Saturday, January 17, 2015

Home Plate

I'm at home plate in Cayce, SC.

I'm not joking; I'm sitting on home plate in Cayce, SC.

I need to be alone.

I spent the last twelve hours at a beer festival and I just need to be away from everything.

I'm aching for summer.

I'm drinking CAVU and wearing tank tops hoping that will rush along the seasons.

My left leg has a hot spot. I woke up this morning and almost broke down when I saw it. I don't need that right now. There is simply too much going on.

I need sunshine. It makes me healthy. 

I need beaches and slight sunburns and loud music and separation from the world.

Ugh.

Center me.

I'm sitting on home plate in Cayce, SC. 

I can't see Orion, but I can see first. 

And second.

And third.

So, I can see the game. 

I can hear the crack of the bat.

I know that I can wreck it. I know that I can batter up. I know that I can tap that bat on my heel and smile, because I know I can kill it.

Bugger.

I'm laying down on home plate in Cayce, SC and I'm wishing you were here. 

The cloud cover sucks. 

I see one star.

I wish I were able to hold your hand.

I'm laying on home plate and I see everything. 


Wednesday, January 7, 2015

So we established one thing!

.... Alright, I'm a jerk.

I asked you to go on this super awesome adventure on me with this blog, and then I left you hanging for six days!

That was rude of me, so I apologize for that.

In good news, this is the second time I've updated this blog in more than a week, so BOOYAH. I'm improving!

I wanted to talk to you all about two awesome things I've had and talked about so far in the last week.  (With more to come tomorrow!)

I have two things on the menu for you:

1. Redemption Brew Works Ginger Beer - from Charlotte, NC!
2. My idea of the perfect bawdy drinking night - Irish and Scottish men, whiskey, and drinking songs!

Let's do it!


Firstly, I've had a pretty damned stellar New Year so far. I spent New Years Day at Courtyard Hooligans watching soccer (EPL), ate lunch at Dish in Plaza Midwood, brought Buzz City's Finest (the most amazing Australian Shepherd ever) to Franklin Park off W 4th St EXT to play at the dog park, bathed his muddy bum, and then Uber'd it Uptown to hang at Connolly's off 5th. I finished it off writing that last post in a rocking chair at Tilt, smoking a cigar and sipping on Lagavulin 16.

Not a bad way to start the year, eh?!

Well, nor was being given a 4-pack of ginger beer from the new, and awesomely local Redemption Brew Works. Female-owned, naturally fermented, bottle conditioned ginger beer made from a recipe passed down through generations.

Before I get into how I felt about this ginger beer, I'll let you know my other favorite ginger beers. I love Fever Tree's (spicy, dry, not very sweet at all), Heist's (can't beat getting a growler of local ginger beer), and Blenheim's Hot (aggressive, spicy, and sweet).

That being said, I was very pleasantly surprised by Redemption's offering. I'm always nervous about new fermented products, mostly because it's similar to new breweries... it takes time to get dialed in. It takes a few batches to balance everything out, and ultimately tasting right.

My first swig was full of bright sugar, fresh ginger that lingered, and well balanced carbonation. Not overly done. I, at first, thought it was too sweet, but then I remembered that I usually drink my ginger beer in Mules... so I needed to remember that ginger beer normally is a little sweet. What I really like about Redemption's ginger beer is how fresh and spicy the ginger is. It builds. The way hot pepper builds on your tongue. If you drink it fast enough, you have a delicious throat burn. It balances very well against that original sweetness you encounter. The ginger cuts the sugar on your tongue and in your throat.

It's absolutely lovely.

It also makes a banging Mule.

That being said, I highly suggest (if you like ginger beer and Mules) to pick up a 4-pack at Common Market, Rhino Market, or Queen City Pantry (with more locations coming soon).



Now for something less serious!

I was having a conversation with a friend the other day about New Years Eve debauchery and why so many of us dread drinking out and about that night, when I was asked a very silly, yet fun question: "What is your idea of the perfect drinking night out?"

...Huh.

I haven't really thought about that before.

What would I want to do if my only goal were to go out that night, get drunk, and then let the night take me down its path of adventure?

After a pause, I looked at him and said, well... "I'd like to go drink with a bunch of hairy and bearded Irish and Scottish men, drink whiskey, and ultimately end up singing bawdy drinking songs."

Needless to say, that got a hell of a laugh. He then followed with, "Alright, explain."

