23 August 2008


Hello, internet. It is 9:25 on a Saturday evening, and I am blogging. But that's okay, because I'm spending the weekend at my mom's house in the woods, so there's no expectation to be cool and awesome and not sitting on my ass on a Saturday night. Besides, I'm waking up early tomorrow to drive an hour and a half into New Jersey to pick my own blackberries. I am a certain kind of dork, and yes, this kind of dork pulls her hair in a bandana. The lesbians are onto something - this shit is fucking comfortable.

I've been taking pictures today, and would totally share them with you if I'd thought to bring my camera cable with me. A small flock (omg, what's the collective noun?!!) of wild turkeys like to hang out around this house; my stepfather's been feeding them, so they've gotten bold this summer, walking across the back porch and generally chilling, like, ten feet from where I've got my face pressed to the window like a five-year-old in total awe. (PS, was that correct semicolon usage up there? I'm trying to expand past excessive dash use.)

I also just spent a good two minutes on a photo shoot of a giant blueberry (which I then ate). The entire time the caption this is a giant fucking blueberry was going through my head. Sometimes I think in Natalie Dee cartoons.

So yeah, I would share photos of the wild turkeys and the giant fucking blueberry if I could. Everyone finishing the Olympic marathon (men - I actually caught the women's marathon on this very couch last week) keeps crossing themselves. Sheesh, people - you get credit for this feat, not Jesus.

I'm lucky that my mom lives in a lovely house in the woods that's, like, half an hour outside the city. She swings by my apartment, I and my giant bag of laundry get in the car, and it's an easy drive up here. It's actually closer to the city than the miserable suburb where I grew up, but rather than abutting malls and strip malls and other sorts of nastiness, this house (which mom and stepdad moved into when I was in college) is up against a state park. It's the place where wild turkey are fucking around on your deck.

(In case this is nagging at you, too, the internet tells me that it's either a raffle of turkeys or a rafter of turkeys. And yes, I'm free with my turkey/turkeys for the plural.)

This afternoon I commandeered my mom's car to go to the gym, and took advantage of the rare solo drive to open the windows, blast the stereo, and sing along loudly and terribly. Today it was Talking Heads and Gabe Kahane. I've got a whole stack of obnoxious CDs with which to torture the back roads of New Jersey tomorrow.

A raffle of wild turkey(s), a giant fucking blueberry. Spending a weekend in the country is awesome. Only downside is that I'm missing this.

And now if you'll excuse me, men's diving is on. This is not a thing for splitting attention.

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