things i like (that no one else does)

Okay. I know everyone feels like this at some point in their lives, or for their entire lives.  You fall in like with something. You can’t get enough of it.  You share it with your best friend, your mom, your dog, and no one is as interested as you are.  This is pretty common in my life, and I’d like to share some of my favorite things (that no one else likes) with you.

KATHERINE HEIGL// People really don’t like Izzie Stevens. Oh, what’s that?  You LOVED Izzie, but you HATE Katherine? Nope. Sorry. They’re a package deal.  Katherine Heigl rescues dogs, has two beautiful children, and is still married to her husband.  Her mom is her manager (still), and she makes cute movies.  27 Dresses wasn’t trying to be The Black Swan, folks.  I encourage everyone to catch either the 1996 Disney Channel classic, Wish Upon A Star, or the 2003 Hallmark finest, Love Comes Softly, in hopes that their opinions would be altered.

SEATTLE’S BEST COFFEE// Everyone is on The Starbucks Train or The Coffee Bean Train or The Peet’s Train (which I also love), and poor Seattle’s Best is stuck at the caboose.  I understand that Starbucks and Seattle’s Best are owned by the same company.  Let me say that again: People who like to say Starbucks is better, they are owned by the same company. Get it?  My main reason for loving Seattle’s Best is their gingerbread latte (another thing that a lot of people hate).  They put a little gingerbread man on top of the whipped cream.  Adorable!

ONCE UPON A TIME// Admittedly, I have a friend with me on this.  A SINGLE FRIEND.  I don’t understand!  Every week is a fairytale on this show! It’s good vs. evil.  It’s a tale as old as time.  Literally, Belle is on the show.  Why aren’t people (my friends) watching?  Remember how people went ga-ga over Lost? Well, it’s the same creators! Ahhh, I don’t know.  I love it.  I love Mary Margaret’s pixie cut and Rumpelstiltskin’s odd romance with Belle.  Oh, and don’t even get me started on Hook. Hello, hunk! You should check it out, but you probably won’t and that’s okay.  Fyi, I recap this show for Lydia Mag.

CROCS// I’ve had my fair share of Crocs in my life.  I even had a couple of Mickey charms that went in the little holes on the top.  People out there hate crocs. Why?! They’re like flip flops with more support.  They feel like slippers.  I’m behind them 100%.

THIS MEANS WAR// The movie.  Everyone hated this movie. I really liked it.  It was funny and cute and had action.  Plus, Chelsea Handler and Tom Hardy in the same movie? Sign me up. I get that it has issues, but let’s not all pretend that we didn’t go around quoting Congo before it suddenly became uncool. “Amy, good mother.”  “Stop eating my sesame cake!”

BOARD GAMES// Okay, people like these, but usually not enough people like them to be able to play one.  Whyyyyyyyy?!  Scattergories, I miss you! I will say that if I sound depressed on the phone, my mom will play online scrabble with me.  I’ve gotten really good at fake tears.  I mean…

But really, people. Let’s play board games. Mmkay?

Happy Monday! Make it great!

pixie disasters

Here’s the thing about short hair, about having a pixie cut: there are times when you cannot pull it off. There are times when you lack the self-confidence, the hair gel, or the time it takes to shower, to properly rock the pixie.

In those most desperate of times, you don’t even like yourself anymore.  No, you are a caricature, a man, a smelly mother of twins, or sometimes all three.  It is a sad day, and unfortunately it occurs at least once a week (for me, anyway).  There are unique manifestations to each pixie failure.  Here are the horrendous looks that no pixie wearer can escape.

 

The Paul Dano in Ruby Sparks

This occurs when the androgynous look goes horribly, horribly wrong.  Imagine you let your hair air dry without any product.  You want the sort of sleek, touchable look.  You’ll wear extra makeup and collared shirt. It will be edgy, but you’ll totally pull it off, like this lady. 17-pixiehair01-073

But then you run out of time to do your makeup, and realize you threw away your contacts and don’t have new ones.  You stick on your glasses, and figure you can at least put on the collared shirt.  Uh-oh, you now look Paul Dano in Ruby Sparks and the cashier says, “Here’s your change, sir.” This is not a good day.

