Simple Life.

You’ve Got Nae turned a year and 35,000 hits old recently. Thanks for being here, taking my serious moments seriously, laughing at the funnies, enjoying the photos and pushing me to write more, think better. This has been a lot of fun for me and I’m glad you’re here!

I’m sitting out on my second story porch. I don’t have patio furniture yet, but there’s an old computer desk chair. A folding chair is the ottoman of choice – chosen over the tree stump sitting up here, too. I’m in shorts and a tank top, my Prague backpacking shoes (super-glued twice, now) and a fleece because it got breezy. It’s a mishmash outfit I wouldn’t wear in public, but it’s comfy.

There’s a couple across the street arguing, and she is ticked. The neighborhood kids are playing on the side street – the ones who came up to me the other day to tell me about their talent show.

“Hi ma’am. That looks like a really heavy bag of laundry. We’re doing a talent show tomorrow night at 6. Or whenever you can make it. Unless it rains. It costs one dollar.

And if you can’t make it, it’s ok. You can still give us a dollar.”

This wasn’t the first time they’d asked for money, but they’re sweet, and they called me ma’am, and I had two quarters in my left pocket (the one I could access while carrying heavy bag of laundry). Of course, when I made it to the laundromat and had access to my purse, I ended up exactly two quarters short of drying my clothes fully. Off to CVS I went to get a candy bar and cash back.

I’m probably going to write this blog post and then write a children’s book about a squirrel afraid of heights, because the one I’m looking at right now has been frozen on his second story limb for a few minutes now, and the red-headed bird a branch above is tweeting him encouragement.

Steve, the Sweet Little Squirrel Who Was Scared of Heights©, coming to the Kindle Fire in your living room, Fall 2013.

As for the latest edition of Watching My Boyfriend Cook and Handing Him Things When He Asks, on the menu was grilled chicken caesar salad (with homemade caesar dressing, of course) and garlic bread, the roll bought fresh at the bakery three blocks away- the kind of bakery where footsteps out leave tracks in flour, and it sells just bread, no pastries or cookies.

It’s not so much that I’m easily impressed, I’m a bit kitchen stupid. If you need me to marinade chicken and you don’t hand me either a grocery bottle of Ken’s Marinade or a recipe book, I can’t help you. Sean put the grill together, so we didn’t get to witness my attempt at that either. Ryan thinks it’s cute I can be impressed by homemade balsamic vinaigrette.

I burnt my scrambled eggs this morning because I was putting on a sweatshirt so the bacon grease I was scared of wouldn’t burn my arm.

So last night when he asked me if I knew how to peel garlic, I was so relieved the answer was yes.

If only I took the rest of his direction not so literally. Where he said “Ok, take this cup of butter and put about three cloves worth of garlic in there and boil it down. And then finely chop three more to sprinkle on after.”

So I did. I peeled three cloves and dropped them whole in the butter and heated it up, as if that would turn butter into garlic butter. Chopped the rest. Turns out that wasn’t what he meant.

*The More You Know* (shooting star)

And now its late afternoon, and on this lazy day where I can no longer bother my neighbors with the same five Beatles songs played on my guitar – G, E, D7 – no wait, D – E, C, dropped the pick, C, C, C still, okay E – I’m off to read Rachel Dratch’s “Girl Walks Into a Bar.”

And I’m thinking, I don’t care if no one reads it – I can’t wait to write the mid-life memoir full of all the stories that don’t make the blog. The Memoir of Me, coming 2040.

Hold onto your Kindle.

“Simple Life” – The Weepies, Happiness. 2003.


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