in search of joie de vivre

I could eat this all day.

2011-04-10T10:26:00.000-05:00

Joy comes from a bowl of caprese salad on a day that feels like summer.

A note to my three readers...

2011-03-29T19:46:00.000-05:00

It shouldn't come as any surprise that when a blog about joy doesn't get updated for two months, friends start to question the writer if she has a case of the blues. Then again, when things get very joyful, blog writing tends to fall to the wayside. I'm happy to say that the latter is the explanation for the quiet around here. Here's to an honest attempt to make more noise!

Starting with this picture of a fluffy puppy.

You're welcome.

True

2011-02-10T17:20:00.001-06:00

(via robot heart)

Four things

2011-02-05T11:21:00.000-06:00

Four things that keep me grinning

1. Texas snow days (1 inch is all ya need...)

2. The Packers in the super bowl

3. Johnny Cash on the jukebox

4. Potato soup on the stove

2011-01-08T09:28:00.000-06:00

"Quote"

2011-01-04T17:05:00.000-06:00

So this is the new year.

2010-12-30T10:20:00.001-06:00

(via pursuitofhappiness)

In 2011, resolve to...

Take long, deliberate breaths in moments of stress.

Make serious contributions to future crow's feet.

Give more, take less.

Find the joy. Blog about it.

Danny & Annie

2010-12-04T14:35:00.000-06:00

Can you think of anything more beautiful than this?

I can't.

I'll go to the corner.

2010-11-30T21:49:00.001-06:00

I live in a small apartment. Given its layout, it is very possible to be standing in the kitchen and the living room at the same time; my couch is so close to the bed that the thought of being "too tired to make it to the bedroom" seems particularly absurd (although has happened more times than I care to mention). Everything about my apartment has a place, and that's partially why I love it. What it lacks in hosting space and decorative furniture, it makes up in efficiency and low utility bills.

My favorite place in the apartment is a small corner in the bedroom dedicated to my love for all things musical. Most weekends include at least a little time sitting in front of the record player - albums I've pillaged from my parents over the years and ones I've collected from friends and garage sales are piled up in a heap underneath. The album selections range from credible (The Velvet Underground) to ridiculous (The Electric Prunes) and everything in between. Mostly, my record player belts out a steady stream of folksy Paul Simon or James Taylor. The crackling hiss of the album makes John Denver stop sounding like some Colorado-lovin' dweeb and turns him into something of a poet.

Sometimes, I spend time in the corner with Betty, my poor excuse for an acoustic. Those critters on the right? Meet my audience. I much prefer Kermit the Frog and Pokey to humans with refined musical palettes. If I played for a real audience, they would quickly spot my shoddy guitar skills or tendency to play songs primarily in the key of G. I don't need the pressure.

I'm sure they're out there, but I don't know many people who don't get at least some joy from music. For me, it's an infinite source of joy so it's nice to have a spot in my apartment reserved just for that. Maybe one day my living space will surpass 500 square feet and I'll have room to spread out my musical joy - but for now, a corner will do.

Summing it up.

2010-11-24T10:00:00.000-06:00

(via Elise)

The hotel lights were ours.

2010-11-18T21:33:00.000-06:00


The famously awesome Austin Motel

JC would be proud.

2010-11-11T20:46:00.000-06:00

It's Thursday night.

I'm taking a vacation day tomorrow.

Things are getting biblical.

(but not in a dirty way)

unsolicited advice.

2010-11-08T20:39:00.000-06:00

pumpkin mayhem!

2010-11-07T12:42:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I cheat and go to Quack's instead.

Recipe progress so far...

pumpkin curry soup
pumpkin pudding
pumpkin bread
pumpkin pie parfait
pumpkin smoothies
pumpkin chocolate chip muffins

Next up... pumpkin cookies with salted caramel glaze. Homemade pumpkin spice latte. Pumpkin pie custard. Pumpkin pie gelatin mold collaboration with The Modern Gelatina.

I'll be the first to admit this is starting to get a bit out of hand...

smile and let me in.

2010-11-02T20:28:00.000-05:00

local artist/local actress joy

Sailing away.

2010-10-31T22:06:00.004-05:00

One year for her birthday, my sister received a shirt that was so absolutely awesome that it has come to symbolize my older sibling worship. Even twenty years later, we can still easily recall the details of The Coolest Shirt Ever without much prompting. I got the idea for this blog entry last week, and went on a fact-finding mission.

Me: Do you remember that shirt with the girl on the sailboat?
Sis: Yes! It was a white shirt with red, blue, and yellow accents.
Me: Right. Do you remember who gave it to you?
Sis: No idea. Not mom?

What made this shirt so enviable to me was not so much the sailboat motif - I can count on one hand how many times my family and I have been on a boat together. In recent years we bandied about the idea of going on a casino cruise in Florida, but it quickly petered out in favor of a more traditional family activity of simply doing nothing at all.

No, what made this The Coolest Shirt Ever was the girl's boom box on the sailboat. Inside the snaps held a battery pack that when pressed omitted some sort of tinny-sounding song. My sister and I can't remember the specific tune, but it quickly became her favorite shirt. It was interactive! It was sea worthy! To this day I have to admire what an adult my mother was - to remove and return the battery pack after each washing. I can promise you that if I owned The Coolest Shirt Ever today, the battery pack would have lasted approximately three laundry loads before it went through the wash and was ruined.

Like any youngest of three, my clothing choices were almost 100% hand-me-downs. I knew if I would just bide my time, my sister would eventually outgrow The Coolest Shirt Ever and it would be mine. Victory was bittersweet, though. Despite my mom's diligence, the music had stopped playing and the battery pack was removed by the time it was tucked in my drawer.

It's stupid the things we remember from childhood. This shirt still reminds me of how I felt growing up. Simply put, my big sisters could do no wrong. If they liked it, well then it was the Coolest Thing Ever and all I could do was to be patient while I waited for it to be mine.

True.

2010-10-13T21:29:00.000-05:00

South Congress Ave.

Austin, TX

Weekend joy!

2010-10-07T16:00:00.002-05:00

Look who's comin' to Texas this weekend!

And look who's gettin' married!

Is it Friday yet?

Music of the month.

2010-10-04T21:55:00.000-05:00

It must be weird being rich. I can't imagine walking into a store without making a beeline to the sales rack (my dad swears by that one) or choosing something at a restaraunt without at least considering its cheapest option first. I was taught to be a frugal bugal and this I shall remain.

Except at the beginning of each month. I only get paid monthly which is basically a huge problem. For a few days, I feel remarkably rich. Ask me to dinner, and I'll probably buy us dessert. Need another round at the bar? Don't worry, I got this one. Of course, as soon as my rent check is cashed, reality sets in and it's back to my penny pinching ways. And then by the end of the month, I'm eating pantry food selections and wondering how long I can put off that toilet paper purchase.

One of my favorite first o' the month pasttimes is stocking up on a handful of new albums. I tend to grab whatever's on sale for $5 on Amazon with the occassional full price (!) choice. This month's selection?

Tift Merritt

See you on the moon

Mayer Hawthorne

A strange arrangement

Janis Joplin

Pearl

Natasha Bedingfield

Pocketful of sunshine

(Quit your hipster judgement.)

Maybe when I'm independently wealthy or marry up I'll be one of those music snobs who only buys directly from the artist and yammers on and on about how the art of creating an album is dead, that itunes and amazon is killing music industry, how vinyl is the only true musical medium worth listening to, yadda yadda yadda. In the mean time, I'll have to make do. At least I have first o' the month music to keep me feeling richer than I really am.