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The Hillary Clinton

No one wants this. Hillary Clinton doesn’t even want this.  The look is the result of too much styling.  You decide to put hairspray in, on top of the paste you already gooped into your mop, and then it all becomes a bit too much, resulting in a look worthy of a news anchor.  I did this on purpose for Halloween and several times not on purpose.

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The Javier Bardem in No Country For Old Men

This gem is usually a result of growing the pixie out, which is its own terrible, terrible battle.  You wait and wait and wait, and then I think, “Yes. I’ve done it. I can finally make this thing a bob.”  You trim the back, part it on the side, and… now you have an alarmingly strong jaw. Congratulations, you’ve got the Bardem.

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The Brother

There’s no escaping this comparison.  It will happen as soon as you cut your hair and your family sees you right after a shower. “I never realized how much you looked like your brother.” This shall be the quote on everyone’s lips.  You are now a twin, an identical twin, and you are a boy.

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The Edward Cullen

Most likely this is the most accidental of all the bad hair days. On this day, you really go for it.  You decide you’re going to look like Natalie Portman, circa SNL rap.  You fluff your hair up, total punk style, and then halfway through the day things are looking a little less like Queen Amidala and slightly more like a certain vampire. It’s most depressing. Probably the most depressing of all these horrendous pixie hair days.

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happy desk, happy life

I know the saying goes, “Happy wife, happy life,” but I’m not a wife.  I’ll just work with what I’ve got: a dog and a desk.  Estelle Getty better be happy. She’s a dog.  I treat her like a person half the time.  Be thankful, Estelle Getty.  My desk on the other hand is often… how should I put it?  In disarray? A pigsty? Good luck spending the next hour looking for the checkbook?  I think all of those are pretty accurate. But not for today. No. Today my desk is clean.  This is important because I’m a little obsessed with writing spaces.

I have two desks, kind of.  I really have one corner desk that is always clean and pristine and gets the perfect amount of light for writing.  Something I’ve learned about writing though: the desk doesn’t matter half as much as the chair.  Therefore, I mainly use my other desk *cough* coffee table *cough*  because I get to sit on very comfortable couch.

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I would love to use my spectacular chair I got for last year’s birthday (thanks, Mom and Dad!), but it’s slightly too large to go near a desk, meaning I’m left with only my lap space.

Why do writing spaces matter?  I’d like to say it’s because I spend so much time there, which I do, writing or not. But I think they matter to me mainly because I’ve romanticized them so much.  I romanticize things.  It’s sort of a problem. What things? British accents and Mickey Mouse ice cream bars and handwritten letters and old cars.  Strike handwritten letters. They’re actually pretty romantic.  But, the point is yes, these writing spaces are just spaces, but they’re also personality reflections and creative inspiration and neat.  I can’t be the only one that thinks they’re cool.  In fact, I know I’m not (because my mom likes them, too).  You know who really got the idea of a writing space? Mr. Roald Dahl.  I love Roald Dahl for many reasons, including whizpopping.

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Roald Dahl wrote in a big, comfy chair with a lap desk, big blanket, thermos of hot chocolate, and sharpened No. 2 pencils.  What a beautiful way to live.  See? Definitely romanticized.

The_Elephant_HouseJ.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter (the first one) at a Edinburgh restaurant, The Elephant House. 1. How cool of a name is “The Elephant House”? Super cool.  2. Writing in a public place everyday sounds… rough.  3. I am so impressed by Rowling’s ability to write an entire book (never mind writing Harry Potter) with her pants on the whole time. Wow.

6a0128760776fb970c0167694c1a26970b-500wiHow could I NOT talk about Jane Austen’s tiniest of tables? And I complain about not having enough room.  How crazy is it that Austen competed six novels on a surface I wouldn’t deem large enough to eat dinner on? Oh, Jane, you’re nothing short of fabulous, even in all of your tiny desk glory.  I’m noticing a British pattern… you know how I feel about the accent.

king-by-jill-krementzStephen King’s room.  If nothing else will sell you, On Writing will make you believe that you have to have a designated, poetically beautiful writing space. Oh, it will also make you realize that you are most likely a very bad writer, but that’s besides the point.  In King’s words: “It starts with this: put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room. Life isn’t a support system for art. It’s the other way around.” See? He’s romantic, too.

