here i am

atlanta. 18th floor. downtown. windows are open and the presence of muffled night noises are in the room. it's a beautiful sound.

i hear jazz.

what a lovely day of serendipitous findings.
we're like rosie thomas: no destination but plenty of vision in mind.

more later.
guitar beckons.

nothing else compares

i am a domestic goddess today.
(really.)

father-like men everywhere (ie my cousin, tom) will rejoice at my list of accomplishments: two new tires, one new headlight, topped-off fluids, and lots of pennzoil.
and to think that one can accomplish all of these objectives at super walmart.

one question: would you buy produce from the same company you can purchase intimate apparel, tires, cleaning supplies, and discount-priced top 40 cds? (if nuclear war ever happens, let's all hope we live near a super walmart, for it will be our home...our only chance for survival, [and rock-bottom prices].)

enough about walmart; on to more about my sublime domesticity: i got my haircut this evening. i've finally figured out that hair stylist schools do not integrate the words "just a trim" into their curriculum. i said quite seriously just a trim, as the stylist nodded, holding her scissors. and i thought i had made myself abundantly clear with the visuals (i demonstrably held my thumb and forefinger precisely 1/2 inch apart) and clarification of vocabulary ("yes, no more than 1/2 inch. the point is to keep it long.")

however, my hair is now between one and two inches shorter.

and i still tipped her. and i always will. because i understand that hairstylists are victims of the lack of "just a trim" taught in cosmetology schools everywhere. this is a widespead problem, and i am all for reform.

next stop on my tour of all things domestic (and progressively girly) was my neighborhood cosmetics counter for a new tube of lipstick. i hate cosmetics counters. i can't look the women with the white lab coats in the eye. i keep my head down until i reach my destination, and hope for the best when i actually have to interact with the counter-women. tonight, clinique-angela was nice, helpful even, as we sampled several colors on my hand. we settled on a color called "whimsy" which felt quite ironic. i then ran to my new-tired car, and drove (with two working headlights) home, where i have since done laundry and room-cleaning, all while wearing my whimsical new lipstick.

(the end.)

...

so, did i tell you that marlei and i are going to atlanta tomorrow? (hence, aforementioned new lipstick. one cannot go to hotlanta without sassy lips.)
the original plan was to explore new orleans, but this weekend is apparently the gay and lesbian decadence festival, and all the hotels are booked. so, we chuckled at the thought of us and 100,000 of our same-sex-oriented brothers and sisters roaming the french quarter, and decided that atlanta might be a safer bet. as far as i know, we have no itinerary of fun for the weekend; just the big town and annie and marlei: domestic goddess and supermother/director of artist development.

i obviously live in nashville

tower records is open until midnight. and, on the nights before street date, you can join the thronging masses at 11:45 to pick up the next day's releases.

and we all know that coldplay is out today.

and. well, as i lay in bed last night, i thought about the recklessness of sneaking out into the dark, dark night, speeding along the abandoned highway (no more than 10mph over the limit, however) in my pajamas, just to get the new record.

good idea, i thought. so, my pajamas and i snuck out (this would have been more effective if trouble could have possibly ensued upon being caught by my mother, who lives 600 miles away) and drove 20 minutes to tower. and the thronging masses were there. and so was my coldplay cd. only, i had to wait in line for 15 minutes, amidst a bunch of kids who were still in their day clothes.

in front of me were three boys with carefully disheveled hair, wearing (carefully) ripped jeans, holding the coldplay cd as well. i instantly recognized them as 3/5 of a prominent ccm boy band. they were talking about various boy things, and trying out their apparently new swearwords:

boy 1: "dude, that band is kickass."
boy 2: "yeah, totally kickass, dude."
boy 1: "dude, have you heard that one song? it's totally kickass.
boy 2: "totally."

(boy #3 is the shy one and had nothing to contribute. he just stood quietly in his no doubt tour hoodie jacket.)

they glanced back at me once, most likely admiring my checked, capri-cut pajama pants, green shirt, denim jacket and adidas with no socks ensemble.

i think they thought i was hot.
(i could tell by the way they quickly turned away from me, and never looked back for a second glance.)

so. these are my reckless adventures.
all this for $11.99. and a totally kickass cd.