Musical crush.

2010-10-02T15:50:00.000-05:00

My agenda for this weekend: Listen to this song. Repeat.

Time to play.

2010-10-02T13:52:00.000-05:00

(via loveyourchaos)

Shall we go a-swingin'?

Let's shall!

Autumn in the summertime.

2010-09-25T12:51:00.001-05:00

I didn't realize that by living in Texas, I would be forfeiting all rights to autumn. Today's temperature is 90 degrees. Ninety frickin' degrees in late September. What's worse is that the entire city of Austin seems to be in a state of denial- stores are stocked with clothes nobody can wear, Starbucks returned its seasonal Pumpkin Spice Latte to the menu despite it being cold drink weather, and my air conditioning hasn't been turned off since June.

There's really nothing left to do but lament and idolize a season which I don't technically get to enjoy until December... and by then, I'll be too busy romanticizing winter to notice. Nevertheless, in the spirit of joyfulness I bring you...

Joie d'fleur.

2010-09-21T17:50:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, it's the little things that count.

Especially when that something is heavily discounted at the floral shop down the street.

Bad habits and seafood.

2010-09-06T19:46:00.001-05:00

I've developed some bad habits over the years since I began living alone. I find it completely appropriate to begin taking off my pants as I head to the bathroom, for example. I talk to myself constantly. I drink straight from the milk carton. While these things are enough to make Emily Post flip over in her grave, perhaps no bad habit is as worrisome to me as my tendency to eat over the kitchen sink. There, I said it: I eat over the kitchen sink. I'm a sinkie. On one hand, crouching over the kitchen sink saves on plates, spills, and avoids yet another personal reminder that my kitchen table is broken and has been since I moved in over a year ago. On the other hand, it's rather unbecoming. I'm mid-way through my mango and then suddenly realize I'm not that far removed from Wilbur eating from the trough. It's an unsettling thought.

In an effort to reclaim my (still broken) kitchen table, I plan to make more meals that require basic utensils.Tonight? Victory.


Laura, 1. Kitchen Sink, 0.

Garlicky Baked Shrimp
adapted from Real Simple Magazine

1 pound raw, peeled and deveined shrimp
4 cloves sliced garlic
2 tablespoons chicken broth
salt and pepper
1/4 cup softened butter (I reduced it to 2-3 tbsp. Heart attacks = Sad face.)
1/4 cup panko bread crumbs
2 tablespoons chopped parsley

Preheat oven to 425F.

In a baking dish, combine the shrimp, garlic and broth. Season with salt and pepper. Combine the butter, bread crumbs and parsley and sprinkle over shrimp. Bake 15 to 18 minutes.

confessions of a cookie junkie

2010-08-31T22:19:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I read an article about a food critic who struggled with obesity and how he decided to become vegan everyday until dinnertime, thus losing a ton of weight without giving up everything for good. I read this triumphant tale in the wee hours of the morning after just getting into work (read: not fully awake). As I took swigs of my coffee (with cream), I began writing a chipper email to a colleague, an all-the-time vegan. "Guess what? I'm going to try this! I'm going to be vegan until 6 pm every day!" I patted myself on the back for being so clever. Healthy habits, ahoy! It was only then did I realize that in between keystrokes, I had grabbed and consumed a handful of cheddar bunnies (the organic and slightly less processed version of Goldfish). Oh, wait. That means no cheese. Well, f&%^ that idea.

I'm a terrible dieter. Fact is, I'm far too nice to myself when I'm on a diet because even on the worst of food days, I can still remind myself, "Well, it's not like I ate an entire pizza - that's way worse," or "Way to not buy a dozen cupcakes and eat them all in one sitting, Laura - you're SO HEALTHY!" I'm so good at summoning up lists of things I didn't eat that day that I conveniently forget all the things that I did. See what I mean? Worst dieter ever.

One of my greatest weaknesses in life are baked goods. Brownies, cake, pie... whatever. It's all delicious, it's all for me. Working in a residential hall on campus means easy access to far too many baked goods, 24 hours a day. Now even laziness isn't a preventive shield against the stuff. A few weeks ago a colleague and I began actually taking our 10-minute afternoon break (crazy, right?) at work to grab a cookie and sit outside and thaw our overly air-conditioned bodies in the hot Texas sun. We talk about whatever is on our mind and eat our cookies together. It's basically bliss and has easily become the best part of my day, and that's not just because of the cookie, although it certainly helps.

I think I've always been a cookie monster, only now my monster-like tendencies are paired with becoming an afternoon break monster and a talk-about-my-feelings monster... and that's good enough for me. Sing it with me: cookie, cookie, cookie starts with C!!!!

Where'd she go?

2010-08-26T22:37:00.000-05:00

Work's been a bear.

Be back soon.

I'd give you one if I could.

2010-08-18T21:05:00.000-05:00

Have you given anyone a hug today?

Hope so.

Joie de text.

2010-08-12T19:26:00.000-05:00

"I love living by myself. I'm eating marshmallows dipped in chocolate, drinking wine, and watching Dawson's Creek. PS, I went out on Saturday night, got completely bombed, and proceeded to tell a group of hot guys that they were 98 Degrees. Then, I pointed out who was in the group. Then I talked to "Drew Lachey" for an hour and made my friend give him my number."

- Joy, in the form of a text message

That was Wisconsin.

2010-08-10T22:01:00.001-05:00

Behold, the dairy state.

I recently took my first vacation since beginning my job last year. Subsequently, I also had my first post-vacation experience which can only described as vacation hangover. Typical to other experiences I've, uh, had - vacation hangover felt strikingly similar: Headache. Grumpiness. Overall malaise with sudden, persistent cravings for mac and cheese. Periodic whimpering.

It makes sense, though. If you suddenly take away afternoon naps, increase temperatures by 30+ degrees, AND return to 40-hour work weeks, grumpy pants can't be too far away. Especially coming off a vacation which involved:

Hanging out with my nieces and nephew

Spending time with friends

Grilling out with my family

And, of course, cheese!

It's always hard to come back from vacation. Still, I'm joyful for the time I got to spend with family and friends this summer. No matter how long I live in Texas, Wisconsin will always be my home.

How to be alone

2010-08-07T16:07:00.000-05:00

Friday's Happy Thought

2010-07-16T16:26:00.000-05:00

(via Etsy)

I want to go to there.

2010-07-15T21:34:00.000-05:00

An email from my sister: "You leave for the land of family, cheese, fancy tv, sleeping-in, cool nights, lazy days, tons of food, tons of drink, friends, boredom, cute children, arguments, contentment in one week."

Today's joie de vivre is that I'm one week away from Wisconsin.

Ukeleles and general sappiness.

2010-07-11T20:56:00.004-05:00

(via loveyourchaos)

This song is sort of my favorite.

Cherries: not the pits.

2010-07-10T16:45:00.003-05:00

I impulsively bought 10 dollars (also known as 2.5 lbs) worth of cherries today at the grocery store. Blame the store display near the exit - it was all red and shiny and it could not be helped. As I checked out, I couldn't figure out why my bill was so high until I went home and reviewed the receipt. Oh. Wait, that was 2.5 lbs worth? Yikes.

I love cherries. But can I take on a giant bowl full of 'em before they go bad? Jury's still out, but one thing's for sure: that's one joyful challenge if I ever heard one.