What I’ve realized (King: “No passive voice!”) through our writing space journey is that the most important writing space has nothing to do with my desk.  It’s that room in my head where I lock everyone else out, especially the fourteen year old who tries to compare me to other people, until I let her come in because I have a fourteen year old character. It’s the place where I figure things out and go new places. It’s the place where I don’t think too much.  I explore.  It’s the place of adventure and fear and frustration.  And most importantly, it’s the place that doesn’t define my life.  It’s the other way around.

I made this post into an article for Lydia: http://www.lydiamag.com/2013/11/where-we-work-study-in-writing-spaces.html#more

Photos via  2, 3, 4, 5, 6

facing failure

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What is there to say about failure?  That it’s a part of life? That it’s a big part of my life lately? That it sucks big time? How about that if some silver lining is to be found, it’s that every successful person has failed.  They really all have. Let’s just allow that to sink in for a moment.  Ahhhh

When I was a kid, I (fell) failed at ice skating, I picked myself back up, and I skated until I fell (failed) again.  I’m still terrible at ice skating.  Is there a point to that?  Eh, maybe.  Maybe it’s that this is what makes failure so scary–because there are things, like ice skating, that I’m never going to be successful at.  But, unlike ice skating, I’m willing to work through my failures in other areas of my life, things that are attached to who I am as a person and what I want to do. (I know you’re having a hard time believing that ice skating isn’t my purpose in life.)

I’m going to start referring to failures as “learning experiences” because that makes me feel better. 🙂  Plus, we’ve all met the person who was absolutely wonderful at everything he ever did in his life, and you know what?  He kind of sucks.  So, I say, a plethora failures learning experiences is the way to go.  Let’s jump off that cliff (figuratively) and get wildly excited about things that could be massive failures learning experiences. The success is worth it, I think.  The act of pushing onward with everything in us is worth it, I know.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

Winston Churchill

“Failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor.”

Truman Capote

“We are all failures- at least the best of us are.”

J.M. Barrie

“Failures are finger posts on the road to achievement.”

C.S. Lewis

“if you don’t try at anything, you can’t fail… it takes backbone to lead the life you want”

Richard Yates

“The peaks wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful without the valleys.”

– Mom

mia thermopolis, heggie the coolestis

Ahhhh The Princess Diaries.  Weren’t we all a little in love with Anne Hathaway and her frizzy hair in 2001?  Which reminds me, the Anne Hathaway hate bandwagon should really go away.  Of all the famous people to pick on, really?!

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Anyway, The Princess Diaries is close to my heart for many reasons.  Let’s explore…

1. Meg Cabot.  A Hoosier and a townie!  (Please see Breaking Away for explanation.)  Doesn’t it feel good when someone who had the same childhood as you (or maybe is just from the same state and school) has success at something you want to do?  I know.  I feel the same way.  Meg Cabot = writer inspiration.  Also, her real name is “Meggin,” and that’s pretty cool.

2. Julie Andrews.  So Ms. Andrews can’t sing anymore, but you know what?  She’s still as fabulous as ever, and I would love to have a sliver of her grace.  I say “sliver” because I’ve got pie on the brain.

3. Hector Elizondo.  I feel like I’m just naming people (because I am), but Mr. Elizondo gets up on this list because I met him a couple of weeks ago!  He came into our store, and I thought, “This is it.  This is when someone finally recognizes that I am the next Julia Roberts.”  Well, it was more like him asking me if we had linen pants, me saying no, and then a little improv bit about how this company doesn’t know what kind of store they’re running. He laughed, and I thought, “He must know I’m the next Julia Roberts.  He’s just letting things simmer while I develop.  Either that, or I should grow out my hair and dye it red.”

