“Sixteen thirty-two. What is that? A year?”
A few months ago Sizzle and I were g-chatting, when somewhere between quoting The Goonies and swooning over Seth Rogen the idea to spend New Year’s Eve on the Oregon Coast was born. We were both instantly psyched about the idea, as were two other great and hilarious friends, and thus deposits and plans were made.
December 31st we checked into the Seasprite (which I definitely recommend) and quickly realized we were staying literally yards away from one of the prettiest stretches of beach on the Oregon Coast. I’ve always been quite smitten with Cannon Beach, babycarrot sister having lived there for two years and me having spent ample time there with her and Will and other awesome friends and family (and it also being Iggy’s favorite place on the entire planet), and will forever maintain that it’s impossible for me to visit Cannon Beach and not have a profoundly shiny, happy time.
Cannon Beach plays host to a slew of wild rabbits all year round, but the ones who live at the Seasprite, I quickly discovered, run toward you when you approach them exclaiming “BUNNIES. Hey, you guys! Look at the BUNNIES!” Here’s Lola (which I just named her even though I’m not sure she’s really a “her” at all):
The view from our beach house, which also doubled as the reason I was pouting at check-out on Saturday:
On Thursday night Sizzle made us a tasty dinner of stuffed chicken and couscous, because she is amazing:
When we first talked about renting a place on the coast for New Year’s Eve I said I thought it would be AMAZING! to jump into the Pacific Ocean at midnight. (Filed under: Things you should never say to Long Story Longer if you don’t 100% mean it.) I did (mostly) mean it, though at five minutes to midnight with rain pelting down and wind whipping so hard it was comical, the ocean didn’t so much look inviting as, you know, INSANE.
We did it, and I’m so glad because it was incredible (albeit incredibly frigid, HOLY CRAP), symbolic, and laden with a lot of laughter and screams that went something like “OH MY FREEZING.” “SHIIIIT.” “I CAN’T FEEL MY FEET!” “WOOO-HOOOO!”
Some of my favorite quotes from NYE day, and night:
“I love the wind. It’s my favorite weather.”
“That bunny is scaring me right now.”
“I can’t see! I have glaucoma! Oh wait, it’s just the windshield wiper.”
“He’s a bouquet-maker.”
“A BOOMBOX. How badly do I want put that on my shoulder and walk down the beach right now?”
“Peppermint Joe-Joe’s, I love you.”
“It’s been two dates; we don’t know how we feel about this guy. We’re neutral about this guy.” “We’re Switzerland.” “YES EXACTLY.”
“I got in trouble for dancing.” “JUST LIKE FOOTLOOSE.”
“I can’t feel my feet.” “I know! It’s AWESOME.”
“I want to travel internationally, eat ice-cream, and surf.”
Some of my favorite shots from our coastal getaway:
In summary:
It was an incredibly moving/hilarious/peaceful weekend with three incredibly wonderful women I am so thankful to know.
Also:
This year is going to be incredible for all the right reasons. I just know it.
Back Diving
I posted a picture of him for a silly Instagram-related game and found him waiting for me in my dreams, something which occurs so rarely it still explodes solidly-constructed dams inside me each time I see his face, mustached and smiling at mine just the way he always did, just the way I always remember him. As usual he didn’t say much, not anything I could hear or remember, but he was there and I knew it, and when I → Read more...
Hiking Into Green Valleys
I have words washed out to sea. Words ushered quietly from my lips to my fingertips, waiting patiently for the right tide, for the moon to bring my stories alive.
I have words being reviewed, words accepted and words rejected, and I’m clinging to my favorite lines, fighting for them, and it feels strange and new and exhilaratingly infuriating, this tug-of-war of wills and how the slightest bit of caving can make me feel like I’m flirting with abandoning the sanctity → Read more...
Rivers And Roads
[Alternately titled: Story, The Second: The Girl Who Moved To Washington State]
It began simply. A direct message on Twitter first, followed by texts; those texts, in turn, begat plans. With those plans came anxiety and apprehension – I didn’t know you, not your face or your voice or anything else, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to – but also something exciting, a strange and unexpected hope hovering quietly on the horizon. And then we met, conversed and laughed → Read more...
Story, The First: The Pug Who Moved To California
Stories I said I had. Tangential stories and life-changing ones.
Until today I haven’t known where, exactly, to begin. And so quiet this space has mostly been because some beginnings are tricky. Sometimes it’s quite impossible to denote where something ended and something else entirely began.
I’m not going to be able to tell you everything, but then the best stories never really do, do they?
(That’s not a trick question. I promise they don’t.)
(Unless the story was penned by Henry James, in → Read more...