word quota.

i feel like i wake up each day with this underlying word quota. not so much thoughtless words, but the ones that you think over, say in your head first, compose onto paper and then scratch through, rearrange, toss and start over again and again. for this, there is a quota. a creative word quota.

and thus, my pleasant agony of being a reporter for my university's newspaper. i love the excitement of being connected with so many students, the pride i see in someone's eyes when their life is featured in a story, the thrill of seeing my name under that story at least twice a week.

however, most days i'll have an idea that won't leave my head without a fight, and i'll race home to develop it with a combination of words in my own style, only to be left with a series of jumbled characters and twice as much backspacing. i sigh, and watch another day go by, postless.

for my ongoing list of words with obligatory priority, click here.

white flag.

i am now on the third day of an ongoing battle with the spiders in my basement.

these aren't just regular old creepy spiders, mind you, but some sort of heinous hybrid of cricket, spider, and the abominable snowman that can jump unimaginable heights and tend to survive on a diet of kittens and pure steel.

i haven't been able to do my laundry for three days now, and it just doesn't seem fair. i've tried screaming warnings down the steps, politely asking them to move along, and even bargaining with them by offering small bits of leftovers from the fridge.

the gatekeeper, among the largest and likely wisest, mocks me from the bottom of the steps, keeping constant vigil of their newfound territory. often he high-five's the lewis-and-clark of the group, the forefront of the expedition and consequent fertilizers of the now herd.

i've tried everything, but most of the time i end up somewhere in between slamming the door, giving up while scoffing a 'FINE, you win!' or the much more subtle reaction of running back up the stairs screaming, throwing the majority of my clothing items in the recycle bin for fear of infestation, and doing that dance where you hop around a lot and wipe off every surface of your pants, shaking out your hair and shimmying your shoulders.

i've tried wearing my darkest sunglasses, so then they just appear to be greasy stains on the cement, which works until they launch themselves 50 ft in the air, fangs out, claws sharp, hungry for young collegiate brunettes.

i've considered bringing along my hairspray, immobilizing the mutant legs of the beasts just long enough for me to throw a load in... after testing the range of my pantene weapon i realized that by the time i was close enough to spray, they'd be dragging me into the depths of their den, feeding me piece-by-piece to the queen arachnamonster.

and so, i've given up. for the third night in a row i will sleep on a bed with no sheets. tomorrow i will revisit my beloved laundromat, and also draft a formal letter requesting the beasts pay for part of our rent, waiting to deliver the request upon the purchase of a hazmat suit.

lucille.

still the reigning king of blues.

inside all of us is a wild thing...

oui, oui!

oui, oui! Parisian leaves!

i just shuddered, realizing september is about to pass me by without one new blog post. that, or it was just the fact that somehow, once again, it seems that blacksburg has so graciously skipped right over fall and brought us straight into winter. or so it seems. let's just hope this cold front passes and welcomes us into the season of apple-picking and fall festivals, rainy football victories, bouquets or freshly sharpened pencils, and brown over-the-knee boots.

a friend told me today "fall just makes me feel so collegiate. i don't know. it's exciting." and i agreed, 100%, here in my last fall of being a college student. i'm celebrating with a glass of wine and an exam study guide in front of me... so i will leave only this, for now:

my first full story published in the collegiate times. check it out.

hanover's.

veggie or fruit? i'd argue neither, really. heaven-sent produce needs its own category.

i come from a county that is famous for its tomatoes. some say it's the sand-like quality of the soil. others, the good-hearted farmers who love the relished crops as much as they do their own families. regardless, hanover's (as we like to refer to them) have a long-running streak as being truly the best tomatoes in the world.


if you've ever had one, you won't think it's crazy that we have an annual tomato festival every july, complete with a tomato queen, tomatoes on a stick, and other such non-traditional relics to the juicy, red gods of summer.

the topic of tomatoes came up in a recent lunch conversation. a friend of mine chimed in, "i honestly think there should be a designated holiday for the first tomato sandwich of the summer." we all agreed as she laughed and added, "i have to make 2 at a time... i eat one standing up while i make the other!" my sister admitted, "i average 3 tomatoes a day: one sliced atop my toast in the morning, another for a sandwich at lunch, and one just as a side for my dinner."
yesterday i had to suffer through a 'vine ripened in new jersey" stickered tomato, surrendering to the unyielding reality that my local market in blacksburg doesn't import from my hometown, 3 hours away. as if an answer to my epicurian prayers, a friend brought our house an unexpected surprise delivery at 11pm last night: 5 gallons of fresh-picked hanover's.

sometimes karma works overboard.

seam ripper

you've got the essence, dear.
if i could have a second skin
i'd probably dress up in you.
- belle & sebastian