4. “Supergirl!”  You know the song: “I’m supergirl, and I’m here to save the wor-orld. But I wanna know who is gonna save meh.”  What a delightful tune that is so catchy, I’m pretty sure I’ll be singing it in my rocking chair as I sip on my morning tea before I pop in my teeth. (I’ll be old, get it)

5.  My SISTER.   I think this might become a thing; where I relate a movie to a favorite person.  My sis, Heather (Heg, Heath, Heathwar), is an amazing, lovely, wonderful best friend for life.  I saw The Princess Diaries when I was ten (and Heg was nineteen) during the summer.  She would have been home from college, and she took me to see it at a sneak preview.  I was on top of the world that my sister, my cool, older, hip sister, would take me (four eyes) out in public to see the movie of the summer before it was officially released.  But that’s just the sort of stuff Heg has always done; she makes you feel like a million bucks.

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And I used to think we were so different

One time (probably within a year of TPD), we visited Heggie at school for siblings weekend.  She invited her friends over to her dorm room and we watched Pocahontas Two on VHS (why do I remember this?).  Suprisingly, the sequel wasn’t holding our attention, and when I got pjs out of my bag, Heather saw an opportunity for entertainment.  She picked up a pair of Winnie The Pooh undies, and showed them to all of her friends: “aren’t these cute?”  I. was. mortified.  I ran to the bathroom and was beyond embarrassed and angry.  But Heather, realizing she embarrassed me brought me back to her room, let me pick out a pair of her undies (some with Tigger on them), and proceeded to show them to the entire group.  The group was a little confused, but I didn’t care.  I had (and still have) the best sister in the world.

It’s Heg’s birthday today, and I’m so sorry I’m missing it.  But I’m across the country, and she’s in an emergency room, saving people’s lives.  She’s an ER doctor (just so you don’t think she’s just hanging out in ER’s).  She’s an incredible mom, and I can’t thank her enough for making me an aunt to two of the best little girls.  She’s a great wife (I’m assuming. He seems happy :)).  And on top of all of her “on paper” good stuff, she’s the person I look up to.  The one who paves the way, and shows me I have nothing but good coming my way in ten years.  She loves her family, tries her best at everything she does, and she’s my best friend.  So Happy Birthday, Heg, and “you know most kids hope for a car for their sixteenth birthday, not a country!”  Nailed the callback.

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saving, spending, and the struggle

I have a problem.  My name is Hilary Miller, and I am a guilt spender.  What is a guilt spender? Obviously, it’s someone who spends money and then feels guilty.  In most cases, this is good.  I can stretch a dollar.  I am a bargain hunter.  I enjoy window shopping, and I’m the one who really doesn’t buy anything at the end.

But when you’re down to two pairs of pants and a single pair of flats to anchor your wardrobe, being a guilt spender is a disaster.  I have to psych myself up to spend money: “I will go into the store, and I will buy a pair of jeans. I will. I will. I will. Left side!  Strong side!”  Three stores later, still no jeans.  Last week, I came close with a pair of khakis on sale for $10, but the fabric looked like it would wear out quickly.  I expect lifetime wear out of my $10.

However, finally, yesterday, I went shopping, and I actually bought clothing.  Frivolous spending ensued!  Spending on what?  Just unnecessary items like pants; three pairs of pants to be exact.  What was the total?  $26 for 3 pairs of pants, including the most perfect-fitting pair of jeans, and if you’re a girl or Boy George, you know how hard these are to find.  After my shopping spree, I had to calmly come to terms with the fact that it was okay to spend $26.  See?  This is what I’m dealing with.  I felt guilty for spending TWENTY-SIX DOLLARS for THREE PAIRS OF PANTS.  What is wrong with me?!

