Country Talk, Shopping Cart Intimacy, and Everything In Between

~First and foremost, Amanda Morrison is blogging from California about Summer Project. The writing is strong, the ideas fresh, and thoughts insightful... Give it a look see~

Random cliff jumping at Lake Travis pic...



Random sunset at Devil's Backbone pic...



Random "what the were we thinking?!" pics...


Random off-off-off-off-off Broadway production pic...


Has to do with the blog pic...



There are but two truly great things about any Saturday morning: Breakfast and Jazz. I was hoping Matt wouldn’t wake up before I had completed breakfast, because I so desperately wanted to prepare it and climatically burst into his room and scream out, “Well come on!” I’ve been working on my country talk for the past month, which as of now consists only of “Yes sir” (pronounced Yessshhhhir), “Evening” (pronounced Eden) and of course “Well come on!”. The “Well come on!” transcends phonetic description, but is best characterized as a blending of a confused, growling cowboy and the infamous Howard Dean scream.

In the past, I’ve mentioned a little theory concerning intimacy in regards to men that goes like this: The truest gauge of male intimacy is not if you will sing in front of each other in the car, but whether or not if you will harmonize with each other. Well, the right I hold most dear is the one which concerns being wrong. And though a rarity, it has happened once again.

So while harmonizing with your guy friends is indeed an indelible test of the relationship, the TRUEST assessment of male intimacy occurs at the grocery store. Yester evening Matt and I were perusing the aisles of HEB. He was pushing the cart and I was engaging myself in the regular antics: using the water from the little mist sprinklers in the produce section to work on my hair, using the cantaloupes to work out, and trying to jump as high as possible while holding heavy things.

I digress; Anyhow, the Lunar Module was pushing the cart when I ACCIDENTALLY reached over and began to push the cart simultaneously. So you see, at this point we were both pushing the cart, an activity explicitly reserved for old lovers, confused old people, and, I’d like to submit, very close guy friends. Upon realization that our hands were but an inch apart, guiding our cart in unison, I recoiled and jerked my hand back as though I'd touched a hot skillet of fajitas immediately after the server warns it's "very hot" (you have to test it!). Obviously, we aren’t to that point. It’s similar to a couple pushing the stroller through the park, cooing and awing at their little baby, two sets of hands harmoniously leading the way. (Admittedly, however, I’ve been known to treat Chocolate Chip Muffins and Freebird’s Burritos with as much love and fierce protection as I will offer my first born.)

Howie Day tonight at Stubbs (pics tomorrow)… Really guys, I love my life.