The Best Seat in the House

I feel fairly certain that I am probably one of the only people in a fifty mile radius who has put significant thought in to what I am about to tell you, and let it be know that I have put a great deal of thought into this:  A serious reader cannot read in just ANY chair.

I know, I know, you're wondering how one could even have a decent amount of time to read these days, let alone *think* about reading, but I am guilty.

This week I pledged to break back into reading after practically abstaining for over a year, and I have made it through approximately 130 pages of a 900+ book.  You may think "wow, that's not bad!" but I would wholeheartedly disagree.  I should have been half way through by now, and yet, I've barely made a dent!  This completely disturbs me because I have been known to devour a novel in just one day, and granted this book is quite lengthy, but I should still be more ahead than 130 pages in three or four days.

I have come to the conclusion that a serious reader, one who reads to satisfy a passion and thirst for drama, adventure, discovery, and knowledge, one who actively participates as another unnamed, unpinned character in the story, one who lives and breathes every word on the page rather than skims the lines to get to the main point, he or she must have a vessel in which to partake in such a passion!

I need a comfortable chair.

I do, I need a comfortable chair!  I can't read laying on my bed, because even for all the amazingness of the literature that I read, I am still susceptible to Mister Sandman.  I have tried to lay out on the couch and veg out, but between the lack of cushion and the fact that none of the lights in the room seem to catch any of the words on my page, I am at a loss.

I need a big, fluffy princess chair that allows me to wrap my legs up under me with arms long enough to balance my coffee mug on it.  My crocheted wispy blanket will hang on the back until it gets too cool and I need to warm my feet.  Yep, that'll be the life.

Guilt and other things.

I have been neglectful, not just of this blog but many things.

Also, I am a hypocrite. I have asked my lovely friend Megan to blog about her new life in Iowa, selfishly I might add so that I could continue to voyeuristically indulge in her life and whatnot while still being an 18 hour drive and many, many miles away, and yet I have not bothered to update this blog in over two months, with the last post being "I should blog again."  I am lame lame lame! Also, I realize that was probably a run on sentence, but I just don't care. Also, I have just said also four times in one paragraph, which is almost definitely a no-no.

To update you on my neglect, I have compiled a list of things that I have neglected:

1.)  I have neglected my favorite past time of reading.  Tis true, folks! I haven't read more than one book this summer. The book I did read, however, was a heartbreakingly fantastic book called "Handle with Care" by Jodi Piccoult, about a little girl born with Osteogenesis Imperfecta and a wrongful birth lawsuit. 

Never fear, I have corrected this as of yesterday.  I can now finally say that I am 100+ pages in to "A Dance with Dragons" by George R. R. (I will kill anyone you think you may love) Martin, and I must say I have no regrets.

2.)  I have also neglected my favorite beverage.  Kids, the fall is upon us, and with it comes the best things: apple cider, pumpkin picking, Halloween, and Sam Adams Octoberfest.  I have not been partaking in my favorite beverage season, but never fear, I will prevail!  I bought my first Octoberfest six pack and have been enjoying it, savoring it, all week. Sad to say, I had a Miller Light last night which made me realize I can not go back to crap beer ever again.

3.)  I haven't cooked anything other than baked chicken and white rice in what seems like forever.  I really enjoyed cooking back in the days when I was in my apartment, but since moving in with my dad, I feel like I have no desire to cook!  It's a shame really.  This week, I vow to be better and post something delicious that I have mastered in the kitchen.  Just call me the next Giada at home.

I have no number four, and I'm terrible at conclusions, so I'm just going to go.  Good to be back.

Is it too late?

I feel like this blog has died.

Despite the hope that I have in my heart that somehow, some way, I will be able to resuscitate it back to a flourishing home of awkward word vomit and ridiculousness, I feel that nothing is going to make it better.

I want to write.  I do.  I can feel the creative juices flowing inside me, but it's so abstract that I can't seem to put anything into words, shitty or otherwise.  I don't really know what to do to get myself back to where I want to be. 

Not your Grandmother's Monday Night Dinner

I finally have something worth writing about again.

Life has been flying by too quickly for me lately, what with working crazy hours, doing adult things like paying bills and finding the time to go grocery shopping, and keeping my room from becoming a breeding ground for bacteria and germs.  I have found little to nothing in my (lack of) extra-curricular activities that make me happy (unless you count my addiction to stealing Susie's Netflix and spending my free hours watching one of the 156 episodes of The West Wing).... until now.

One of my best friends' finally moved home after her five ish year absence from home while living in Boston. (To those of you in the Massachusetts area, the Boston area, or anyone with Boston in their hearts, mine goes out to you.  We, your brothers and sisters, have you in our hearts, prayers, and thoughts.)  Finally being able to see the people I love and not having to drive five hours to get there, I made my self a permanent guest on Monday nights, the only night of the week that I don't get out at 8:15 at night.  Now, what I haven't shared is that my Best Friend Murphy is a chef, and, not that I want you to think I'm exaggerating, but she doesn't just cook,  she creates edible art.  She inspires me to try foods that I not only tell people I don't like, but that I actually believe that I don't like.

Our Monday Night Dinners have become an outlet for me, one that transforms 'hanging out' to 'significant family time'.  These people are family; they're not blood, but they're so much more than that.  So Muffin, Murphy's wife, asked me to write about our Monday Night Dinners, though she called them something ridiculously clinical, so much so that I can't even remember what she said. (Sorry, Muffin.)

The night starts out with me, Murphy, and Diesel drinking.  Murphy not only creates edible art, but she makes a mean mixed drink, if you know what I mean. I have had the pleasure of spending many a Monday night drinking at her house but nothing beats the Sangria that we had last night. Apples, peaches, pears maybe, Dreaming Tree white wine (the Dave Matthews' wine) and orange juice topped with champagne.

Though the food was delicious, the most sensational thing about Monday Night Dinners with Lu, Murphy, Muffin, Diesel and Papa Dukes is that these people are still in my life over a decade after I met them, and that we've overcome distance and life's obstacles and we're better friends for it.

Okay, so I was going to make this a foodie kind of post, but I think more important ideas needed to come out.

<3 Stay awesome ladies and gents.