I need to go to the opposite of shopaholic therapy (hoardmoneyaholic therapy?  saveaholic therapy? calmdownit’stwentyfivedollars therapy? guiltspendingaholic anonymous?). Something where they make you pay $200 for the class, and then go out and spend all of the money.  Unfortunately, I am my own therapist (and the diagnosis is crazy), and my first question is, “Hilary, when did these feelings of guilt or shame begin?”  Well, it all began when…

*cue wavy flashback screen and dream sound effect

… I was around fourteen years old.  I’m sure my family would attest that I had a bit of penny-pinching sense before the age of 14, but I at least wasn’t my brother (who probably still has his lunch money from middle school <- and we love ya for it!).  Then, Christmas 2005 I received Christmas money, $100 of Christmas money.  I was rich.  All of the things I could buy: that giant stuffed horse (still a dream at 14), a sterling silver and crystal recreation of Arwen’s necklace in Lord Of The Rings, the West Side Story collector’s set, or maybe a Star Wars convention ticket.  But alas, the possibilities of purchasing would not last, when the day after Christmas we headed to the department store, and I bought a pair of pumas exactly like the kind they wore in The Island (because Michael Bay was cool at this point, guys).the_island_puma_shoes Sure I spent all of my money (by far, the most expensive shoes I owned) and didn’t listen to my mom: “Are you sure that’s what you want?” But I took one look at those strappy, vaguely European shoes, and I knew they were worth every penny.

I showed up to school wearing my new kicks with a smug smile on my face in a glimmer in my eyes.  I had gotten my Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle, and I wasn’t afraid to use it.  Then, in choir, someone, who we’ll call Scut, showed up with the same shoes.  No!  Oh, well.  At least they’re both cool.  It’s okay.  I can share the shoe light.  Then, my yellow-eyed enemy explained that he had purchased his super cool shoes at Goodwill, and they cost him… $15.  $15?!  Oh my, I shot my eye out! Just like my mom said I would. $85 down the drain.

Wouldn’t you be more cautious with your money after that?  I’ve never spent $100 on a pair of shoes since then, and I probably never will.  But at some point, I have to get to the Chinese restaurant, eat some duck, buy clothes, and sing “Fah rah rah rah…”

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favorite flower

It’s a tale as old as time.  Girl grows up.  Girl decides on a favorite flower.  Happiness ensues.  Haven’t you read that Grimm tale?  Just kidding because if this were a Grimm tale, girl would end up dead.  So let’s just say it’s time to choose a favorite flower because that seems adult and easy (and how many times do those two go together?).

 

Obviously, our first candidate is the daisy, “the friendliest flower.”  Youve_Got_Mail

Daisies are beautiful, cheap, and VASTLY SUPERIOR to carnations.  You can make a crown with them or one of those fancy balls on pinterest. If you go barefoot and stick them in your hair, you may or may not be transformed into a fairy, and fairies are pretty amazing little things, sometimes portrayed by Julia Roberts in film.  I’m glad we got that cleared up.

 

Our second contender is the yellow rose.  Why the yellow rose?  Because it means friendship and gladness.  Isn’t that lovely?  *Big sigh*  I’m so very thankful for my dear friends (family included) and the gladness they bring me.  jdwh4f-l-610x610-sweater-rose-clothes-yellow-sad-smily-black-topThe con to a yellow rose is its inability to last.  I find I can only explain how the sadness of the yellow rose’s fault affects me in haiku form:
“On sunny petal
brown begins to show on edge
Oh no no no no”

 

 

Let’s go to the ball game.  What are we bringing?  Sunflower seeds.  Oh, yeah, salty sunflower seeds, the most frustratingly delicious snack around.  I also just like sunflowers when they’re whole.  Why?  They’re tall, strong, and beautiful.  They’re the Wonder Woman of flowers.  sunflower wonder womanThey also mean happiness… I’m noticing a pattern.  I like happy, yellow things.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  (I think there might be something wrong with that.)

 

My last choice is the underdog.  It’s not really a flower… it’s more of a weed.  And I just found out it’s actual name is limestone hawksbeard.  1358426I have no idea what this weed symbolizes, but weeds are resilient.  And this little guy is close to my heart because I used to pick them each year, make mom put them in her best vase, and watch as they got their weediness (<–this is a real word) all over the counter, which she loved.

