Monday, May 30, 2011


I slid out of bed this morning and into a sitting position on the floor like a gelatinous mass. During my unrestrained laughter at this unexpected cartoon moment, my dad told me to get ready because everyone was either already here or on their way. I pulled on my socks, laced up my boots, and got ready to rock and roll.

Before I clear up this fuzzy introduction, let's discuss these socks for a moment. These socks are amazing. They come up over the knee in glorious blue and grey stripes and invoke a feeling that goes something like, "You can't see it, but my socks put your socks to shame." I can't help feeling like a witch when I put them on, especially when they're combined with my calf-high leather boots. This is a good thing.

To shed some light on the previous paragraphs, I was rousted from my bed this morning for a motorcycle ride to and breakfast in Florence (the one in Arizona, not Italy). I didn't actually ride on a motorcycle today. I was on the back of the trike. Boy howdee, that thing almost makes my uncle's La-Z-Boy/Electra Glide look like a wooden stool. It is spacious! Of course, the back end is part of a Volkswagon Bug, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that it's a mite roomier than a motorcycle.

Brunch was awesome. To sum up: outdoor patio, sparrows, fundidos.

A parting word of advice: If you ever find yourself following a motorcycle down the road, watch what they do when they pass a bike going the other way.

This post is affectionately dedicated to the cricket silently wandering around my room. May it find what it's looking for.

Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld

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