Proof I'm not following the World Cup.

2010-07-07T16:20:00.000-05:00

Clearly, we all have varying levels of commitment to sports.
Mine is non-existent. Unless boys are involved.

Lovin' the lavender.

2010-07-06T16:53:00.001-05:00

Stress management takes all forms. For me, it results in obsessively spraying this stuff all over my hands whenever I'm feeling frazzled (i.e. sortofallthetime). After fighting a losing battle with an excel sheet at work today, a quick spray on the hands and suddenly I'm teleported into a field of lavender... among hippies and butterflies and ice cream cones. Sure, when I look up the excel file is still staring back at me with its beady, judgmental cells... but at least now I'm less inclined to burst into tears, so I consider it a victory.

Sanity, 1. Microsoft, 0. Take that, Bill Gates.

Four happy thoughts.

2010-07-02T16:21:00.001-05:00

Four things that didn't suck about today:
1. The work week is over which means I'm not writing website content for the next 72 hours.
2. So begins a weekend centered around sparkly explosives. Boom!
3. My official countdown to my trip to WI has begun (T-20 days!)
4. Oh, chocolate frosty. How I love you.

I'm covered.

2010-06-28T20:37:00.005-05:00

Here's what I know:

Rumors was probably one of Fleetwood Mac's best albums.
Mates of State is my favorite married couple band.
I am not particularly gifted with Microsoft Paint.

All of these things combined explain why I've been jamming to this song:

Tea time!

2010-06-27T14:51:00.005-05:00

Between the months of June and September, the state of Texas becomes completely unreasonable. Weeks ago, temperatures began the climb into the upper 90s with heat indices dancing in the triple digits. Thus, I returned to my state of perpetual sweat and now seek slivers of shade underneath trees or behind signs as I wait for the bus. I even have a spare shirt stashed in my office.

Even native Texans find the summer heat unbearable, although what separates them from the rest is their willingness to be outdoors anyway. Me? Not so much. No matter how slow I walk, or how early I get up in the morning, Texas is just too hot to a girl who can easily conjure up memories of Wisconsin summers - a magical place where when the sun goes down, so does the heat. A place that doesn't feel like you are constantly standing behind the exhaust pipe of a bus.

That's not to say that I haven't made progress. With one summer already under my belt, I've made crazy remarks like, "Ninety degree days aren't that uncomfortable in the shade" or "Screw it, let's just go outside anyway." Of course, it's only June. I have barely begun the fight.

Texas summers are just reverse winters, anyway - the majority of time you're indoors, and you keep an eye on the news for weather warnings, only this time it's the heat, not snow, that's the culprit. On the bright side, you don't have to shovel the sun. Still, summer is the pits here. But in an attempt to be positive, I plan to occasionally share with you all of the things that keep Texas summers from turning completely into Dante's Inferno.

Starting with Sun Tea. Oh, how I love iced tea. When I manage to greet the great outdoors, it's usually with a glass of iced tea in hand (not to mention SPF 50 and a floppy hat). I love seeing jars of sun tea brewing on folk's front porches around the neighborhood. Iced tea is even a big business around here, although I draw the line at sweet tea which is a great example of how too much of a good thing is just gross.

When my outdoor plant died due to heat exposure and owner negligence, my sun tea jar took its place. It's better use of the space, anyway. A few weeks back, I read an article about the bacterial problems with sun tea. I brought this up to a colleague who responded, "If there was any true danger from making sun tea, 80% of the South would be dead by now." I cringed at his response. Wait, I live in the South?!

Oh, well. No matter where I live, iced tea = summertime. I guess it will just depend on my future locations as to whether I actually enjoy the summertime or not. But that's beside the point.

Won't you come out to play?

2010-06-25T18:45:00.000-05:00

Not under control.

2010-06-22T21:31:00.005-05:00

Years ago, a professor glanced at me behind a stack of papers and said, "You know, you can't control the universe, Laura." This, my friends, is an infuriating thing to say to a control freak. Sometimes, a person just doesn't want to hear the truth. And that person is me.

I spent almost a week in the hospital this month. I shuffled around in half-open hospital gowns, stress ate tiny cups of ice cream, and waited. Waited to see doctors, waited in freezing cold ER rooms, waited for my pain meds to kick in. Say it with me: no control.

Let me just point out that the joy behind today's entry was not found through me relinquishing all control or surrendering to the universe. I still have no idea how to even attempt that. Instead, joy came from an awesome realization that when you do lose control, there can be people around to cushion the blow. They can spend all day with you in the ER and claim they wouldn't have gotten as far on their class reading if they hadn't. They can pick up cups of iced coffee because they know you're addicted, and they can harass the nurse until she finally tells them when the doctor is expected to come. They take vacation days just to sit by you while you blubber like an idiot because you don't want to have that spinal tap.

When you don't have control of the big stuff, this is the stuff that gets you through it... and headed towards your next joyful entry.

Foxes are pretty fantastic

2010-05-29T21:35:00.002-05:00

"There's something kind of fantastic about being different, isn't there?"

joyful pasta.

2010-05-24T22:17:00.004-05:00

INGREDIENTS:

* 3/4 pound whole-wheat pasta, your choice
* 3 cloves garlic
* 4 cups chopped fresh spinach
* 8 oz. fresh mozzarella, shredded
* 1 cup ricotta cheese
* Sea salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
* Red pepper flakes

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees, and butter/oil a 13×9 inch oven-safe baking dish. Prep all ingredients, including thoroughly washing and drying spinach.

2. Cook pasta according to directions, remove from heat and rinse with cold water. Toss in bowl with olive oil and set aside.

3. Heat olive oil in a skillet and saute garlic. Add spinach and cook until spinach collapses.

4. Remove spinach/garlic from heat and add to noodles. Add a 1/2 cup of ricotta and half of the mozzarella to the mixture.

5. Pour mixture into baking dish and top with remaining cheese and ricotta (in dollops).

6. Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes until cheese on top is bubbling and melted. Top with red pepper flakes and salt and pepper.

(adapted from Kohler Created)

I love to sing-a...

2010-05-18T16:26:00.001-05:00

Favorite springtime smell

2010-05-15T20:28:00.003-05:00

There's nothing better than lilacs.
(via papertissue)

My current obsession

2010-05-09T14:14:00.001-05:00

Skip you. Reverse. Draw two.

2010-05-06T19:44:00.001-05:00

Uno joy. The only thing better is Skip-Bo joy.

(via papertissue)

Time out.

2010-05-05T22:15:00.004-05:00

If for some reason you've stumbled on my blog randomly, I should probably let you in on a little secret of which my other readers are likely well aware. Despite having a blog centered around all things joyful... I can be a terribly cynical person. I snort during love scenes in movies. I genuinely loathe anything in a store that says "Live. Laugh. Love." written on it. I'll think you're trying too hard if you wax philosophical over the beauty of a daisy.

My cynicism is what started this blog in the first place. Despite being a regular Grumposauras Rex, it's been helpful to have an on-going assignment to pause once in awhile and think happy, grateful thoughts. And while I still haven't severed ties with Cynical Laura, Joyful Laura comes out more naturally than she did before.

This past week, though, joy went missing. Without going into specifics (how annoying, right?!), important people in my life dealt with a lot of undeserved pain and suffering this week. As it was happening, I sat on the sidelines to it all, angry as hell about the fact that bad things happen to good people. There is no silver lining to it - it's a crappy truth. And what's worse, is that there is nothing I could do to change it.

