Hello-ween.

I know that it goes against everything one could assume about me, but I'm about to say it. And you'll have to know that it's the truth, because this is my blog, the place where only the truth gets said.

Halloween is not my favorite holiday.

Now, it's among my top three, sure. But that's really only because I love any holiday that involves skull and crossbones, and playing dress up. (Sadly for me, I didn't have a reason to get a costume this year, so I will just have to go all out twice as much next year.) I have, however, had a very productive day, which is strange. I usually like to take advantage of the excuse of a holiday to avoid work-like things. (Oh you want that by when? Sorry, can't do it that day. It's Arbor Day.)

Nevertheless, I got up fairly early this morning, finished some voiceover edits and sent them off, went to the gym, successfully avoided all free candy at said gym, (Counterproductive much, 24 hour?) went to Barnes and Noble with my brother (highlight of my life: my older brother did not roll his eyes at either of my book purchases. That must mean I'm growing up.)

and then I decided to bake these.

If you're looking at the recipe and questioning the last picture, I had to improvise for my dad, who claims a cookie is "no good without chocolate." So I melted some milk chocolate chips and glazed the tops of the cookies with them. I haven't gotten to taste my creations yet, but I must say they made my house smell divine.

I will finish off my night with a viewing of one of my favorite films, "The Nightmare Before Christmas" and maybe an encore performance of "Hocus Pocus."

Happiest of Halloweens to all in the blogosphere.

lego-land empires

I really have an urge to blog, probably because of the fantastic mood I've been in, because it's Autumn. Not "fall" because that's not a eloquent enough word.

Autumn is for leaves changing, crisp breezes through open windows, spicy smells, candles burning, jackets and scarves, darker hair colors, holiday buzz, exciting Pottery Barn catalogs. And none of those things can be translated in the word, "fall." So it's autumn on this blog.

Now, some of my closest friends, for obvious reasons, love Halloween. I'm really not much of a Halloween celebrator, BUT I do have a weakness for Pottery Barn's Halloween decor. Only for me, it's not so much seasonal, because the Halloween style is a year-round thing for me.

Like this:

Candle, and candle holder (or candle stand? Don't know, stand sounds weird,) are both from Pottery Barn's Halloween Decor section, and I love them. Also photographed, Good Luck Bear, who is not from Pottery Barn. He was a gift my first year of college from a co-worker. That is actually where he goes on my dresser, though even if he wasn't, I bet I would have tried to give him a cameo on the blog anyway. He's good people.

What else? I think I'm finally done traveling, at least until December, when I will finally be making my return to the Bay Area. Shevvs and I are already planning several great adventures, and we still have a month to make adjustments. We have some definites though, one of them being a movie night to see "New Moon," as we have decided is tradition since last year's "Twilight" night. (Am I outing myself as a total nerd? I guess only if you didn't pick up on that before. And that's your bad.)

I also found these beads on the kitchen table this morning,

and decided to wear them:

The other necklace is of the Steampunk persuasion, a 22nd birthday gift from a dear friend, but I am really digging these beads today. I mean, so far I've worn them to Target and the gas station, but if I go see Paranormal Activity tonight, I think I'll rock them again. I'd wear them to the gym, but that would be silly, even for me.

I guess I will leave you, my fellow internet dwellers, with my day one of my new fad of the "Daily Haiku." I love the simplicity of the structure and rules for writing these mini-poems, so I'm going to try to jot down one a day for the rest of October and all of November. Makes me want to get a Haiku journal just for this activity, but I have about 4 unused journals just waiting for some love, so I will have to just make do.

photo courtesy of: Allison Krause

New Orleans, 2009.

Just a brief photo-recap of my weekend trip to New Orleans, Louisiana. You know, for those of you who haven't, or don't care to, look through the 200 photos that got posted over the past few days on Facebook.

Thoughts/Occurrences that didn't justify an entire entry.

+ I was driving home the other day, and I came to a rolling stop (better described as an extremely cautious yield) at the corner stop sign. Then, I saw an SUV with police lights on top. This is the moment when I think, "Shit, was that enough of a stop for him? I looked! There wasn't anyone there! I looked!" (Yes, I was planning my defense already.) So as I continued on down the road, attempting to act as nonchalant as a 1500-pound car can look- (does anyone else do that? It's like ducking when you enter a parking garage with a fairly low height restriction, it doesn't help your car, but you do it anyway.) I glance in my rearview mirror (again, I do this very covertly, innocence being my goal) to see that it's an SUV for the fire department. I sigh in relief, and in my car, I have this conversation with myself.

"Oh, it's not a cop."

"Even so, that was a pretty good stop for that corner."

"It's like a cop for the fire department. What do you call those guys?"

"It's a fire cop."

This is the moment that I pause, reassess the words that just came out of my mouth (because yes, I was having this conversation out loud. in my car. alone.) and then I say this:

"Really, Eleanor? Fire cop? That's not a thing."

