Virgin Lime Rickey

Wednesday's aren't perfect.

But pretty darn close to it. 

Wednesday is careless.

It's the only day of the week where I can hula dance to Pineapple Princess with the grace of an elephant.

It's not Monday. 

Wednesday is sassy. 

Because on Wednesday I can go into the world naked faced with Bambi eyes and feel just as fabulous as always.

It's not Tuesday. 

Wednesday is lazy.

I don't have anyone to see or anything to do or anywhere to go, and if I could, I wouldn't.

It's not Thursday,

Wednesday is a klutz.

I've never fallen inconveniently asleep on a Tuesday.

It's not Thursday,

Wednesday has no regard.

If you were fishing for a compliment come back tomorrow. 

It's Not Thursday.

Wednesday is resilient.

I don't care if you scraped your knee, it's Wednesday. 

Thank heavens It's not Thursday. 

Wednesday is forgiving of my shortcomings.

Because all that laundry can wait till tomorrow.

It's not Friday, and I'm in love. 

I like Boys

After many a confusing post. 
Here's one that should make sense even to the dullest of minds.
Because I became so lost in my own thoughts.
I forgot
To Introduce myself.
(Although I always thought of introductions as more of a middle thing.)

Things I like:
Writing
& takin pictures
& eating any food
& sleeping as long as I please
& friends
& long lazy afternoons
& pinterest
& him
& him
& you
& the word fabulous
& cherry blossom trees
& sidewalk chalk
& baby feet
& the word asphalt
& times new roman noodles
& the male species
& reading what I want when I please

Things I absolutely despise:
Mustard
& high school
& makeup
& time
& spiders
& mosquitoes
& insects in general
& road ragers
& My Antonia
& some select people

So that's me. 
You're so very welcome. 

I Collect Hotel Cards

Every moment with you feels right.

But this moment was perfect. 

You were in my car. Our legs were dangling like streamers over the asphalt that had just tasted summer.

Your eyes were brown and they took nervous looks at mine, like you were scared I would notice. 

I noticed.

My thigh was up against yours and I kept looking down and being both frightened and lucid with joy.

I don't know if you noticed.

I talked rapidly and flirtatiously, using any and all tactics I knew of to get your attention. You laughed and we kept talking. 

It was about doughnut burgers. 

You had been boating or something along those lines. Your hair was messy, but in a nice way. You were begging for trouble, Looking so unpretentious and innocent, like you had no idea you're gorgeous. 

I still don't think you know how devastatingly handsome you are.

I was in a tex-mex t-shirt that said "You wanna taco bout it?" and ripped denim shorts. They weren't pre-ripped.

The song "Island in the Sun" by Weezer was playing. It happens to be my favorite. 

And In exactly that moment we just were. 

That's all there was.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

Then the car stopped and we kicked off to the ground. 

I only eat White Cheddar Bunny Noodles

How is falling any different than flying?

I remember everything that was uttered by those peony pink butterflies that everyone calls a mouth. But mouth feels like a cuss word when I use it to describe that jittery hole on the bottom third of your face. 

Which frustrates me because. You like her. I get it. 

But then I don't.

I don't get it because sometimes those delicate peonies open up to form a name. My Name. And I wish they wouldn't because when they do it sends me back to the fourth grade carnival, and spinny rides give me motion sickness. And I hope you forgot about that day. But I also hope you remembered because that was day you sat with me on that red bench while the other kids rode the rides.

I don't get it because sometimes you open the peonies up to reveal an orange slice (like you did when you were a kid) and the citrus makes me laugh (because I remember it)and we can just look at each other for a second, and reminisce about peanut-butter-honey. Honesty is scribbled on your forehead in pink sharpie and I can tell you hadn't forgotten that the whole wheat tried too hard to be white. 

I don't get it because sometimes your peonies lay still like a fallen flamingo feather and all I want to do is pick it up and wave it through the air like it's the 4th of July and we found that pack of sparklers. The ones we weren't supposed have (and shouldn't have known how to light) but did anyways. I want to hold it until it burns my hand (it did on the 4th of July) and we have to admit that we were wrong. 

I don't get it because sometimes you sew the peonies together and it looked like when you pulled a loose thread from your camouflage shorts and it drew the fabric together briefly. You were scared but so was I because it was 8th grade and you told me you liked me. 

But then I do.

I get that it was before 10th grade. Before you became nothing more than a hallway acquaintance. Before she was the one who picked up the feathers and listened to flowers. Before I knew what jealousy felt like(It feels like green jello). 

That was before I was over you. 

It was also before I found out I'm not.

I forget people's birthdays

Delete is the worst button.

"Gabe will miss you"

"Riley will miss you"

"Emily will miss you"

I don't even know what the word deactivate means.

Goodbye's make me numb.
I couldn't even taste my chocolate chip cookie.
Okay, my 3 chocolate chip cookies.
Okay, 4.

Things that shouldn't make me sad do.
I discovered this as my tears fell in the middle of
the Q and the W on the dusty keyboard.

I just need my mom.

and probably a blankie.

and an episode of 
Curious George.

But only God is there at 1:30 a.m
when the screen is blurred and the mouse is still.
Still hovering over that okay button when it isn't okay.

So I cried and cried until the waves washed over me until

my knees buckled

And I fell to the ground trying to remember who I was.

Delete is the worst button