It's hard to be joyful in times of pain. But if I could be joyful about anything tonight, it would be in the courage and strength people show in times of adversity, the kindness of loved ones, and the ability to persevere. I believe these things will eventually make it possible for me to find joy again soon.

It's hard to be cynical about that.

the sugary smell of springtime

2010-04-23T22:01:00.001-05:00

Memory One from Bill on Vimeo.

joie de poem

2010-04-23T21:59:00.000-05:00

since feeling is first
e.e. cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Peggy Lee!

2010-04-20T22:14:00.000-05:00

I am a dairy queen.

2010-04-18T21:42:00.007-05:00

Confession time: I have an unreasonable fear of drive-thrus. I'm not entirely sure where it started or why it my heart races at the mere thought of shouting my order through a tinny-sounding speaker, but there it is. What if they're judging me on my order? Why can they never understand a word I'm saying? Am I a horrible American for being here?

I've had a craving for Dairy Queen for over a month now. Likely it has to do with the Texas-centric commercials on TV every five minutes. All 49 states other than Texas get to hear a nice, forgettable DQ jingle. In Texas we get to hear, "DQ... that's what I like about Texas!!!" This marketing scheme confounds me. Perhaps Texans don't understand that eating at Dairy Queen is not unique to this state. Maybe they don't realize that every breathing American (save for the health conscious or lactose intolerant) has experienced a trip to DQ at least once in their life, no matter what town they're from. Or, maybe Texans are just really, really self-aggrandizing.

But I digress. Regardless of my overall beef with the marketing team, I could resist its soft serve no longer. I hopped in my car and headed towards the nearest restaurant.

Things went dramatically sour after that. Driving into the parking lot, a familiar fear rose through my throat. Oh, god. The restaurant is closed. My only option is... the drive-thru. I considered turning around, quite honestly. And had I literally not positioned my car halfway into the lane headed towards the dreaded menu sign, I might have. But now the medians surrounded me and gentle reminders of the Caramel Brownie Blast sundae guided me towards my inevitable hell.

One small chocolate ice cream in a cup, please.
Excuse me?
Uh, one small chocolate ice cream in a cup, please?
Wait, you just want ice cream?
...Yes.
We don't have chocolate.
Haha.
(Silence)
Oh, you don't?
No. We only have vanilla.
Oh, well vanilla then.
So just vanilla... in a cup?
That's right.
No chocolate sauce, or anything?
No no, that's ok.
Dipped?
Just VANILLA. IN A CUP.
You sure?
YES.
What size did you want?
SMALL!
Oh-kayyyyy. That will be $1.50. Please pull ahead.

What ice cream store doesn't have chocolate soft serve?! I was too busy mulling over that very question when I suddenly realized I was lost. As I drove around in circles in a slightly dodgy area of Austin, the gas light binged. Terrific. In addition to being utterly lost with a cup of melting vanilla ice cream, I was now about to run out of gas in Dodgy NoChocolateVille, Texas. I finally stumbled upon Snappy Mart - a gas station littered with pot holes and 15,000 reminders to pay the gas attendant before pumping.

Twenty dollars of gas for the pump with that silver car, please.
Pump 3?
I don't know. The silver car.
Pump 4?
The only car out there.
Pump 2?
I... Just look outside. The pump by the car.
Oh. Pump 3.

Turns out, my fear of drive-thru conversations also extends to a fear of talking to gas station attendants. Hoping to indeed make this excursion snappy, I then noticed the gas tank was on the other side of my car. Frick. I looked up to see I was now parked in by another Snappy Mart patron. Double frick. I sat in my car, taking angry bites of my ice cream. It wasn't supposed to be this way, I glumly thought into my ice cream dish.

At that moment, though, I remembered how delicious Dairy Queen soft serve was. And how I've always liked their use of red spoons and bad Dennis the Menace cartoons on the blizzard cups.

I decided to finish my ice cream under the glow of the Snappy Mart sign. It was just me, my red spoon, and my small. vanilla. ice cream. in a cup.

And you know what? It was totally worth it.

Baby bunny.

2010-04-16T08:05:00.000-05:00

(via hotroller)

Salad days

2010-04-14T21:24:00.004-05:00

Growing up, salad bars were a childhood battleground, offering both the best (chocolate pudding! croutons! vague, mayonnaise-based pasta salad!) and the worst (i.e. vegetables) options a kid could ask for. My mom likes to remind me that as a child I would ask for a salad, "hold the lettuce". For me, salads were all about the accoutrement. No need to mess with the greens when bacon bits and cheddar cheese were its real appeal, right?

My inner 6-year-old would be shocked that twenty years later I'd anxiously await a produce box delivered to my doorstep with the same excitement as a trip up for more garlic bread. After missing out on the farmer's market a few weeks in a row, I decided to order the "local box" at an organic produce delivery in town. I literally applauded at the sight of the box against my door. Then, laying out the loot on the kitchen table, I surveyed my options. Strawberries! Carrots! Garlic! Something....else! What the hell is that?

I'm not sure, but around dinnertime tomorrow I'll be figuring it out. Salad bar, you've been put on notice. Your sneeze guard days are over - the big guns are in town.

An ode to scruff.

2010-04-08T21:13:00.005-05:00

Joy d' beard.

My one and only.

2010-04-06T16:39:00.007-05:00

My weekend, in pictures.

2010-04-04T16:14:00.007-05:00

This weekend included...the assassination of Lincoln! The journey of the Puritans!

sushi rolls with salmon, avocado, and mango...

and wayyyyyy too many of these.

Hope you had a happy weekend, internet.

a magnificent noise

2010-04-03T23:27:00.001-05:00

I'm lost without a place to go crazy.

2010-03-30T22:25:00.002-05:00

(via papertissue)

Here comes the sun!

2010-03-14T09:38:00.002-05:00

Springtime weather in Austin, TX feels like I'm living in a never-ending spring break. On weekend mornings, a comfortable 50 degrees and sunny, I sit by the pool behind my apartment, sip on my coffee, and read whatever novel I'm working through. Then, usually ten or fifteen minutes in, I look up from the page, glance at the chlorinated water, and think to myself, "This can't be right."

Growing up in the north when the phrase "75 degrees and sunny" was uttered out of anyone's mouth - especially my father's - the unspoken family motto was: Drop Everything and Run Outside. In Wisconsin, a 75 degree day could be followed by a light snow shower, so you better believe you'll take advantage of whatever's handed to you. Lunchtime? Bring it outside. We're probably grilling out anyway. Homework to do? We bought that picnic table for a reason, you know.

When my family went on spring break together, we rarely planned anything beyond sitting on the beach/poolside in the sun. Read. Nap. Flip over. Repeat. As I got into my teenage years, this drove me crazy, but my dad - who worked a 9-5 for 30 odd years in insurance - loved it. All that man wants to do is sit outside for a week straight in Florida. Ten months into my first job, I can kind of see where he was coming from, although I still would argue that we could at the very least thrown in a round of putt-putt once in awhile.

Weather here is a bit more predictable. Sunny. Warmish to warm. Very few clouds. When I see a 7-day forecast that looks remarkably consistent, I still shake my head. What is this? How do Austinites go about their day without dropping to their knees and and counting their blessings?

