Bloodclot

Oh my god there are so many boring blogs out there. Here's a hint, if people wanted a shitload of links and random strings of information, they'd go to google. Just thought I'd put that out there.

Tim Armstrong has a voice that's silly, ridiculous, creepy, and amazing, all at the same time. If you haven't listened to rancid lately, check out one of their new-ish albums, Life Won't Wait, and play "Who Would've Thought." Rancid rules because they're from Olympia, so when you've lived there you pick up all these little references in their songs that probably no one else gets. Tim doesn't drive so they would always take the bus to their gigs... they mention the Oly bus lines all the time. "The fourty-one comin up the hill..." It's six a.m. and I'm standing at the corner of fourth and division and here it comes, right after the one that loops over to spscc. I have been so thoroughly nostalgic about Olympia lately. In truth I want to go back by myself for a few nights, to drink, to take pictures at midnight, to stay out until dawn, to see Tahoma again.

Rugby is sitting behind me pulling the black liner from the inside of his soccer ball, and I have a photo shoot tomorrow, and and and. Life is marvellous because of all of the things that we could be doing, but aren't. I am exactly where I am right now because I willed it. And I thought, I am so in love with my life right now, and I would marry him if he asked. It's so strange to just say that. Like it's nothing. I've always said I'm so afraid of the "m" word, always been so completely sure I'd be single forever. We might not have much, and he makes shit wages, but we both have this crystal clear vision of a dream that is just around the corner, and it means everything. Nothing is perfect except the ability to find joy in the imperfections. To adapt, overcome. And at that we're aces.