 

So now it’s time for the real drama: what flower to choose.  I suppose I will probably go with my patch of daisies, mostly because I envision myself dawdling along a seaside cliff picking the ethereal little flowers as I lose track of time.  However, I also have to respect that although ten-year-old me shared the same vision, I made do with a light stomp in the backyard around the lake, pulling little weeds with beard in the title.  Oh, how I love those weeds, that backyard, that lake.  If I had to pick, I’d go with that weird weed every day of the week.

free fallin

September is in full swing.  Soon enough, Christmas will come.  Yes, I am one of those crazies. But before we get to the sacred birthing of Jesus (“birthing” is a word, gross), let’s get excited about fall, shall we?  Now, living in Malibu makes Autumn difficult.  I fully understand this sounds a bit like complaining, which I have no right to do when I live here:

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The weather is perfect in Malibu.  It’s in the sweltering seventies in the summer, and the brisk sixties in the winter.  Rough, I know.  Trust me, come November when you’re trying to savor hot chocolate and fashionable scarves, it really is rough.  I have to go into some sort of mind warp where I fool myself into thinking it’s a brisk 40 degrees outside, so I can where my flannel shirt; I’m not sweating because I’m overdressed, I’m sweating because the crackling fire is too welcoming (note: no fireplace near).  However, even with the weather dilemma, there are some amazing things that I love about Fall even in Malibu.  Here are 7 of them:

1. Pumpkin (for food).  Pumpkin lattes.  Pumpkin smoothies.  Pumpkin mousse. Pumpkin seeds. Pumpkin bread. My mom’s pumpkin pie.  Why don’t they make pumpkin to-go, like pumpkin go-gurts?  (OhmygoshI’mgonnaberich)

2.  The Colors.  Ooh la la, the colors.  Malibu may not get the leaves like Indiana, but stores, decorations, and clothes get a gorgeous overhaul that makes me wonder why they don’t keep the palette all year.

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Indiana color

3. Thanksgiving.  Eat, I must.  Half the fun (or more) in Thanksgiving is the prep beforehand.  Turkey Day is a major bonding experience in our household.  While one person stresses about the food getting done before company arrives, another chants, “goosfraba,” reminding us that it doesn’t matter that no one has showered 30 minutes before dinner starts.  It’s chaos.  It’s lovely.  It’s full of laughter. It’s time to watch the parade.

4. Halloween.  I’m not a particular fan of the holiday, but I am completely on board with the movies that go with it.  I feel like people are going to make a horror jump here.  No, sir.  I’m talking Hocus Pocus, Beetlejuice, The Addams Family, Harry Potter (more of an anytime-ever-whenever-always film), Young Frankenstein, and Shaun of the Dead.  I feel like I’m stretching this a little far.  No?  Okay, then.

5. Pumpkin (for decoration).  I happen to be a pumpkin artist.  However, because my tales of pumpkin carving glory came before the days of (my involvement in) social media, tracking down evidence for said prowess is difficult.  Just trust me.  Maybe I’ll prove it to you in October.

6. Apples.  An apple a day keeps hilary happy.  Fiji.  Gala. Jonathan. Granny.  Gimme, gimme, gimme (a man after midnight).  As good as SoCal’s produce is, I’d kill (maybe just love) for an Indiana apple.  Don’t even get me started on the orchard’s apple slush.  Oh, you got me started.  Our hometown orchard has a sweet, sacred nectar basically consisting of apple cider in slushy form.  Yummmm

7. Coziness. Fall is just cozy, right?  Like the over-sized sweater my sister has worn for the past twelve years.  Sure, it looks a little worn, but it’s loved and there’s something entirely too comforting about it that can’t easily be reconstructed.  Besides, don’t you love New York in the Fall?

alone

Go ahead and turn on Heart’s “Alone” for this one, but warning, you will be blown away by lace gloves, big hair (*cough* mullets *cough*), and face melting rock that will be stuck in your head the rest of the day.

Let me start out by saying that there seem to be two types of people in this world: people who like being alone (or I should say, find it necessary) and people who don’t.

Now, I divide the population, which I’m sure will cause a Civil War of sorts because the people who don’t like being alone don’t seem to understand the people who do. And, in fact, there are some people who will be saddened(!) by this post, when really, it’s not sad at all.

