I was a ThesPian in high school and so I went through this rather alienating period where I listened to only Show Tunes. Les Mis! Phantom of the Opera! The Last Five Years! Little Shop of Horrors! Maybe I didn’t have very many cool-cool friends at that phase of my life, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever been happier. Try it.Listen to “Do You Hear The People Sing?” from Les Mis while you’re doing chores and tell me if you’ve never been more inspired as you are mopping the floor.
Author: Sierra
Tab Syndrome
Posted onSince I’ve become a temporary “Stay-At-Home-Novelist/Blogger/Pinterester/Reader/Lesson Planner,” I’ve spent a lot of time on my computer. You may have noticed. I’m a little embarrassed about it, but I am being more productive than you’d think.
Stop Everything, and Know that I Love You.
Posted onI should probably apologize to any of you who felt the world stop spinning somewhere between 7:00 and 8:00 this morning. That’s because Jeremy and I put the world on pause and just allowed ourselves to believe for a moment that we had all the time in the world to just be. We lapsed into a comfortable cuddle–not the kind filled with pointy scapulas, uneven weight distribution, and a little too much muscle tension. This cuddle was perfect and relaxing as we drifted in and out of sleep, and dreamed together about spending an entire day with the world on pause.
I’m glad I don’t have to grow up yet.
Posted onThis is the kind of post that internet trolls say mean things after. Because this is a post about my blankee.
Yes. I am 23 and 1/2 years old, and I still have a blankee. I still love my blankee. I brought my blankee across the country to be with me in Chicago. Sadly, it doesn’t look very blankee-like anymore.
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| It used to be soft, pink, and have embroidered hearts on it. |
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| The embroidered layer has worn away and got tangled in every successive wash (I wash it once a week, with my whites) |
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| Recently I’ve noticed that you can kind of tie it together and it will take on another shape, if you’re feeling more “stuffed animal” that night. |
Here it is: my (other) constant companion, my pillow, my comfort object. It’s not like I carry it around with me wherever I go. I can go weeks without it. I’m not dependent on it; I just like it.
No one has really understood my Linus tendencies. My dad sold his blankee to his parents for a nickel when he was 6, and he keeps offering to do the same (to be fair, he’s teasing). And I’ve had too many ex-boyfriends really misunderstand the blankee–sometimes in a very mean way. And to be honest, I didn’t blame them. Most of the time they were harsh about my blankee, I thought, Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time to get rid of it.
Those of you who know Jeremy and I well know this story already, but allow me to give you some insight on the type of man that Jeremy is for those who don’t know him. One night during our courtship, Jeremy and I were returning from a late night thing, and I was floppy-useless-tired, so Jeremy tucked me in. Unfortunately, I had left my blanket exposed, so he tugged at it and asked what it was.
I grimaced, bracing myself for the ridicule that always comes at the exposure of my biggest vulnerability. But he didn’t mock or scorn or tease.
He said, “Tell me about it.”
So I did, and he just laughed in an ever-endearing way, and said, “If anything, this just makes me like you more. Sierra Robinson: Scourge of the dating world–Blanket Owner.”
First of all, how can you resist a man who calls you the scourge of the dating world, and second of all, how could you not immediately fall in love with someone who loves you for your most tender, most vulnerable secret? It was the 2nd time in our relationship that I knew I wanted to marry him. Maybe someday I will blog about times 1 and 3.
I promised I would put my blankee away when we got married. Jeremy never indulged in this idea.
Every night without fail, my Jeremy Man fluffs my pillow, straightens my sheets, says “Legs!” which means I have to snap my legs into place for optimum tuckage, and swaddles my sheets around me. Then, every night, he sends me off into dreamland by finding my blanket and tucking it gently in between my arms and underneath my chin. Right where I like it.
And even though we are living such a grown-up life–married, in a Chicago high-rise, with big-people jobs–I am glad that he didn’t make me grow up all the way.
Things Every Man Should Know About a Woman’s Hair
Posted onThis morning I did a braid, turned around, and asked Jeremy if it looked alright in the back. He replied, “I think so,” and then became surprised when I immediately took it out.
“Wait!” he cried, “I meant it looks fine!”
“Exactly,” I told him, attempting another braid.
Thank you for the Fireflies.
Posted onTo My Father in Heaven,
Thank you for fireflies. I am not sure what their specific ecological function is or if you put them on earth just to make me happy, but I am especially glad they are here.
Thoughts on Pinterest
Posted onI’ll admit it, as the Pinterest craze took off, I felt a little superior for not buying into it. I started a couple of boards and thought–This is stupid, why am I pinning all of these things I can’t afford, won’t make, and can’t make for a house I don’t have? [Insert turned-up nose here.]
The Lame-Cool Spectrum
Posted onIn different scenarios throughout my life, I’ve thought to myself, “Wow. Self. You are so lame.” Moments like when I wear tube socks with my moccasins, and any moment that involves me dancing–these are moments that I let myself believe that I am, at my core, a lame person.
“Like, 10 Chickens had to die just so she could look that bad.”
Posted onIt’s turquoise, and you know what? Off the rack it’s actually cute. Not flashy cute, definitely not compliment worthy but it’s a passably cute t-shirt that I bought for three dollars from Forever 21.
But when I put the shirt on, the shirt’s secret powers of ugliness release. I’m not sure why the shirt is so ugly, but I am certain that it is. Still, I wear it, maybe because I only have few t-shirts for hot days, or maybe because turquoise is so “in” right now, maybe because I deep down believe that it will look better today than it has the past fifteen times I’ve worn it. In theory the shirt should work. It doesn’t hug the curves I try to hide, it doesn’t come up too short or plunge too low. In all fashion theory, the shirt should work.
Since it doesn’t, I am led to conclude: the shirt is cursed. The shirt is not one that I would wear to an occasion that would require me to do my hair, so you can bet that I will leave my hair wavy on days like this. I call wavy hair my “50-50 Hair” because you have a 50% chance that it looks good (even with the exact same amount of mousse and the exact same towel drying), and there’s nothing you can do to control the outcome. It’s chancy, but on occasionless days, turquoise shirt days, I wear it wavy, and 99% of the time with the turquoise shirt, my wavy hair looks terrible.
And because I promised myself that I would never go out in public with wavy hair AND no makeup at the same time because the world can’t handle the ugly, I do my make-up on days like today. And when I wear the turquoise shirt, my eyeliner inevitably goes on too thick and one eye looks bigger than the other. At the end of it all, I look worse than when I started.
I’m sad that I tried marginally hard just to look this ugly.
Do ugly days also happen to you?
Ten bonus points if you can guess which movie my title came from.
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| Keeping this image small on purpose….But I thought you all needed proof. |
The Redesign
Posted on“Don’t put too much pressure on this next post,” Jeremy wisely counseled last night after correctly reading my body language. Sometimes it is downright irksome that he can read my thoughts before they are corporeal or even conceived. To him, I’m not just an open book—I’m an open book with big print, Braille underneath, and pictures on the side.