Archive | August, 2014

And Just Like That I Start Gilmore Girls Again

21 Aug

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About once a year, without warning, I get this aching in my bones.  A restless energy that whirls around and whispers, “Gilmore Girls.  It’s time for Gilmore Girls.”

And just like that, I start Gilmore Girls again.

I’ve watched Gilmore Girls so many times I can point out the smallest of errors, the tiniest of anachronisms.  “Oh that girl in the pilot at Stars Hollow High?  Yes, later she plays Tristan’s girlfriend at Chilton and goes by a completely new name,” I guffaw to myself, since no one else ever has or ever will care.

But I care.

I care about every last Tristan girlfriend, every odd Macy Gray choice, every, every, every second of Adam Brody time.

I know it all.  I feel it all.  It’s all part of the Gilmore Girls canon and part of me.

As I watch the show now, my heart beats a little faster.  It doesn’t matter that I can quote huge sections of every abnormally-long script, I still brighten at the thought of watching it unfold.

It’s the first time every time.

Make that into a love song, someone.

While the episodes progress I’m taken back to former versions of myself, the Jills that watched the show in real time, who lived and breathed for Tuesday nights in Stars Hollow.

There’s Post High School Jill who sat on a lawn outside her best friend’s cosmetology building discussing Dean and Jess for hours, avoiding her own impending reality.

There’s Freshman Year of College Jill who went home every weekend to a boyfriend who had recorded the latest episode on VHS for her.  A boyfriend, who, maybe, secretly, sort of liked the show himself.

I’m sure of it.

There’s the Jill who cried over that boyfriend while a television screen flashed in the background.

The Jill who browsed the University of Utah’s directory for men named Gilmore.

The Jill who watched the series finale on the East Coast because her stupid family had stupid moved to stupid Nowherseville, Kentucky.

Oh gosh, there’s even the Jill who turned down a Tuesday night date because of Lorelai and Rory.

She was a real thing, that Jill.

A peach, too.

On and on and round I go through Gilmore Girls, my adolescence and early adulthood swirling behind me, until I find myself today in The Marshmallow, pulling out those well-loved DVDs and curling up to the comforting sounds of Carole King.

I feel it all.

All the past Jills, all the loneliness and heartbreak and wanting of something that can’t be defined.

Every single time I watch Gilmore Girls,

I still feel it all.

A Little Bit Of Nonsense

13 Aug

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Creakkkk.

Do you hear that?

That’s me stretching my blogging muscles.

They’re all pale and jiggly and nervous from lack of use.

Let’s see if we can change that.

All right, all right.

A few things.

First, and most importantly, Cape Cod Potato Chips.  Oh my Cape Cod Potato Chips.

I first tried these gems of deliciousness on the beach, my toes in the water, my fingers permanently stuck in the bag.  No one else was remotely as excited as I was about this snacking development. I raved and crunched and gesticulated with those hand gestures, those hand gestures that define me probably more than any single thing on this earth, and the people around me just stared.

Stupid East Coasters.  We get it. You eat Cape Cod Potato Chips every day and grew up in Stars Hollow.

We get it.

Also, it was not until after I had shipped 40 bags into California and taken this picture cradling said bags like a baby that I found out Cape Cod Chips are carried in Malibu grocery stores.

Of course they are!

Malibu!

Speaking of The ‘Bu (no?) I spent last Saturday under its flawless sky.  Life is brighter in Malibu, folks, that’s just the truth of the matter.

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I get like a cartoon of myself in Malibu.  I gush and giggle and say about 400 times, “I hate LA!  LA could fall into the ocean and I wouldn’t blink an eye!  But Malibu!  Always more Malibu!

I don’t know if it’s Malibu itself or if it’s just what Malibu symbolizes that inspires such passion in me, but I suppose that doesn’t really matter.

Malibu is it for me.

Malibu is the place I went when I was broken and starting over. Malibu is where I first pursued writing as a real, actual, I’m-gonna-do-this thing.  Malibu is beginning and the end of everything, and to this day I still spill my best words under its no-filter-needed sky.

Winters in Malibu and summers on the Cape?

Does that work for you all?

Let’s see, let’s see.

Oh!  This song.  Cait showed me this song the other day and I think it’s quite perfect.  I have a thing with the number 17, and the age 17 and this song perfectly captures what 17 is and was and will forever be to me.

Listen.

I know you’ll love it.

(Said in a Kathleen Kelly voice.) 

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And…finally.

Look at this bacon house of delight and wonder!  Soak it in!  Grasp the concept of chocolate covered bacon!

I snapped this shot last weekend at the OC Fair with Lucas.  Bacon is kind of a thing for our relationship, you know.  The first thing Luke ever cooked me was a BLT, and this was a strong move on his part since he’s a bit of a bacon expert and I am a bit of a bacon crazy.

(Bacon crazy?   Creak, creak, creakity creak.)

When we go to the store Luke has a careful bacon selection process and it’s very cute to see his face scrunch up as he peers through his glasses and picks out the very best of the fats for us.  If I’m ever upset with him all it takes is a good plate of bacon and most everything is forgiven.

So far nothing has been so big that bacon couldn’t fix it.

That might have more to do with his cute glasses, though.

Or him.

Probably him.

I’m going to definitely say this has to do with him, and I’m going to log off now before this train completely derails.

Blogging!  I’ve missed you so!

Creakkkkkkkk.