I still feel tremendous guilt if nice-weather days are not spent entirely outdoors. If I'm watching TV and the sun's still shining, I will literally hear my dad's voice in my ear, "What are you doing?!" and I'll go out and take a walk. Maybe one day I'll get used to beautiful spring weather, but I hope I don't. There's no better mindset than feeling like every day feels like one giant, sunny favor.

Practically perfect in every way.

2010-03-11T21:24:00.001-06:00

(via loveyourchaos)

Wakey wakey!

2010-03-07T09:17:00.003-06:00

Growing up, Sunday mornings almost always began with food. If it wasn't the smell of bacon on the frying pan that woke me up, it would be my dad ducking his head in my room in a voice both sweet and obnoxious shouting, "BREAKFAST, LB. LB. GET UP. BREAKFAST!" As a teenager, that was usually my cue to roll over and groan. And yet, once my olfactory senses were kickin', it wouldn't be long until I trudged into the kitchen to sit down for breakfast.

I loved that our family, without fail, would sit down for Sunday breakfast together. I loved the difficult decisions I faced at nine in the morning: english muffin, bagel, or toast? Honey, peanut butter, or plain? One egg or two? Milk, juice, or both? I wish all major decisions in life resulted in something so delicious.

I live alone, which means that sometimes there's just no point to certain things. There's no point to make multiple side dishes or dirty a plate when you could just eat straight from the pot. And there's certain meals that seem like too much work to even bother. Ever heard the Of Montreal song that begins "Pancakes for one are always depressing...?" Because it's true. Once in desparation I made pancakes for myself and ate them standing up in front of the stove as they finished. Are you picturing this? Depressing.

Once in awhile I put some effort towards my own little Sunday breakfast. As I make the eggs, I remember the comments my dad would make when he made ours - his apologies when the yolk would break, his insistence that he make one or two extra eggs in case someone wanted more.

My yolks always break. I rarely bother with breakfast meat and when I do, I convince myself that things like turkey bacon are as good as the real deal (and then I always realize that they aren't). Despite my poor man's version of Sunday Breakfast, it's still a lovely way to begin the day. It reminds me of home, it reminds me of family.

Some things are just worth the effort.

Three words

2010-02-20T13:28:00.000-06:00

Wet Raccoon Joy

2010-02-14T20:55:00.001-06:00

(via loveyourchaos)

Recipe joy

2010-02-07T17:55:00.008-06:00

Because sometimes joy comes from a Sunday evening bowl of stew...

Bean and Turkey Sausage Stew

Adapted from Real Simple Magazine

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 links hot turkey sausage (chicken or pork works, too)

2 cloves of garlic, thinly sliced

1 can chicken or vegetable broth

1 can Muir Glen Fire-Roated Diced Tomatoes

1 can cannellini beans

2 big handfuls fresh spinach, chopped

Fresh ground pepper, to taste

Directions:

1. Heat oil in dutch oven/large saucepan over medium heat. Add turkey sausage and cook until brown. Stir in the garlic and saute.

2. Add broth, beans, and diced tomatoes. Bring to a boil. Reduce to simmer, and add spinach until wilted. Add pepper to taste.

3. Enjoy.

Becoming a foodie

2010-02-06T15:49:00.006-06:00

A year ago, I would have said that grocery shopping felt akin to a trip to the laundromat or the gas station: a necessary pain in the ass. All of that changed when I moved to Austin, watched Food Inc., freaked out, and began eating organic. Enter Central Market. Despite being in a town where Whole Foods got its start, I've opted for its less intense cousin just up the street from my apartment. From the second I walked through the doors, I was hooked. Goodbye, highly processed and packaged "food". Hello, fresh and recognizable ingredients.

One of my favorite things to do on a Saturday is to wake up early and go grocery shopping. The store isn't busy yet so the samples are still filled to the brim and I can spend five minutes picking out an acorn squash without someone ramming into my cart. Even the checkout process is better. Today, Andrew and I discussed our favorite Indian recipes and he wrote a book recommendation on the back of my receipt.

I know that eating organic isn't for everyone, and I'll be the first to admit that my grocery bill is higher than before. But for me, it's worth it. I eat healthier, cook more at home, and I have an increased paranoia to finish my fruits and vegetables before they go bad.

There's just something joyful about being surrounded by colorful produce and passing a long display of freshly baked bread. And - I'll be honest - having dark chocolate espresso caramels available in the bulk section doesn't hurt, either.

Rain, I don't mind.

2010-02-03T21:15:00.008-06:00

There is something particularly cruel about waking up to the sound of steady rain when drifting back to sleep isn't an option. In grad school, a student once asked me if class was canceled for rainstorms. I laughed in her face that day, but now, a week into mornings that begin with a string of rain-induced obscenities, I'm beginning to see her point.

Rain isn't all bad, of course. The Morton Salt Girl seems relatively content, and I'm not one to deny plants a beverage now and then. It certainly makes those running-towards-your-soulmate scenes in movies towards more dramatic when it's in the midst of a downpour.

Perhaps the most redeeming part of rainy weather, though, is thanks to my happy yellow raincoat. While it's not without its ridicule (the office manager shouted "Hey Gorton, love the fishsticks!" when I came into work this morning), my raincoat makes me not mind waiting outside for the bus on days like these when Austin turns into one enormous puddle. I am water repellent, bucko. Bring it on. And just wait 'til I get a pair of wellies... then we'll be talking some serious rainy day joy.

I'll be happy when the sun returns and I can put away my coat, but in the mean time, it's given me enough joy to prompt a rainy day photoshoot in the backyard. That's got to account for something, right?

Beautiful.

2010-02-01T21:30:00.002-06:00

Viral joy

2010-01-31T17:31:00.004-06:00

I spent last week in digestive misery. Food became the ultimate enemy. I tiptoed around chicken soup, I winced at a bite of toast. After trying to eat, I'd sit on my couch, awaiting my fate. Turns out, fate can be cruel. Repeatedly.

It's hard to find joy when your head's in a toilet. But here's my best shot:

joie de vivre: the stomach virus edition

joy is piling blankets so high you can barely move.

joy is bendy straws to prevent unnecessary head movement.

joy is questionable daytime programming.

joy is receiving pity phone calls.

joy is doctor-ordered popsicles.

joy is unlimited, guilt-free naps.

How's that for a silver lining?

2010-01-12T22:11:00.001-06:00

(via loveyourchaos)

Moo.

2010-01-10T17:40:00.000-06:00

Joy comes from buying chocolate milk. In bulk.

Sew what?

2010-01-06T22:52:00.006-06:00

There are some things in life to which I freely admit defeat. For one, I can't wrap a gift to save my life. I use too much tape, my wrapping style always develops air pockets, and I never cut the right amount of paper, leaving slivers of the original packaging visible to the naked eye. Gift bags were invented for people like me.

I am terrible at sports. Literally every single sport you can think of, down to the sports that can be found on a "Seniors Activity List" at your nearest Assisted Living home. I could blame my genes or a sheer apathy towards competition, but whatever it is, sideline benches were invented for people like me.

Recently I've discovered something else to add to my list. Apparently, I'm down right awful at sewing. Awful. A few months back, I mended a pair of workout pants and managed to sew up the hole... granted, through a tangle of knots and too much thread... still, I considered it a victory. What once was a gaping hole of cotton/spandex blend was now sewn shut! Hurrah!

Tonight I sat down to sew a button on my winter coat. I started feeling nervous about this venture a couple of days ago when the button fell off and I chased it through the kitchen. I can do this, I not-so-confidently thought to myself. I have a masters degree! I was the editor of a literary magazine in college! What's so hard about sewing a button?