+I'm almost positive that in order to train to be a car salesmen, you have to work at a cart in the mall. I try to walk from Macy's to Urban Outfitters today, about a half-mall distance, and I get hustled by every single cart salesmen. No, I don't want to switch phone services. No, I don't want a remote-control helicopter. No, I don't need a new flat-iron and no, I do not need knockoff designer sunglasses. My only line of defense in these situations is to look busy or pissed off, and to avoid eye contact. For me, if I make the mistake of eye contact, it's over. Whatever they're selling, I'm buying. Because I can only say no so many times because I feel awful and the guilt overwhelms me. And then I'm presented with the choice of death by drowning in a sea of contrition, or buying the cheapest thing I can find on their cart-of-wonders and get the hell out of there. Nevertheless, buyers remorse always kicks in right around the time I look down at the receipt to see "All Sales Final" stamped in red ink. I feel suckered and victimized. And instantly poorer.

+ I, without fail, always have an oval shaped bruise about a third of the way past my kneecap on my left shin. It never gets a chance to fade - just change colors, like a mood ring. I have a mood bruise on my shin. Logic will deduce this occurrence to the placement of my subwoofer, which is under my desk, right around the area where one's feet would go. However, I was away from my desk for over a week, and somehow, the bruise managed to be reformed in the exact same spot from some other unknown object. Today, it is a greyish-purple which means I am "at rest, tranquil and aloof."

+The other day, I was at the bank, and an old man commented on how fast I was at texting. This, immediately, made me stumble over every word I tried to write, and also forget what I was writing in the first place. I wanted to yell at this guy, "hey JACKASS, stop watching me text!" because he was just staring at me. But the bank is a quiet place in general, and he and I were the only customers in there. Also, had I acted upon my initial thought to shout at this elderly stranger, I would have been that crazy lady at the bank, and I'm sure my deposit would have been denied.

+Today, I was at the gym, and thought of something really funny, and so as a natural response, I started smiling. Now, this would have been fine, if I hadn't also, accidentally been spaced out, and my eyes were unfocused on a guy who had noticed, and was giving me a very confused look. Because I was running on the treadmill, grinning like an idiot, and accidentally staring at a buff, no-nonsense type man. I tried to avert my eyes to the television, but it was too late. He was still looking at me like I was the weirdest person ever. And since I'm just the slightest bit neurotic, I actually considered walking over to him and explaining myself, like:

"Hi. I know you think that I was smiling at you, but really, I was just zoned out and I was thinking about this one time that my friend and I were walking and I made a joke about the wind and I said, 'you know, like a candle in the...' and I left it open, you know because, well you get it I'm sure. Anyway, she just kept talking about whether or not we should turn right at the next block, and totally just left me hanging! So I was thinking about how that was funny, and that's why I was smiling. Not because of you, in fact, I wasn't even looking at you. So now you know that. Okay, thank you for your time and enjoy the rest of your workout."

+Facebook rant: I hate it when you make a comment on someone's status, or on a photo, and then you get about 20 notifications when other people, mostly people you don't know, comment on the same thing. Do I care what these people have to say? No. I just wanted to make my quippy remark, and then that's all. I don't care what other people have to say, unless it pertains to me, which it rarely does. It's annoying to get excited when I see that little red thought-bubble at the bottom of my screen, only to find out that it really doesn't concern me at all. Hey Facebook, Eleanor Thibeaux dislikes this.

productive vacationing

My trip to New York was trifold:

1. Visit my two best friends.

2. Attend AES (Audio Engineering Society) convention.

3. Mark off a few of my goals for my 22nd year of being alive.

Firstly, I will be marking off #4, "Take a long weekend in NYC" even though I was actually there for 10 days, so it was a really, really, really long weekend.

When I do finally get around to posting photos of the trip as a whole, I could very easily title that blog, "How I ate my way through New York City." An example? Two Boots to go West: New York meets Louisiana-style pizza. Pretty delicious, especially being so far away from home. Also in need of very little introduction - the two beautiful ladies accompanying me in the pictures, my girls: Alice and Allison.

Up next is #7, "Visit a History Museum." And what better museum of history is there than the American Museum of Natural History in the heart of Manhattan? I'll be planning a trip back there in the future, there was just so much that we had to skip around a bit.

I have always had a secret love of history. (Yes, I was that kid in school, usually the only one, who didn't complain about having to take history classes. I rather enjoyed them. I took AP history for advanced knowledge, not for advanced credit.) This does not begin to cover the amount of photos I have from the trip, and I will post some of my favorites in another blog. I recommend checking out the full res of this picture, to see the quote on the 2nd page.

And lastly, #15 "See a new Play" which could have been alternatively named "See three new plays." I picked the one I loved the most, though it was a tough choice. Runners up were Shrek: The Musical and Alter Boyz. But as you see, we had a winner, and it was Rock of Ages.

A musical, based solely on 80's rock music. Anyone that knows me a little bit knows how deep my love is for classic 80's hair metal and power ballads. Epically entertaining, and they served Corona in cans (as pictured above.) Does life get any better? No sir, it does not.

