I'd scratch yours.

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.

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

"You have one new voice message"

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!)

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.

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.

"All my mistakes have become masterpieces."
-Teitur

(photo by LinusVanPelt)

Birthday reflections.

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

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

An awkward movie experience.

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

(via papertissue)

Everything I know I learned from Girl Scouts.

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!

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.

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.