|Wearing 1950s jeans, Pendleton 49er jacket, and blouse. 1980s boots and belt.|
Hello! It's been a while since dabbled on the blog. That's partly because I go through phases of, "I hate the word 'blogger'" and, "Is this a productive way to use my time?" and, "What does it say about myself that I like to take my own photos then publish them for all the Subway Jareds and Donald Trump supporters of the world to see?" It's also because, during marathon training time, I'm almost never not sweaty or just showered. Basically between the months of June through November, I constantly have wet hair, and I'm not one of those sleek ladies who can pull off that look. Trust me. But yesterday I got a really nice email from a total stranger, who just wrote to tell me she recently found my blog, likes it, and wants to know where should she shop for vintage in Detroit. I couldn't help her with the Detroit thing, but her kind words gave me the nudge I needed to trade in my pajama pants for jeans. When you work from home long enough, there comes that day when you cannot remember the last time you weren't wearing pajamas. So thanks, Jennifer. I needed that. As did my pajamas. I'm pretty sure I heard them sigh with relief when I took them off.
Speaking of nice strangers, Mike and I sat next to one on a plane a couple weekends ago on our way to Philly. Her name is Elsbeth, and she goes to a very good university in Indiana. Not the top 10 party school that I went to, but one that requires SAT numbers greater than one's height in inches. Anyway, the second I woke up from my plane nap, she asked me if we were famous, as we definitely seemed famous, because we looked very "put together." Then she told me I look like Zooey Deschannel (not true, but sweet), asked what I did for a living, then enthusiastically complimented my business card. She was on her way to Scotland, where she was spending Thanksgiving with her family. Though, later she asked us if we thought she could even get to Scotland, being that she just realized her Passport was expired and all. I told her to go for it, as she was too nice to disappoint with the truth. I hope she was able to go, as her plans sounded rad and while all young people have to learn some lessons the hard way, there is really nothing to be learned from the post office passport line.
Now, I know it's not Christmas's fast approach that is cheering my mood, as I'm still very "bah humbug" about that bitch, but these pleasant interactions with kind strangers are not lost on me. Sometimes I see people I want to give a compliment to, or talk to them about the book they are reading, or ask how the hell they managed to get that vat of acid onto the red line (true story), but I never do in fear I'd be bothering them. Though a card carrying grouch myself, I was anything but bothered at these recent uninvited conversations. I rather enjoyed them (I'm still surprised by this though)! Maybe it's time I stop worrying about what it means if I'm a "blogger," or if I'd weird someone out by starting a conversation. So far only lovely things have come from both.
All that said, a crazy dude tried to steal my camera while I took these photos today.