Today my boyfriend turns 24. I am officially dating a man, I think.
Gross!
Show us what's in your fridge.
Submitted by Jill.
So, when Vox chooses your hunt question, you gotta do it, and with gusto!
This is my fridge. I use the term "my" loosely as I live with my immediate family, so I didn't really choose much of what's in here. If I lived alone, my fridge would probably look similar to those celebrities' who appear on MTV's Cribs, minus the three thousand cans of Pepsi (which I know they don't drink lest they want their personal trainers to give them a karate chop to the teeth, so I conclude they must have been paid to put it there), which means I'd basically have nothing at all in there because I'm broke. Okay, so this is colour and number coded for your convenience:
1 (or BLUE MISHAPEN CIRCLE): Bagged milk! I guess some people don't know about bagged milk? Well, it's a pretty great Canadian invention if you're someone who is clumsy, like myself, and drops stuff all over the floor and likes to see it explode. I think this is how my mom acquired the nickname "The Bomber". Also, last week I accidentally drank some chocolate bagged milk which was sour and I kind of wanted to throw up.
2 (or YELLOW, ACTUALLY A PRETTY GOOD CIRCLE): Newmann's Own Grape Juice! It's only probably the best grape juice ever. I should mention that probably about fifty percent of what's in our fridge is juice. We have about ten different juices at any given time. We're a juice family.
3 (or PINK MISHAPEN CIRCLE): Five Alive with Bilingual Packaging!
4 (or NEON GREEN SQUASHED CIRCLE): Half a pepper stuffed with chili that's been sitting there for a week and I'm kind of afraid of it.
Everything else is either baked goods or some sort of pickled vegetable. Or eggs.
Give us artsy fartsy.
Submitted by Meg.
The above and following pieces are just some paintings/drawings I've done over the past little while with the frustratingly small amount of time I have had. The above is my first oil painting and second overall painting EVER, so I'm pretty proud of it. It is also unfinished. I accidentally squashed a bug on it and now I don't know what I'm going to do. Ew.
Semi-surrealist watercolour bird painting. I'm pretty sure I picked up this idea from somewhere but I don't remember where. I'm also not sure as to whether or not it's finished.
The following drawings are all fall-themed and inspired, as I think fall is really the most delicious season of the year. It's a shame it only last two or three weeks.
How many languages can you speak? Which languages can you read or understand?
Having been born and raised in a bilingual country, it's usually mildly surprising to others of different countries when I tell them I can only speak English, especially after telling them I took mandatory French classes for six years. Oh, and by other countries, I generallly mean the United States, as I have visited very few... er... no other countries. Case in point, nearly two years ago I traveled down to Pennsylvania at Thanksgiving to meet my boyfriend's family (AND extended family, whew) for the first time. We were sitting down at his grandparent's table ready to dive into Thanksgiving dinner when Dan's twelve year-old cousin made a demand: "Can you speak French!? Say something in French!", to which I dumbly responded with a searching "errrrr...", and promptly shoved a mountain of mashed potatoes into my mouth.
I suppose I could have responded with a quick "Je ne sais pas" or if I was feeling slightly more confident, "Je ne sais pas beaucoup francais", but why try to act all smart when, simultaneously, you're actually telling someone that your about as resourceful as a turnip on the given subject?
All this stuffage aside, no, I can't speak any other languages... fluently. HowEVER, I can speak very, very miniscule bits and pieces of French, mainly phrases and names objects, but I have a hard time sticking stuff together with the grammer. I can probably understand more of it then speak it, though. Also, I can also speak and write a wee bit of Portuguese, probably more then French at this point, as I took an introductory course on it last year as to fill my language requirement for school.
Show us something that takes your breath away.
A photo I took of the bay in Avalon, New
Jersey last year. Coincidentally, where I'll be returning on Thursday
for Labour Day weekend! Dan's (extended) family owns a cottage down
there, on a little island. I know, New Jersey, what a gross place,
right? Who would want to go there? Ew! But, seriously dudes.
It's nearly at the very bottom point of N.J., so it barely qualifies as
New Jersey at all. And Oprah lives there sometimes, so it's gotta be
okay, right? Well, wait, scratch that.
Last year when we went, it was my first time ever seeing the ocean.
I was so excited I nearly peed my pants. I ran at the waves, fully
clothed, and jumped around a bunch. I got so wet and salty and
sand-mouthed (somehow), and I didn't even care. The rest of the week
was spent playing the water and lying in hammocks and kayaking through
the bay and eating greasy pizzas and walking along the boardwalk and
riding bicycles all over the town and digging giant trenches in the
sand and flying shark kites. Allergies aside, I don't think I've ever
felt healthier.
I need to purchase myself an ocean.
Due to staying up until 3 am and then getting up at 7 to wake up
everyone in my house and then drive my boyfriend to the bus terminal so
he could go back to his motherland, I went back to bed (um, the couch)
and slept until one in the afternoon and was therefore unable to answer
yesterday's question of the day, which, I guess, changes around noon.
For some reason. So, vox, I refuse to accept your weird and offbeat
change-o, presto antics and am answering yesterday's qotd, TODAY. Oh, snap! Or something!
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mouse, my Nana's very last car, my very first car, and my very first car crash.
As you can see, Mouse is a little old and a
little small. Driving Mouse is basically like driving a toy. As
previously mentioned, he belonged to my Nana, before she passed away.
