Pier 1 Imports, aisle nostalgia

Every year when I come home for Christmas now, my mom specifically asks for my Tri-Cities "to do" list, if you will. This year especially I think she was feeling the sting of the empty nest more than usual since my sister is studying in Australia for her spring semester (oober jealous). I always sort of have the usual pit stops on the schedule, mainly consisting of delicious food that can only be found here (Atomic pizza, spudnuts of all varieties, Nancy Smith's chocolate chip pie) and local businesses my soul, and wallet, love to give themselves to (Barracuda's, The Bookworm).

But as I thought beyond just the shopping list of calories and new-to-me books, I realized that home in its morphing form is becoming just that: a checklist. Looking out to see the snow-capped Blue Mountains or meandering by the rivers will always feel like second-nature. This was especially true as I found the wonderful company of old friends who were able to But this isn't a place I can just be anymore. Too many haunts are still frequented by ghosts of decisions past, or have changed to the point of being almost unrecognizable (read: church). Once I'm done with my godfather pizza and potato flour maple bar, I hit a rut. Next year I suppose I'll have to add a bagel and chinese food stops to delay the rut a bit longer.

Despite this somewhat downhearted realization, I did receive the gift of wonderful company with old friends, an unexpected pleasantry this year for a lot of faces I haven't seen in quite some time. It's nice to know that so many of the ghosts are friendly ones.

as if you need another way to waste an evening

In the name of research, I got on Facebook to look through a few pictures of the bacon haircuts over the years, in preparation for tomorrow's salon visit...

3 hours later, I was delving much farther into my psyche than I was prepared for on a sober Wednesday.

Although the self-stalking capabilities offered by Facebook didn't really start for me until the college years, the occasional walk down memory lane offered a glimpse into the Kodak version of my life starting with a 6th grade Fun Friday; it was pretty much downhill from those khaki overalls and pigtails, let me tell you.

Complicating matters is my aversion to carrying a camera with me to major life events, so most of the photos are what other people found interesting/memorable/worth the space on an SD card. meaning lots of me making ridiculous faces to hide the chipmunk cheeks or inability to smile and keep my eyes looking normal. Other noted trends:

-In standing group photos I'm almost always the outside figure. I don't know if this means I'm just a last-minute addition to most pictures or I'm just the last one to get in the game.

-I am significantly taller than the majority of my friends. This could also account for the awkward outside poses, but as a result I always look slouched and body parts are unflatteringly shifted because I'm leaning down or trying to contort in some other way. This gets worse as Weakley's drunk pictures are usually taken from a down-to-up angle.

-I have two hair lengths: short and butch, or long and stringy. I'm trying to rectify this tomorrow, but let's be honest, I've never been the "well why not just try something out of the box" kind of girl. Although I might go brunette...

-My quota for "omg I'm taking my own picture in a public place or maybe with my bff" pictures is well below average. This is I think is a sign of my good judgment. Although I can't say the same for any of my sister's Facebook albums...

I expected more from the white leggigs

Baltimore, you disappointed me last night.

Sure, you were dressed to the nines in your platform heels and one size too small white leggings (and actually leggings of all different varied patterns that make me rethink my earlier post on the subject). You even kept your cool when Usher pulled you onstage to essentially simulate sex for a good 10 minutes. You had some good counter moves.

But compared to the enthusiasm I've seen you exhibit for lake trout and a chicken box, I was expecting much more when the king of abs himself was asking you to wave your hands.

Now I wasn't asking for you to throw your panties onstage or start some sort of Bieber-esque hysteria. We were all mature, loyal fans patiently waiting for our dreams to come true. But I don't think it's too much to ask that when Usher is busting out a medley of the old classics that you put down the camera phones and actually engage with the performance. You could've just taken your picture with the 10-foot prom background of his 12-pack and saved your battery for another day.

I expected more. After all, I was able to scream the lyrics to "Burn" while also snapping a crappy quality photo of him performing ABOVE THE AUDIENCE. Can no one multitask anymore?

I stil cringe at jeggings

I don't think I'm alone in frustration when I say that 1994 called and wants its fashion trends back.

Between the female flannel, stirrup pants, and tapered jeans, I've just about given up on wasting my money on glossy magazines showing me just how untrendy I am for not thinking dominatrix shoes and shoulder pads make for the perfect night on the town.

But in honor of pushing myself out of the small square peg I usually dress inside, I dipped a toe into the crazy world of American Apparel's candy land and attempted the safest trend I could conceivably live with: the long cardigan/leggings combo.

Now I am the first girl to shout from the rooftop that leggings are not pants. (In fact catch me on the street after a solid happy hour and I really do yell it). My roommate convinced me that yes, the red cardigan covered the junk in my larger-than-average trunk, and no, my lady business was not unflatteringly exposed. (A major fashion faux pas in my book). Also complicating my fashion fears was the outfit's use at my church's advent concert, meaning I would be up on stage in front of Jesus himself, and more worrisome, old ladies.

I didn't take a picture for you to judge for yourselves, but I think we can call it a success. Just don't expect a jegging to be in my future. Or any of your futures if I have anything to say about it.

(Also I realize that if I'm going to parade myself around as an aspiring writer I should probably not let my blog go to the weeds. My apologies.)