*Shakes head*

Apparently a number of things. After about 30 minutes of reasonable attempts (i.e. watching DIY videos online), I ended up calling in the big guns: my mother. She tried to explain it to me over the phone. "It's really quite simple, Lizzie... just [this is where I begin to lose track of what she's saying and ask her to start over again twice]." Annoyed that even her "Maybe if you drew a picture of my directions" exercise didn't work, I went to the fridge to get a beer.

Take two didn't fare much better. While I had somehow managed to get the button to stay, I quickly realized they weren't lining up with the machine-sewn buttons. Finally I grabbed some scissors and cut out my hard work.

My original intention for this entry was to be about the joy that comes from finishing a task, especially one that was difficult. The thrill of "I did that!" and the satisfaction of a job well done. But that wasn't the case. At all. So instead, today's joie de vivre are alteration shops.

Invented for people like me.

2010-01-05T21:57:00.000-06:00

You know I believe and how.

2010-01-03T15:45:00.009-06:00

Three cheers for a cover of a Beatles classic which doesn't make me want to throw things against a wall or go running towards the mute button. I dare you not to feel at least a little bit of joy with this one...

I'll be home for Christmas

2009-12-18T21:00:00.004-06:00

Remember those kids in high school who would stare out the classroom window and wish they were just about anywhere else? I was very much one of those kids. Everything was happening some place else and growing up in small town Wisconsin, I dreamed about the day I could escape. No more knowing everyone's business, no more small town snail-like pace, no more I love hunting/fishing/sports more than my wife! bumper stickers. I couldn't wait.

Since those high school days, I've incrementally moved further and further from home; suddenly I find myself a short drive from Mexico but a long plane trip to Wisconsin. While I'm happy about the choices I've made and where I've wound up, it's funny how the place I longed to escape has become the place I excitedly return.

In a few hours, I'll be packing my bags and headed home for the first time in 7 months and I'm excited about everything: seeing my nieces and nephew, arguing with my dad over my disdain for wearing socks around the house, I might even smile when I spot the first misogynistic bumper sticker on the back of some guy's Ford.

I know the whole "home for the holidays" concept is a bit cliche, but sometimes joy works out that way. Sometimes it's all the cheese ball commercial stuff that people think about during the holidays: the crackling fires, the falling snow, sitting around with family and the people you love. It's going home. It's slowing down. It's wanting to be right where you are.

Ode to the perfect Sunday

2009-12-08T21:04:00.012-06:00

Dear Sunday,

I used to hate you, but you already knew that. You used to represent long days of studying and writing papers, and you'd never fail to subtly remind me just how far behind I was in my studies. You were kind of a jerk to me, Sunday. But ever since we've been re-introduced as friends, I have been hopeful about our future.

Last week we sat together on the bakery's patio. You watched me read and eat a cookie; you didn't even judge me when I blatantly eavesdropped on that annoying couple's argument. You agreed with me when I concluded that Tim was being kind of a jerk and should have just went with Kelly to the concert last night.

You sat beside me on my favorite park bench where we listened to lovely, mopey music and people-watched. Thanks for not rushing me, Sunday. There were a lot of interesting characters in Shipe Park last week, weren't there?

As we walked home, you complimented me on my new shoes and agreed that kicking the freshly fallen leaves around was an appropriate thing to do in middle of the street, and was equally annoyed as I when that jerk honked at us to get out of the way.

Thanks, Sunday - our complicated relationship is officially over. Let's go steady.

Unexpected music

2009-12-01T15:43:00.003-06:00

Today's joie de vivre: music where you least expect it.

Giving thanks.

2009-11-25T19:34:00.002-06:00

It would probably be remiss if a blog dedicated to appreciating life's little joys didn't at least acknowledge an upcoming holiday that theoretically centers around giving thanks, right?

Oh, Thanksgiving. You are holiday's equivalent of grandma pulling you aside to point out you've put on weight: your heart might be in the right place, but the basic message still stings. A friend of mine refuses to celebrate Thanksgiving because of his Native American roots. Instead, he waits until the Friday after Thanksgiving to celebrate "Honesty Day" - where he and the people he cares about pledges to be honest with one another. Me, I still celebrate Thanksgiving. Instead of focusing on that whole racist, historically inaccurate bit, I prefer to reflect on all the things for which I am thankful. I could come up with a list of things, but that's basically what this blog's all about, anyway.

Whether you celebrate Thanksgiving, Honesty Day, or anything in between, I hope you take some time to reflect on all the warm fuzzies in your life. And if you ever need any reminders of things worthy of gratitude, come visit me. I'll be here.

Joie de quote.

2009-11-15T22:26:00.004-06:00

"blue skies are coming...

but I know that it's hard."

-noah and the whale

(via sullenbluesky)

Fro-Yo: Why I Love America

2009-11-10T20:48:00.004-06:00

One of my friends always likes to tell the story of her mom on a diet. "We were at a restaurant, eating typical diner breakfast type stuff, and my mom was sitting there with her cottage cheese, making yummy noises over it and saying how delicious it was. She wasn't fooling anyone. It was cottage cheese... not a pancake."

I'm not the type of person who makes yummy noises over cottage cheese. I don't jump up and down saying, "Another helping of kale? Don't mind if I do!" I'll eat your fruits and vegetables, USDA. But I'm not going to like it.

With one notable exception: FRO-YO! I can't even type FRO-YO! without conveying my excitement over the stuff. It's sweet, it's delicious, it's the bomb-dot-com. So a few weeks back when I noticed a little shop called Yogurt Planet tucked away underneath the Yuppie McTrendy Apartments in my neighborhood, I accidentally veered a little into oncoming traffic. As I moved safely back into my lane, all I could think was please, don't let this be a chain.

Not only does Yogurt Planet free me from hipster guilt, it also allows me to pay by the ounce! Pay by the ounce?! Consider the power in that, my friends! As I chose between a myriad of fro-yo flavors and beheld the topping bar, I felt invincible. This is my FRO-YO! With so many choices, it was hard not to feel a little patriotic. You enjoy that communist vanilla, rest of the world!! This is my American (i.e. strawberry mango with blackberries, raspberries, and brownies) FRO-YO! In your face, Karl Marx!

I'm probably a little over-excited about this whole adventure, given the fact I chose the no-sugar added stuff. Still, anything that causes potential car accidents and jingoistic outbursts is worthy of an entry. FRO-YO!, I salute you. With my spoon.

The joy of baking

2009-11-01T14:47:00.004-06:00

Joie de vivre:

Making muffins on a Sunday afternoon in fall.

Kindergarten comeback.

2009-10-26T21:36:00.006-05:00

Whenever I want students to do something that might be considered juvenile at a workshop, I'll preface it by saying, "Now, I'm going to ask everyone to harness their inner kindergartner with this. Be brave. " Then, often reluctantly, the students will pick up the crayon or marker and go along with it, but make sure to roll their eyes at their friends. "She does know we're old enough to own fake ids, right?"

Truth is, like most people, I spend a good portion of my day repressing my inner kindergartner. I still am tempted by the afternoon nap. I'd prefer my mother to anyone else's company when I'm feeling ill. Pass the cookies?