Here's my theory, then; I think we, as Americans, drink too much alone. I think too many of us go out drinking with the intention to get remarkably, and splendidly trashed. To sit on our phones at the bar, hoping that the person next to us will break the ice and begin conversation, or by the end of the night the boy or girl we have made eyes at all night will give us that delicious eye waggle that cues us in, "SHE/HE WANTS MY HOT BODY!"

....Or we sit at home on our couches, eating leftover Chinese food from our previous hangovers, and drinking while watching Netflix and tweeting about how we can't believe character X left character Y, and OMG Jason Statham makes me so hot on the inside.

Unfortunately, I disagree with that kind of drinking.

Don't get me wrong, I think we should all get to have fun (and fantasize about Jason Statham), but I think we isolate ourselves in public (and private) far too much.

Other cultures don't see drinking as something so bloody lonely and boring. Quite a few don't even drink at home and only see it as a social thing.

My perfect drinking night would go like this:

-Get off work.
-Get to bar.
-Drink a pint, perhaps a few, and some whiskey.
-Throughout this process, make friends with all my neighbors, who are preferably people who know drinking songs, or quick to pick them up.
-Chat and chat until someone gets drunk enough to kick off the first line of a drinking song... to which we would all begin to join in. (I have done this with Disney songs, but I'm hoping we can do something more inappropriate here.)
-Awesomeness ensues.
-Buy a round for the bar.
-Round 2 singing begins.
-Rinse and repeat.
-By the end of the night, have arms slung over neighbors, and them over their neighbors, and we're bellowing amazing drinking songs into the night, laughing our asses off.

That's my kind of proper drinking night.

A good whisky (Scots, English spell it this way), or whiskey (Irish, American) buzz, music in our ears, and friends for life thanks to simple fun. That's how it should be.


Now, unfortunately, it's time I head to bed. Tomorrow I have a few more items to chat and catch up about, considering I'm a little behind already this year:

1. Breakbot's album, "By Your Side," which I can't get out of my head - circa 2012
2. My recent obsession to get back into baking and cooking - this girl needs distractions
3. The drink that makes me happy inside, and the variations of "The Moscow Mule."

See you tomorrow, and much love,

Lindsay



Thursday, January 1, 2015

Happy New Years--

Happy New Years, babes.

This is for you.

I want to tell you all something.

I don't do resolutions. I break them.

I'm stubborn and a pain in the ass.

Ginger life.

I'm nursing a cigar at Tilt. I'm doubling down on Lorde's Pure Heroine. 

I'm solid right now.

My goal this year is to update this blog. Daily. If I'm not an asshole. 

To be honest. To give you all my inner bits,

I get weird.

But it's cool. 

If you're up for the ride, I will join you. 

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Haste

And in my haste, I have loved you.

In my haste, I have smiled at you in the infancy of our time together and felt the stirrings of something different. Something new. Something patient...

And I'm not patient. 

It's refreshing.

There is a wonderful place in the world for those like you. You live in the finest stuff of life. You, my darling, are the quality over quantity I have quietly searched for. 

In the moments of silence we shared, we both said so much. Words were not needed between the two of us to enjoy each other's company and that was the stuff of life I needed.

You are a complement to me. 

Fascinating.

Utterly fascinating.

I look forward to sharing the stuff of life with you.

Besides, my Moleskine is coming tomorrow and there are some more dreams I would like to put to paper. 

And it's mine. Just mine.

Only mine. 

That leather book and I are going to be on some adventures together. We have a vision that needs a home. 

I'm feeling spicy and gentle and confident today and it's wonderful. 

Good things on the horizon. 

Good everything.

Identity.

Stuff.

The fillings of life. 

The February Seventh I've wanted and looked for. 

But, even then, more.

The stuff of life. 

The muchness I've wanted.

The slow heating when you make candy. 

Hit the right temp and you can make anything. 

The patience I'm still trying to force myself to understand and do. 

And I'm loving it. 

Keep my attention, please. 

I'll see you again around the corner.

Friday, June 13, 2014

What just happened...

Wow.

Just wow.

I have nothing to give to this.

I feel blank.







Broken.





Empty.








Is this it?



Well, that sucks.






I guess this is the end.






Numb.

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Chocolate

I once thought that I could write a love story.