In case you couldn’t tell, I’m in the alone-time-is-necessary camp.  And for those of you who aren’t, if I may, I’d like to try to explain it to you.  I love people.  I like people.  Sometimes I need to be away from people.  Get it?  Not really?  Oh, well.  I knew it would be hard to explain.  Let’s put it this way,  I like wearing pants that don’t button, singing and dancing in my apartment, reading in a quiet room, and eating grapes like a madwoman.  ImageThese activities are considerably hindered by the presence of another person, and that’s okay because sometimes it’s good to wear pants that button, keep the improv dance to a minimum, read in a loud room, and share goofy grape eating with someone you love.  But sometimes the solitude part is important, too.

I get that these are silly necessities, but those are my needs, silly as they are.  And I like myself… just as I am.  (Sometimes, you have to be your own Mr. Darcy.)

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Still don’t get it? Sorry.  Questions for angels.

Great Alone Quotes:

I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.”  – Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

“The primary distinction of the artist is that he must actively cultivate that state which most men, necessarily, must avoid; the state of being alone.” – James Baldwin (I felt very artsy reading this one)

“And I find – I’m 63, and my capacity to be by myself and just spend time by myself hasn’t diminished any. That’s the necessary part of being a writer, you better like being alone.”  -John Irving (Whew!  In the right field!)

“I actually like being alone. I spend most evenings reading and taking long baths.” – Shonda Rhimes

“My favorite hobby is being alone. I like to be alone. I also like dancing, fishing, playing poker sometimes and vegetable gardening – corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, I have a big garden every year.” – Emanuel Steward

“I have to be alone very often. I’d be quite happy if I spent from Saturday night until Monday morning alone in my apartment. That’s how I refuel.” – Audrey Hepburn

“Language… has created the word ‘loneliness’ to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word ‘solitude’ to express the glory of being alone.” – Paul Tillich

love letter to my dog

dear estelle getty,

Here are 10 things I hate about you. <— because I know how much you love 90s teen movies and modern Shakespeare.

1. You get hair everywhere, and I have sympathy for this.  I really do.  I’m a girl.  I used to have hair long hair.  I get it.  But you don’t clean up your hair from the bathroom floor… Okay, I never did either, but still.

2. You make me get up early every morning.  Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, all of the sudden having an ear itch that must be scratched as soon as the sun appears in the sky, or even a little before.  But you’re stealthy, I’ll give you that.  While other dogs hop on their owners’ beds and lick faces, you stay on your doggie bed, and make your collar jingle like it’s the most accidental sound in the world.  Well played.

3. Last winter you chewed up my favorite pair of heels.  No, I’m not over it.  And the worst part was that you didn’t even chew them completely, making me keep a pair of chewed heels for two months wondering if they were salvageable.  And then you found them again and made sure they weren’t.  Thanks for that.

4. You do that thing at the dog park when you get excited, where you roll around in the dirt.  Listen, I barely want to give myself a shower most days.

5. Sometimes I walk to the store with you and tie you up outside while I run in, and it literally makes me run through the store because I’m so worried someone’s going to steal you.

6. When people avoid you, in a way that’s very “I hate dogs,” it makes me not trust them… actually, thanks.

7. I know I mentioned the shoes, but let’s be honest, last week’s classy job to the crotch of my newest jeans was really your pièce de résistance.

8. Do you know how expensive your dog food is?  So it’s not as expensive as human food, but couldn’t you just eat the neighbor’s cat or something? I want to buy new shoes and jeans.

9. You name is ridiculous.  I realize this could be considered my fault, but you’re the one that looks like an “Estelle Getty.

10. You really stink at posing for pictures, no matter how many vogue poses I show you.

Now, I know you probably expected a Julia Stiles turn here at the end.  I would suddenly tell you that I love that you get me outside everyday, give me kisses each day, and are so excited to see me when I get home.  Maybe I’d go on to say that this whole living by myself would be a great disaster without you, that you are more precious to me now than when I first carried you home inside my sweatshirt, that we can listen to Michael Bolton and have a connection deeper than woman and dog.  But I won’t, partly because that last one was weird and also because, Estelle Getty, you’re a dog, and it’s really freaking me out that you’re reading.  So stop.

cheers (barks),

hilly

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