One for the books...
So today was just another ordinary in my life. Woke up. Went to work. Came home for lunch. Got a text mid-afternoon from Trac, my sister. Apparently one of her friends turns 21 on wednesday and wants to "DANCE!!" Who does she ask? Me. The one, the only. Okay, okay, so who else would she ask. I was entertained to give her my $0.02 on the good (Cantina, even if the floor is super sticky and there's only one bathroom), the bad (cover charge at Platinum, and the stairs which probably aren't the best on a stumbling '21st' outing), and the hepatitis-infecting (The Peacock...ick).
Unfortunately it was the same day that Trac announced to the family of a Corvallis icon's passing. The legendary Gramma Damma donuts closed it's doors. Too much dismay from our family, Trac wished she could have gotten one last apple fritter. Many a memory exist of scraping together enough coin action to get a maple bar and a little chocolate milk, driving there in pajamas because wasting those extra minutes putting on real clothes could be the difference in getting the remaining slim pickings. Good times, great oldies, cool FM.
On a truly sadder note, this weekend I popped a card in the mail to a former roommate of mine from way back when. My old roomie Lyndsay, found her husband passed out on the bathroom floor sometime during the Christmas holiday. Turns out he went into a diabetic coma and didn't make it. I got the word from another old roomie of mine who I still keep in touch with, Katie Alvord (who lives in Chicago for grad school), while on my layover in Charlotte. I felt awful. This girl Lyndsay fell in love with a boy and *poof* eloped. Happily ever after. I definitely counted my blessings that afternoon knowing that even though I was leaving wook to come back across country, I still had him here....well, technically there, but you get the idea.
And to continue the trend of random thoughts. I was at work today when the song "Butterfly Kisses" came on the radio. Ugh. Least favorite song ever. Talk about stereotypical father/daughter wedding reception song. It just screams, "I have no originality."
Final note: For those who aren't somewhat regular yogis, there's a phrase which totally doesn't make any sense until you become a somewhat regular yogi. Long before I began my mat affair, I heard a girl say, "My yoga's gone to $#!t." You think, really...how does an exercise do that. Well since taking off Christmas to go see some boy, the back of my legs haven't been exposed to their usual and enjoyed stretching and strengthening. So as I eased back into the sun salutation, thankfully my hamstrings/calves loosened up after about 20 minutes. But before then, my yoga totally went to $#!t.
Unfortunately it was the same day that Trac announced to the family of a Corvallis icon's passing. The legendary Gramma Damma donuts closed it's doors. Too much dismay from our family, Trac wished she could have gotten one last apple fritter. Many a memory exist of scraping together enough coin action to get a maple bar and a little chocolate milk, driving there in pajamas because wasting those extra minutes putting on real clothes could be the difference in getting the remaining slim pickings. Good times, great oldies, cool FM.
On a truly sadder note, this weekend I popped a card in the mail to a former roommate of mine from way back when. My old roomie Lyndsay, found her husband passed out on the bathroom floor sometime during the Christmas holiday. Turns out he went into a diabetic coma and didn't make it. I got the word from another old roomie of mine who I still keep in touch with, Katie Alvord (who lives in Chicago for grad school), while on my layover in Charlotte. I felt awful. This girl Lyndsay fell in love with a boy and *poof* eloped. Happily ever after. I definitely counted my blessings that afternoon knowing that even though I was leaving wook to come back across country, I still had him here....well, technically there, but you get the idea.
And to continue the trend of random thoughts. I was at work today when the song "Butterfly Kisses" came on the radio. Ugh. Least favorite song ever. Talk about stereotypical father/daughter wedding reception song. It just screams, "I have no originality."
Final note: For those who aren't somewhat regular yogis, there's a phrase which totally doesn't make any sense until you become a somewhat regular yogi. Long before I began my mat affair, I heard a girl say, "My yoga's gone to $#!t." You think, really...how does an exercise do that. Well since taking off Christmas to go see some boy, the back of my legs haven't been exposed to their usual and enjoyed stretching and strengthening. So as I eased back into the sun salutation, thankfully my hamstrings/calves loosened up after about 20 minutes. But before then, my yoga totally went to $#!t.
posted by Mrs. Wookie at
1:06 AM
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