Still, some things can't be repressed. My most notable childhood-turned-adult activity would probably be finger painting - I still get a little too much joy out of getting my fingers discolored. What I like about finger painting is that there are no winners or losers. Now, I'm sure a studio art major could make my crayola masterpieces look like colorful pieces of crap, but judging someone's finger painting is like kicking a puppy. Who the hell would be so cruel to even think it? Finger painting is an excellent form of release for me. For a little while, I can get relatively messy, swirl my fingers around paper, and transition out of my work day. And, as a bonus, I can decorate my fridge. Twenty years may have passed since kindergarten, but some habits are just too fun to let go of.

Joie de voicemail

2009-10-20T21:37:00.004-05:00

"Hey Laura, um, I'm fiiiinally getting back to your call after that guilt-filled facebook message you left me, you know, publicly shaming me. That's... that's an effective tactic. Um. You'd work well with the Republican party, I think. Give me a call back when you have the time. Bye."

Proof of public shaming:

The power of a simple question.

2009-10-19T19:50:00.005-05:00

Whenever I have a long day at work, I feel it necessary to tell everyone I know. Guess who's working ELEVEN hours today? Huh, what did you say? No, ME. I'm working ELEVEN hours. In a row! Aren't you impressed with my stamina? Holy long day, batman.

In grad school, eleven hour days are commonplace. No one raises their eyebrows and say "How many?" when you're toiling away at all hours. Now, because it garners attention, I tend to play it up. I AM STILL AT WORK AND THE EVENING NEWS IS ON.

Today was one of those exhausting days, the 2-cups-of-coffee-just-to-stay-alive type. These sort of days make me lose faith in humanity a little bit and Crabby, Crotchety Laura takes over.

To make matters more crabby, something flew into my eye while I sat waiting for the bus. Ever have something sting your eye so bad that the harder you blink the stingier it gets? Well that's what happened here. One wonky-eyed sting fest with streaming tears and everything. I kept jerking my glasses off and rubbing my eye with my sleeve (I know, I know. That doesn't help), mentally barking about what a ridiculous day I was having. C.C. Laura was irritated, and it wasn't just her eye anymore.

And then the nicest thing happened.

An older gentleman waiting with his daughter for the bus leaned over to me and said, "Are you alright, miss?" I looked at up him, one eye still wildly tearing up and said, "That might be the nicest thing anyone's asked me all day." This response confused the man who eventually turned away towards his daughter.

As I sat on the bus ride home, my one eye now bloodshot, I suddenly didn't care about my eleven-hour day. I wasn't annoyed by the disrespectful students or my email inbox. My faith in humanity had momentarily been restored. Today's joie de vivre? Strangers who care enough to ask.

Joie de poem.

2009-10-09T23:16:00.003-05:00

:the realm of possibility || david levithan

(via loveyourchaos)

I'd scratch yours.

2009-10-07T21:16:00.004-05:00

When I was a little girl I used to walk up to my mom or dad sitting in the living room after dinnertime and often without saying a word, I'd just sort of flop onto their lap. In my family, this strange invasion of space articulated everything - specifically, "Back scratch, please."

Let me just lay it out there - I love having my back scratched. LOVE it. I remember asking a college boyfriend to scratch my back once. He looked at me momentarily confused and then asked, "Wouldn't you rather have a back rub?"

No. No, I would not.

Back rubs are great and all, but in my book there's a clear winner. Sure, there are similarities - both you can't really effectively do by yourself, both have poor substitutes that you can pick up at a drug store for under five dollars (give me a break with the wooden hand, seriously), and both result in a milder, more sedate Laura.

But for me, a back scratch is the more primitive, loving way to make someone's day a little bit more comfortable. And isn't that all we're looking for in each other, when it comes down to it? For someone to help us feel comfortable in our own skin and to listen and respond when we say "a little to the left?"

Oh, my. I think I've just described the perfect relationship.

Everybody likes cupcakes.

2009-10-04T20:40:00.005-05:00

As I was leaving work on Friday, a student staff member called after me, "Have a good night with your cupcake and pajamas, Laura." I smiled. The previous week I had admitted to her that Friday nights meant two things for me: pajamas by 5 pm and a cupcake from my neighborhood bakery. While it's not destined to make the seven o'clock news, Cupcake and PJ Friday is one of my favorite parts of the week.

Even in my college heyday, I was never a fully functional social animal. I think I attended one "after bar" in all four years of college, and that was only because I had a crush on a guy who I thought might be in attendance (I need something particularly compelling to keep me awake past midnight, see). Since college, my bar-hopping habits have increasingly waned. I've stopped purchasing clothes that could only be worn on the weekends and I've learned that more than three beers is usually not worth it come Saturday morning. Old and boring? Maybe. But I think I've always been this way - I just have less people to call me out on it now.

Maybe Cupcake and PJ Friday will fade into the distance after I've made more friends in Austin. Perhaps with a more bumpin' social calendar, the guys at Quacks Bakery will stop giving me that knowing glance once the door jingles upon my arrival and I walk up to the bakery case. But in the mean time, every Friday I'm rocking a cupcake and a glass of milk in some pretty ugly sweatpants. And it's awesome.

Unsolicited Advice From My Living Room Wall

2009-10-02T20:40:00.000-05:00

"You have one new voice message"

2009-09-26T20:45:00.004-05:00

Oh. my. god, Laura. You are the funniest person alive. I... (laughs) just got on your blog... and saw your pictures? (Laughter.) You made my day with that. Anyway, give me a call, I'll be around tonight. I might be drunk, though, if you call later... yeah, I really just want to get hammered. (Laughter.) Anyway! Love ya, dude. Talk to you later.
Facts:
A) You can receive joy from a voicemail.
B) We are all pretty lucky that we know the people that we do - myself included.
C) Some nights... you just want to get hammered.

3...2...1... (beep!)

2009-09-23T21:31:00.008-05:00

Today's joie de vivre is the absolute genius who created photobooth on mac computers. This application is an endless source of childish entertainment for me (with a touch of narcissism thrown in for good measure). After a particularly exhausting day at work there's no better way to transition out of the office than a quick trip to the Eiffel Tower or an opportunity to squish and stretch my face to bring out a kindergarten sense of glee. I salute you, photobooth. In fact, I might just take a picture tomorrow of me saluting you in the middle of the ocean, just to prove it.

No more visitors, thanks.

2009-09-17T21:59:00.006-05:00

Let's talk about insects for a moment. Now, I consider myself a pretty rational person. Even when upset, I can usually see two sides of a story. I can even comprehend how someone could have voted for McCain in the last election (although, under no circumstances can I wrap my head around why anyone could have been gung-ho for Palin).

Still, my rational responses come to a screeching halt at the sight of an insect. Maybe I don't hop on furniture, but spotting one sends me screeching and running towards the nearest exit. Cockroaches, as it turns out, scare me the most.

A few days ago, I met Mildred. Here I was, innocently enjoying my Tuesday evening, lounging on my couch eating sushi and watching Arrested Development for the billionth time (I literally heard my DVD sigh as I put the disc in). Mildred interrupted tranquility and scuttled toward the TV, causing me to absolutely panic. PANIC. IRRATIONAL, UNINTENTIONAL PANIC.

I think I named her to help diffuse the fear. Oh, Mildred- lost again, are we? You belong outdoors! That Mildred - always getting into shenanigans. The desensitization process, however, didn't work. It still ended with the same result: me making ill attempts to end things, growing discouraged, and heading to bed early to let Mildred have her space. Now I consider myself a pretty feminist-minded being, but I would give anything to have someone else deal (read: male) with my unwanted house guest.

