallen off doing it and when I do try, I get really discouraged and frustrated because I SUCK SO BADLY AT IT. I don’t suck so badly that I should give up completely, and I’ve never been a person to write for other people’s enjoyment. This is all about me. It always has been. I’m not shy about admitting that. If I’m the only person who reads my stuff** that is just fine with me. I don’t write to make money and people who do write to make money are a) delusional because there is not money in writing sorry, and b) hacks. And I’m not talking about freelance writers who write articles and stuff. I have no problem with that, and I wouldn’t mind getting in on that action. That’s writing that can pay. But writing fiction? That stuff can’t be inspired by money. It’s something deeper than that. The place where the words come from is too far down in you to be touched by anything like monetary benefit or recognition. Of course we want people to like us and what we write because it makes us feel like we aren’t wasting our time, but even if they didn’t, what matters most is how YOU feel about what you’ve written. You’re going to be your harshest critic but at the end of the day, you’re putting those words on paper because you can’t do anything else. It’s a drive. It’s something you can’t really control.

I lost most of that drive a long time ago and I’m always trying to get it back. I still feel like I can’t breathe when the words don’t come and I still feel like my life lacks meaning and purpose if I can’t get something out. It’s part of why I blog and part of why I sit around listening to the same songs over and over again. Eventually something will break and words will leak out. You just have to be patient.

I’m bad at being patient.

So this blog post wasn’t really supposed to be about writing. It really wasn’t going to be about anything because I plan my blogs like I plan my stories: NOT AT ALL. So I’m going to stop writing before I ramble on for another five minutes about how our washing machine sounds like a jetliner taking off when it’s in the spin cycle.

*Also there’s a lot to our friendship that I haven’t even gotten to divulge on this blog yet, even though a lot of people reading it know the circumstances already

**And by ‘only person’, I mean Electric Girl also gets to read what I write. It’s her toll for living with my writing-related meltdowns