the whistle

So my dad makes me carry a whistle in my purse every day. Apparently a whistle is going to thwart any would-be attackers as I commute from Center City Philadelphia. This is one of the many "perks" I have encountered since moving back in with my parents.

It was amazing to me that the second I dropped my bags, I reverted to being a child again and filled my rightful place in the household dynamic. I am 29 + 3 years old and I'm pretty sure I've come dangerously close to throwing a temper tantrum in the past year. Eye rolls and heavy sighs have been prevalent. Somehow I  managed to live on my own for almost 8 years in a separate city and state, pay my bills, get myself to work every day (not to mention be a wife) and now I'm toting around my dad's old soccer coaching whistle. There was an incident recently where the whistle came flying out of my bag in front of some co-workers. Not embarrassing at all.

But you know what? I guess my dad doesn't really make me carry the whistle. I carry it because I know it makes him feel better. Dads worry about their daughters. That is what they do. So I am going to continue to nod and smile as he watches me drive down the driveway (hey maybe I have a headlight out), calls me three times when dinner is ready (hey maybe I didn't hear the first two times), and asks me what time I am going to church on the weekends (he just doesn't want me to be a heathen).

dreaming of the big easy

Husband and I visited Bayou Bakery in Arlington on Saturday. The second I stepped inside I was wishing I was in New Orleans. I love that city. I love the people, the music, the food, the architecture and, most of all, the living, breathing personality of New Orleans. The people there are so proud to call it their home. And, good gracious, did I mention the food?!

Visiting New Orleans was a turning point for me, I think. It was when I realized I wanted to move from D.C. More on that tomorrow, perhaps? But, for now, I am dreaming of my next trip to New Orleans. Until then, I will have to make visits to Bayou Bakery and have more disastrous love affairs with some beignets.


P.S. How awesome is the Save our Shores beer from Abita Brewery? Beer as big as my head and the proceeds go to a good cause? Sold!

i was sold the minute they cast him

Seriously, Lenny, I have loved you since I was twelve.

Who is going to see The Hunger Games with me?! Hello, my name is Julia and I have a weird  
love of young adult fiction. Don't judge.

spring on my fingers and toes

 Starting to get the itch for warmer weather. Aren't these colors fun?!

drive

I watched the movie, Drive, over the weekend.  While I found it slow at times and cringed at the intense violence, it intrigued me anyways. Mostly* because this movie is amazingly styled. It manages to look like the 1980's without seeming outdated. Everything -- from the clothes to the set choices to the soundtrack to the font used on the movie poster -- is a deliberate nod to the "me generation".

Has anyone else seen it? What did you think?





* and, yes of course, also due to Mr. Hey Girl himself, Ryan Gosling

hello, lover

on writing again

It wasn't that the words had been dried up for so long. They were there all along, waiting. Waiting to be written. They were trying to speak to her but she put a damper on them, stifling them, telling them that they didn't mean anything. Because the words were hers. And she didn't yet believe in her words.

Now there is a furious, furious scribbling. Ink on her finger and a cramp in her hand. The written words can't keep up. So precious, she's afraid they'll escape. You see, there's freedom in words and with each scratch of the pen she sets a little bit of herself free.