It seemed so simple at the time. The puzzle pieces fit together and I had this dream that is how it would be: that a-ha moment where as kids we finally put that one final piece into our thousand piece Disney puzzles...

While the idea of love is so simple, not messy or complicated, I have this odd little inkling that I'm glad it's worked out the way it has. I'm strangely happy that it's never what it seems. It's full of quick punches to the gut, weird disappointments that have nothing to do with the other party, and moments where you wonder if you're just... a little crazy.

I once wrote this love story about a night similar to this one--warm, not too humid, two people who smiled at each other and wondered who the other was. A silly little story of a stubborn woman who still has a hard time letting others in and a man who was new to the city. Yellow stringed lights and an inquiry of a beer later. In my story she said yes and they fell madly in love over little laughs and a night full of adventures.

In my story that man and that woman were uncomplicated--were not people. They didn't have pasts, obstacles, anything uncommon or any qualms about the future. No uncertainty.

It's clear to see that I don't know how those kinds of stories work in real life.

I'm not in a shiny, new fairy tale.

However, I know a few little things that leave me here, on a night similar to the one where we first met: warm, slightly humid; a hint of a new season to come. In the discovery of you, of learning you, I met a part of myself that I have completely fallen in love with. Instead of the love story of you and I, I found the final piece of the love story of myself and I.

In the songs I hear that I think of you, I think of the story I found for myself.

Windows down, Charlotte heat and wind blowing in my hair, through my fingers, my clothes. My ribs ache with the feeling of being alive and young. Every sense I own bleeding the songs I listen to and writing stories around them.

It smells like summer now and the warmth of it is seeping into my bones. My skin pricks with the idea of all the season has to bring for me. Lake, boat, jet ski, family, jumping off docks, running into the sea's waves, my feet burrowing into the cold sand, my shoulders tingling with a light sunburn, the feel of a cold can of beer on my finger tips... the heat of a good cigar between my fingers as I smoke it down to the nub, the warmth of scotch winding its way down into my stomach, and the hazy smoke enveloping me as I slide down into the lovely edge of the world I carved out for myself.

I dream of bringing you on these adventures with me.

Lindsay dreams.

I close my eyes and I can almost see them playing out... the smells and sights of sharing my life with you.

It would be magical.

I wish you were around for more of the adventures that I'd like to bring you on. That we would go on half of the adventures we talk about going on.

I want to go to the beach with you, and the mountains, and into the twilight.

We come with bruises of every shape and size, of light yellows and dark purples, indigos, and fading blacks. They're mental bruises that we can't wipe away and likely never will. I'm not afraid of them, but I know I prod them out of curiosity. Out of wanting to know. Your past is yours. I would never ask what you're not willing to share. Hell, there's a future in front of us that we could make while wiping away part of the bruises of the past. I feel the push away from me and I quietly wait, hoping that one day you'll see what I mean. Time tells all.

Until then, I listen to 400 Lux and I think of the times I've picked you up and you've picked me up. We always have each other's backs.

I think of my arm out of the passenger seat in your car, feeling the entire world on the palm of my hand. I think of how many times I've wanted to reach out and hold your hand while you drape your fingers over your steering wheel and talk about nothing while we drive down the streets of our neighborhoods. I think of our complicated friendship that I still know I screw up sometimes.

I've crawled out of bed and put pants on because I've wanted to see you.

I have no idea of how you feel about me. But this, ultimately, isn't about you. I don't expect anything, anyways.

This is about me.

I'm finally learning how to trust everyone and to let them into my parts of my heart that I'm not always comfortable sharing. I'm finally letting people see my bruises. I'm finally in love with the bruised peach that I am. Sweet on the inside, soft, full of life, memories, and with a few spots that even the best farmers couldn't hide. Imperfect, and by that standard, beautiful. Once I was told I was a viking and that was the best compliment I ever received. I forge ahead. I need adventures.

Little thoughts like that keep me the way I am.

I dream of the day someone tells me, "anything you want."

I dream of "anything for you."

I dream of the day that I am just as willing to say the same thing to them.

I like the idea that I have never really ever said no to you. That's stunning to me. I tell people "no" all the time. They don't make me feel uncomfortable. They don't criticize me. They don't call me out on my bullshit or ever push me to be better and that just pisses me off. I push myself to the brink all of the time. I want someone to tell me to be better, to work harder, to keep challenging myself to kick ass. I want you to make me uncomfortable because you don't just give in. You ask questions that force me to think differently.