Technically, Mouse isn't totally and completely mine just yet, as I
only have my beginner's (G1) lisense, and am therefore only allowed to
go for a spin when I am accompanied by a fully lisensed driver of four
years. This hasn't stopped me in the past, though!
Last spring, while my parents were in Portugal and Dan was paying me
a visit, I crashed Mouse into the front of my house (take notice of the
scratched paint on the front bumper). At this time, I was void of any
lisense whatsoever, but still thought I could manage pulling into the
driveway quite impressively. But no, I missed the driveway, went right
through the ditch, sailed over the lawn (actually, lurched is probably
a better word, as my feet were freaking out with me and kept going from
gas to break to gas), thrashed through the garden, and, well, House
meet Mouse (honking all the way, because, like my feet, my hands were
all over). Dan then backed the car out to it's proper place, and I was
left, lying on the front lawn, practially having an anneurism, while
the little girl next door was seen looking out her living room window,
giggling and what she'd just witnessed.
Not much damage was done, just a little paint scraped from the
bumper that no one noticed and some paint also chipped from the siding
of the house, which, conveniently, plants grew over, hiding my
stupidity. My parents never found out and I don't plan on telling them
until I'm at least 35. However, I got my lisense a few short
months after the incident, and as a result, was totally freaked out
every single time I got behind the wheel. I was convinced telephone
poles twenty feet away were somehow going to jump infront of the car.
But I'm cool now, dudes, and my driving instructor says I'm awesome and
told me I have the right to brag. Brag, brag, brag.
Okay, that's it, I guess. I need more sleep and a popsicle.
What do you usually do on Sunday?
Sunday, to me, is the lonliest day of the week. There's just something in the air, some kind of pressing melancholy, which prevades it. When I'm not working all morning and afternoon (which is usually the case), Sundays usually go like this (especially during the winter months):
Wake up, trudge into the living room, rub my eyes, stand there, trudge some more, stare out the window, twenty minutes, call a friend, no one is home, didn't want to do anything anyway, sulk, yawn, lie on the kitchen floor, open the cupboards with my toes, remember something, wander into a room... pause. Forget why I'm there, blink at myself in the mirror, pick something up up, drop it, leave it there, sigh, sulk, etc. When I was a kid, my family and I would go to church and then out for ice cream every Sunday. I liked that much better.
Do you have any tattoos? If not, if you were going to get inked, what would you get?
I do not have a tattoo and I would never get "inked" because I can absolutely, positively guarantee you that I would become utterly repulsed by the design I chose five days later. I can say this with assurance as this is a pattern weaved through pretty much all of my obsessed phases. For instance, my hair. Ever since eighth grade, my hair has gone through style phases which have lasted anywhere from six months to a year, and end with me being totally disgusted with myself ("oh my goodness, look at this photo, I never realized the back of my head was so UGLY!"). Eighth grade was the year of a high fountain ponytail a la Sporty Spice, ninth grade was cinnamon buns a la Princess Leia, followed by the half up, the spikey mess, the fushia fiasco, the nightmare perm, the curly pigtails, just-rolled-out-of-bed avec a squillion butterfly clips, the side sweepy bangs, the pompadour, etc.
Anygoo, I tend to get a little over obsessed with things and then
become really appalled by them. Tattoos, I'm sure, not withstanding.
I've really only seen two tattoos I've liked my whole life, anyway.
Hi. I'm Jill.
Hi. I'm Jill, and I'm a grab-bag of contradictions.
Hi, I'm Jill, and I'm a disgruntled rain cloud that rains bobby pins all over the carpet.
Hi, I'm Jill, my hair blown back by the wind, a river in the sky, a fiery comet tail, my head in constant freefall. As someone once said.
Hi, I'm Jill. I'm really bad at writing introductory auto-biographic posts, the ones where you're suppose to sum up yourself nice and quickly while still leaving the reader feeling as if they know you, body, mind, soul and intestinal tract (can that be filed under "body"?... well, no, because technically the intestinal tract is just a hole inside your body and I need to stop thinking) while all the while giving the impression that you're fun loving and oh-so-deep, simultaneously. It's near impossible task. So, instead, here are just a few things about me:
I have a white Geo and it's name is Mouse because it looks like a mouse. It lives in a hole next to my garage.
I only know one magic trick. And, no, I won't tell you the secret because it's all I've got.
I absolutely adore art. I kind of pretend that I'm an artist, but really, I'm just relearning everything. I can barely draw a straight line. If I could do anything at this point (or in the future), I'd love to be a freelance illustrator/artist, traveling the world (but I would settle for free reign of the continent, too) and showing my brightly coloured works off at galleries and shows, filling childrens' books with imaginative illustrations, and blowing minds left and right. Unfortunately, I have a long way to go, and no plan.
I'm a very nervous person.
I'm 22, a Gemini with a Pisces moon, I study culture and art at university, I work at a record store, and no, it's not like Empire Records nor as cool as all the 14 year olds think it is, my favourite colour is green, I have one brother, two lizards and a foreign lover... boyfriend... person. When we're not in the same country, we talk in parenthesis.
I'm also missing a whole lot of bobby pins. If it turns out the vaccum didn't eat them, let me know if they turn up, won't you?
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A Divine Unicorn said:
[this is good]i'm so excited for fall now! thanks to this! read more
on Fallforestwalk
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