My Life, cameo appearance by: Parking Lot Douchebag

Fun Fact # 04: I am an incredibly passive-aggressive personality, emphasis on the passive. What this means is that if and when I decide to act upon my annoyance/frustration/vexation, it is incredibly sneaky and nigh anonymous.

Now let me tell you about today.

I was perusing the internet, and got an email from Pottery Barn about a sale. I love Pottery Barn and I love things on sale, so naturally, I followed the link to their website to discover the their wood series frames were 20% off. $16 for a frame? Heck yes.

So I travel down to the mall, and get my frames. Now, as you can imagine, I am in a fantastic mood! Two new frames, a pleasant shopping experience, and I'm chit-chatting with my mother about my trip to New York. All is well. I didn't even mind that I got lost in the parking lot (cause I'm one of those smart kids that can never remember to remember where she parked...)

Here's where it gets dicey. I find my car in all his glory. I'm at the passenger side door, unlocking it to put in my shopping bag, and I hear the problem before I see it. Somewhere in the distance behind me is a horribly loud sound system coming from a car whose driver has god-awful taste in music. (I know this because I recognize the crap-rock style of throat-singing sensation Scott Stapp.) So I'm trying to continue my conversation, despite the growing intensity of the atrocious musical stylings of Creed, until I can no longer hear my mother because parking lot douchebag has decided to park right next to me.

Now I would like to paint you a picture of Parking Lot Douchebag. He is driving a jacked up, flame-decaled, must-be-compensating-for-a-lot Ford F-150 with off-roading tires that appear to have only driven obnoxiously over a median or two because the jackass operator of the vehicle couldn't wait his freaking turn to cross traffic. He drives with his windows down in the rain. Yes, that's right, it was raining, muggy and 80 degrees and this guy has his windows down like it's effing San Diego in the springtime. He is forcing everyone within a mile radius of his super-cool self to listen to his vomit-inducing taste in music, and he is wearing an NRA t-shirt. Until today, I did not realize the NRA made t-shirts. I know better now. He is caucasian, he is overweight, and sloppy. He is wearing flip-flops and has some of the nastiest looking toes I have ever seen. He is exactly what you would expect, and for a brief moment, I am sad for Texas.

At this point, I know my mother is talking, but I cannot hear her. He is idling in his parking spot, music still raging, and I am livid. So I yell into the phone:

Mom, I know you're talking, but some jackass just pulled up and his horrid music is playing so fucking loud that I cannot hear you so I'm going to have to call you back.

Now, I should mention that I did not actually intend for Parking Lot Douchebag to hear me. Again, I am of the passive-aggressive persuasion. But I am finishing my sentence as he is opening his door, and he hears me. For a moment, my thoughts are a bit of a panic, because I really don't mouth off to strangers. I have seen too many crime shows where road rage gets the best of someone and the next thing you know, your chest cavity is the new home of a nine-millimeter bullet. So I just make it a habit of not being a smartass to the unpredictable. But the window of opportunity to get shot in the head passes, and I have once again returned to my irritated state of being.

So I move around to the driver's side of the car to get in, and that's when I hear it. His voice, his nasal, nails-on-a-chalkboard-to-my-brain vocal rendition of a baby crying. He is mocking me for being pissed off at him, and something in my brain switches on. Because I drive a red sports car that screams "I might be small, but don't think for a second that I won't entirely run you over." I get OUT of my car. I turn to where he is standing, now just behind my vehicle, and I say:

You know what? You can just fucking go to hell.

And I mean it. And he's looking at me, and Parking Lot Douchebag knows I mean it. Because I might be a passive-aggressive person, and I am almost always polite to strangers because THAT is what my mother taught me to do, but there is no way in hell that this guy is going to get the last word. No sir. Parking Lot Douchebag absolutely does not get to walk away thinking that he won this interchange. I win. I'm right, I'm pissed, and I win.

Parking Lot Douchebag's trashy girlfriend gives him a nudge to keep walking, because she knows what's up. He mumbles something about me needing to get over it, and I tell him to keep fucking walking. In my head, my thoughts are "you are not thinking this through," and "who the hell is talking right now?" because you have no earthly understanding of how out-of-character this is for me. Staring down a guy twice my size, and I'm outnumbered? Not very rational, and not my style. But like I said, I was not about to let this guy win.

So they leave, and that's when I realize that my father is still on the phone. And he has heard this entire exchange and I can practically see him on the other end with his palm against his forehead, shaking his head back and forth going, "only Eleanor, no one else, only her." And he is praying to God that he doesn't hear gunfire, or police sirens and yet, he says nothing. He just waits.

And I get back on the phone and I say:

Hey Dad, Mom said she needed to call me back? That's fine, I will talk to you guys later.

And he agrees with a small chuckle in his voice, and we hang up. And I sit in my car for a few moments, reveling in the events that just took place.

Only me, no one else, only me.

paper-thin excuses.

Regular blogs shall resume upon my return from New York City.

Game On, October.

thirty days of September, thirty pictures.