Tonight, I finally brought out the big guns. Perhaps it's too preemptive to claim Raid my Joie de Vivre, but I need it (and the extra bait I bought) to work so badly, that I'm hoping this entry will put the positive/lethal vibes out in the universe and will it so.

Rest in Peace, Mildred... please?

My personal motto.

2009-09-14T20:37:00.006-05:00

"All my mistakes have become masterpieces."
-Teitur

(photo by LinusVanPelt)

Birthday reflections.

2009-09-08T21:35:00.003-05:00

As a child, I would almost hyperventilate over an upcoming birthday. Whether it was a McDonald's let's stack styrofoam burger boxes up real high for a game! theme or it was a pre-teen slumber party watching Edward Scissorhands (which was TOTALLY PG-13 and ohmygod, don't tell your Dad!!!), I lived for my birthdays.

I turned twenty-six today. This morning I walked into my office and sat down in front of my computer and I worked 8 hours. I talked to students about majors and careers, I prepared for some upcoming presentations, and then I logged off my computer and caught the bus home. There were no ball pits or Totally Hair Barbies wrapped in comic book paper. It felt like every other day.

Then I got home and checked my email and voicemail. I was flooded with messages from friends and family wishing me a happy birthday, letting me know that they miss me, that they hope I'm doing well in Texas. Then a co-worker picked me up and took me out to a nice dinner. We drank wine and talked about the importance of friendship. We shared stories about beginnings of relationships and our favorite "how we met" anecdotes that people begin to collect over the years like tea cups or baseball cards. I was struck by such a strong feeling of contentment, it caught me completely off guard.

At some point without even realizing when, the importance of birthdays have shifted from pomp and circumstance to reflection and humility. The people that make up my everyday are my joie de vivre. They create the stories worth telling. They help me celebrate who I am and help me aspire towards what I want to become. To me, that's a damn fine birthday present.

A joyful start

2009-08-13T07:08:00.002-05:00

This morning I woke up and groaned. I'm becoming bitter towards the cheerful bells my phone's alarm clock blurts out at me at 6:20 every morning. As I was still lying in bed, full of pillow marks and dreams of 2 more hours of sleep, I thought I'd change focus. Practice an attitude of gratitude. So, with that in mind, this morning I'm feeling particularly joyful about...

My upcoming cup of coffee, given to me for FREE by my favorite UT baristas
Listening to Passion Pit a little too loud this morning to get the mojo working
Thursdays, because they eventually lead to Fridays and weekends are just downright joyful
The progressive, student-centered workplace I found myself at
Long and winding phone calls with friends which center me and keep me upbeat
My upcoming kitchen challenge tonight - making homemade falafels

What are you joyful about this morning?

Joie de video

2009-07-28T16:38:00.000-05:00

An awkward movie experience.

2009-07-26T21:31:00.008-05:00

Please repeat after me...
There is nothing

uncool...

about...

3D movies.

In addition, there is also nothing uncool about a blogger's bathroom photo shoot of her ginormous 3-D glasses which were just too cool to leave behind.

Until this afternoon, I had never seen a 3D movie before. I've seen, well, movies which featured its characters at the theatres with their flimsy red and green glasses. I watched them dart back and forth, spilling popcorn and other such things as to indicate their experience with the third dimension, but I didn't think real people actually attended them.

Earlier this week, a co-worker of mine invited me to see a 3D movie with him about guinea pig superheros. Normally my inner adult would keep me from seeing a film centered around animated rodents, but the fact that it was actually in 3D peaked my interest enough to agree.

In a move so utterly Laura it should be studied, I wound up at the wrong theatre and had to see the film by myself. On a related note, thank you, City of Austin, for having five cinemas with the same name. Cheers.

As I walked into the dark theatre alone, I had to own up to what I was doing. I didn't have the excuse of, "Oh, you know, we just went for a laugh. A kick in the pants, really." I watched all the young children and their parents file into the theatre and began to feel slightly uncomfortable that I didn't have an appropriately aged child sitting next to me. I'm not a creep, I swear! Once the room darkened and I figured no one was really watching me anyway, I spent the previews trying to balance my normal glasses and my 3D glasses on the bridge of my nose. Tricky. Suddenly the movie started and there I was, having animated paraphernalia whizzing past me left and right. It was... awesome.

In summation, the movie was crap but 3D is rad. The glasses alone gave me a great deal of blissful Sunday afternoon joy.

joie de photo

2009-07-02T20:29:00.007-05:00

(via papertissue)

Everything I know I learned from Girl Scouts.

2009-06-24T20:37:00.003-05:00

When I was in Girl Scouts we used to sing a song about how friends were flowers in the garden of life. I can almost picture singing this song with my fellow Brownies, clutching each others' hands as we belted out the lyrics in a semi-circle. Girl Scouts felt incredibly important in grade school - maybe it was the sash - but I took it all to heart. Maybe that's why, 20 years later, girl scout songs are still belted out in my shower on a semi-regular basis.

I have fabulous friends who despite distance and time I still keep in close contact. Even those I don't speak to regularly are still held on my mantel shelf of awesome. I am incredibly proud of the people I choose to keep around me. And it sucks - incredibly - to be far away from all of them right now. I only hope that the new friends I make will be half as good as the ones I already have.

I checked my google reader today only to find this online shoutout on one of my favorite blogs, thanks to Lizzie. Who doesn't love a little online love, now and then? Despite the Austin heat, I still appreciate the warm fuzzies. And speaking of warm fuzzies...

Friends are like flowers, beautiful flowers

Friends are like flowers in the garden of life.

Are you a Daisy? Are you a Rose? Are you a Dandilion?

You can be what you are and I willl be what I am

We can be friends in the garden of life.

Are you gagging yet? Pish posh, get over it - a little joie never hurt nobody.

good day, sunshine!

2009-06-06T13:50:00.003-05:00

I know many would disagree, but one of my favorite times of day is morning when the sun is rising and peeking through your window - mother nature's own alarm clock without all the annoying beeps or traffic reports.

However, I can also appreciate those weekend mornings when the sun streams through your window and you can open one eye, appreciate its beauty, and promptly fall right back to sleep.

One of the major drawbacks of my current digs is a lack of direct morning light, something I grew to love about my apartment in Missouri. Now I've learned to angle my bedroom door just the right way to get a steady stream of light in from the living room come morning. Morning sunlight has become important to me over the years. It's those few stolen moments you can enjoy before dragging yourself into the shower and head off to work. It's all very joie de vivrey.

don't panic.

2009-06-04T19:21:00.003-05:00

This blog has been a little quiet lately. For the past couple of weeks, I've been packing up my life and all of its belongings, heading to a new city where no one knows my name. I can obviously recognize the adventure of it all: a new beginning, new surprises at every turn, and everything yet to be discovered. Still, despite all of the excitement, it's difficult and lonesome, too. It's easy to let joy take a back seat when you can't find the nearest grocery store and turning the wrong way onto a street can send you into a spiral of tears.

I've never been any good at bottling up my emotions. If I feel sad, I will be sad, period. I've never figured out how to contain my feelings, and as the years pass, I realize I wouldn't want to even if I could. Being so transparent has its drawbacks, sure, but my tears signal that I need to call someone on the phone. Feeling nervous reminds me to put things into perspective. A clenched fist tells me to take a deep breath.

Today's joie de vivre is when you finally learn not be so hard on yourself. Feel things, experience them fully, and then keep going. You're doing great - and so am I.