I don't always agree with you. In fact, I've often disagreed, but I've never seen you hold that against me. You have simply given me your view and left it at that. I have always listened.

Sometimes I don't listen well, but I remember it in my heart. This has been a slow burning, learning kind of heat.

Often I have wondered, "Who is he, really? Who is he, that won't always tell me everything?" Instead of prodding, I have taken that mentality home. "Well, who am I? I don't tell him everything. In fact, he likely knows little about me. I will try harder next time to give him more information. He is not obligated to tell me everything." I think about it quite often. In thinking that, I have learned a lot about myself. I have been spoiled, mean sometimes, demanding, and insufferable. Young, stubborn, selfish. I've finally become wise by learning, by being uncomfortable, by exploding through my personal issues and overcoming the thoughts that hold me back. I have forced myself to open and to swallow my pride.

I wonder if you've gone through similar revelations.

I see stories I've told you about myself that I never shared with anyone before. I sometimes share them multiple times in a row before I'm politely reminded that I shared them before. My thoughts cheat on me.

I spent a year alone traveling and never really talked about all of my stories. I've finally started sharing them and I'm finally feeling up to the reminiscing. I'm finally up to sharing the ridiculous life ventures I never talked about before.

I like to share them especially with him.

Stories still keep with me, snippets of time that I can't erase from my memory.

Your finger on my leg, jokingly sliding my dress up my leg, me too embarrassed (and honestly pleasantly surprised) to say anything witty except to just blush and mumble.

A first kiss shared on the downtown Charlotte streets that I had been hoping for for far too long.

Me making an ass of myself in Asheville. The shame I felt both that night and the next morning because I ruined what could have been my chance to say something about how I felt. Maybe do something about it.

How many times I've sat, way too quietly, saying nothing, next to you because I sometimes just never knew what to say and was far more interested in what you had to say.

The one time I walked away, irritated, because I didn't want to be treated like a lady by you. I wore that beautiful red dress, it was cold out, and all I wanted was for you to tell me how pretty I looked and then kiss me--and really, really mean it.

Every single time I've looked at you and thought just how utterly stunning your eyes are.

Lindsay things.

Like I've said before, though, these aren't things I ultimately expect you to think about. They're things that have shaped and taught me. They've made me who I am.

He likely has never thought of me in that way, and that's perfectly okay. Even though he's made an impact on me, and I may have made one on him in some way or another, I have pushed the envelope enough for me to think that there isn't a future there.

I've never asked a man on a date. I've asked him.... or well, I think I have. Perhaps I'm just not good at that. Perhaps I'm not good at explaining my intentions. I also don't press people to reciprocate feelings they don't necessarily have. That's only fair, right?

In the end, I have this stunning story of one of my best friends in my head and the impact they have had on me.

I still see dreams swimming in my head.

I see me reaching out for his hand, grabbing it with a smile on my face, and dragging him into the tides of my adventures. I see his eyes and his smile as he falls into the waves beside me.

I see us hurrying away from the ocean because the high tide is coming and we're running to the dunes laughing, our eyes shining against the stars in the night sky over our heads.

I see us falling away into the twilight, the world at our fingertips.

I see us telling stories together, and it's beautiful.

I see you, and in you, I see me.

It's exhilarating and I'm happy I found at least one love story--the one I looked to find for so long. The love story to me, from me. Because of you.

It tastes like chocolate.


Thursday, March 6, 2014

Trains...

The trains roll by.

I can hear them softly past my headphones...

Melody Gardot's "Some Lessons" is in my ears and Sarah Ash's Lord of Snow and Shadows is by my side in bed.

I smell a lingering bit of a 2008 Summer Series Rocky Patel cigar on my skin and my dress. It's soft and is mingling with my perfume that reminds me of orchids and honeysuckle. 

I'm dreaming softly of beaches and mountain cabins. They fill my thoughts of laziness and the fluidity of life. Simplicity.

This fuzziness that has nothing to do with beer is quite nice. It's soft sheets. It's a good book. It's jazz. It's blues. It's the good company that I had all night. It's the stories people told me tonight. It's the rain patter that's sneaking past my windows to my ears. 

It's the stretching like a cat and hooking your claws into the bits of life you refuse to lose. 

It's the love story I'm about to lose myself in.

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On a mission to find the best stuff of life. Food, drink, lifestyle. Key: Quality over quantity every single day.