the sloppy copy

If you end up going to the store to buy a frozen pizza because the dinner you cooked for yourself turned out burned / underdone / over seasoned / icky / downright terrible – don’t try to scrimp and save. Go with the good stuff. Buying some cardboard-esque Su-per Valu Pizzzzza disaster will never, ever redeem your failed dinner.

Listen to one new album a week. It doesn’t have to be music that’s been newly released; new-to-you is just good, perhaps better. Bonus points for picking something completely outside of your preferred genre(s). Ask friends, coworkers or complete strangers for ideas and go! Oh and also: stick with it. If it’s immediately clear that this will not be your cup of tea, turn it down and keep it on in the background as you do whatever else it is you do. Check in from time to time; maybe the first few tracks were meh. Maybe the next few are more to your liking. Maybe the whole thing is shit. Maybe you’ll love every note. Point is: you’ll never know if you never listen.

Get rid of shit you’re not using. If you set something aside with the intention of using it “one day,” please resign yourself to the fact that that day will not ever fucking come. Get thee to a Goodwill! Purge, purge, purge! Clothes, household items, books, knickknacks… it’s amazing the amount of crap you can remove from your possessions and still somehow be a completely functional human being. And did I mention how downright wonderful you’ll feel afterward? It’s unreal.

Do not apologize for things for which you are not actually sorry. After awhile, you’ll cheapen the phrase. It becomes empty, and even if you think you mean what you’re saying… you probably don’t. At least, not after saying it a million times in a million situations. So think long and hard the next time you offer an offhand “Oh, I’m sorry!” and perhaps respond with something a bit more appropriate.

Oh, how I love Spring. Something about being able to comfortably be outdoors all damn day if I please is pretty fucking invigorating after what feels like months of being kept inside.

Yesterday, Gentleman Friend is all like “What do you wanna do?” And I’m all like “I dunno. It’s beautiful outside. Take a walk?”

So we’re strolling down the road and we’re cutting through a parking lot to avoid crossing a not-very-busy road at the crosswalk because – I dunno, fuck that I guess – and we start to cross the road but then have to stop because of oncoming traffic in the far lane.

This is where I inexplicably begin to panic.

“WE HAVE TO MOVE.”

“It’s ok, no one is coming.”

“WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. WE HAVE TO MOVE.”

“No, no. It’s ok.”

“NO! THERE ARE CARS COMING! WE HAVE TO MOVE! MOVE! WHY ARE YOU NOT MOVING! OH MY GOD! MOVE!”

“Julie, it’s ok. We’re in the turn lane.”

*Julie screams like a howler monkey and sprints across the road, arms flailing, babbling incoherently. Gentleman Friend casually walks across the road behind her. Julie turns around, sweaty and wild-eyed, looking at what felt like an 8-lane interstate .04 seconds ago.*

“Oh, that was the turn lane….”

Digs hole in parking lot, crawls in, dies of embarrassment.