To blog or not to blog?

I like the idea of having a blog as a writing tool, but lately it bothers me that my personal blog(s) don't really have a purpose other than that. So many people create blogs based on something they are passionate about, posts that fall under categories other than "navel gazing" and "funny things my dog did today."

Our good friends, husband and wife, started their blog to keep everyone updated on his status since he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. My husband's blog is about his second love (I'm confident I'm still his first) -- fly fishing. Without some sort of cause or real reason, I feel like my personal blog(s) are nothing but an exercise in self-indulgence. It keeps me writing, but so does journaling, and at least with a journal I have the lack of inhibition that can only come with something that's "for your eyes only." With a blog, I'm always very aware that others can read what I'm writing and I censor myself. So it doesn't even end up being a personal blog... more of a "persona" blog. Whether I'm playing up my inappropriate side or just playing here every Tuesday, it just isn't doing it for me anymore.

New Bat Time, New Bat Channel

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

My schizophrenic online identity continues. Happy Tuesdays are officially on hold. You can now find me on Tuesdays (and other days of the week) here.

Less Talkie Talkie, More Clickie Clickie

Starting next week, I'm going to attempt to hone my photog skills and posts pics that I've either taken myself or pics taken by others that strike me for one reason or another. Some might have a little tale to tell (every picture tells a story, right Rod?). But the overall goal is for me to find my POV as a photographer and develop my skills to take fun, interesting pictures that make me (and hopefully you) happy. Still a Happy Tuesday!

But it has to wait 'til next week because Dave has my camera with him in Montana. So for now I'll have to paint you a mental picture:

Me. On the couch. Eating tofu with black beans (two things Dave won't eat). Watching Definitely Maybe (a movie Dave won't watch). Wearing his Shem Creek t-shirt with the holes in the armpits (something neither of us should wear). And sitting in his spot on the couch (the better to stretch out, my dear).

I call this picture "The Married Bachelorette."

When Dave is out of town, I _________________.

1. sleep less
2. clean more
3. spend more time with friends and family
4. work more
5. eat less
6. pay more attention to the dogs
7. drink less
8. excercise more

He's such a bad influence. I miss him.

Fly Girl

Dave and I fished the Watauga river in Tennessee on Saturday. This wasn't my first time. I've always enjoyed the relaxation and natural beauty that comes with floating down the river, but it wasn't until this trip that I finally "got it". I realized that while I was casting, I wasn't thinking of anything else. And I'm never not thinking of anything else. The random thoughts that erratically pop into my head like an amphetamine-induced reflex simply floated away with the current.

And I'm not the type of woman who would feign interest in a subject or sport to get the attention of a man. Okay, so once I bought a Rage Against the Machine CD in college in a pathetic attempt to find something in common with my boyfriend. It (and inevitably he) didn't take.

That being said, Dave loves fly fishing. I wouldn't say I love it yet, but if someone passed me a note in class and asked me if I "like" liked fly fishing (check "yes" or "no"), I would check "yes". And it doesn't hurt that I finally caught my first fish on the fly! It was quite a rush to have that rainbow trout wiggling on the end of the line. You might not be able to tell from the glare of the sun, but that's my first catch in my hands.*



*No animals were harmed in the making of this post. Moments after the photo was taken, I released the fish back in to the water, alive and well.

Sting Operation

While visiting the fam in Louisville over the weekend, Dave and my dad bonded over their shared male primal need to hunt (wasps) and gather (empty beer cans). A paddle from a neglected box of pool games in the garage was the weapon of choice. My mom and I did a little killing of our own, only our prey was a bottle of Pinot Grigio. To each his/her own.

Dad in stakeout mode:


Going in for the kill:


Smackdown!


Sweet Victory:

Happy Baby

Not this kind:


I mean this one:


That's what I was doing this morning at 6:45am. I hadn't been to a yoga class since before my birthday and I NEEDED it. So much in fact that I was actually able to pry myself out of bed at 5:20am to make it there. Plus, a friend and I agreed to meet up and I didn't want to be a flake (always a great incentive). I did downward facing dog and warrior one with no problem, but by the time I got to happy baby, there wasn't another camel or dancer left in me. I was done. Daniel, our instructor, was not.

From here, you can go into a shoulder stand if you want to.

No thanks.

Or any other inversion you feel comfortable with.

Um, let me think. No.

Only in yoga can you go from happy baby to corpse in 10 minutes and feel good about yourself. I worked out this morning. At 6am. And I had to (brag) share.