Funday, November 24th, 2013

Now a disciplined Madison Girl today, despite the single digit temperatures, most assuredly pedaled her sweet vintage steel Schwinn to hot yoga class this morning and then hit Willy St Coop on the way home stuffing groceries into her Osprey backpack and strapping sparkling water to the book rack on the back. She would have asked her husband kindly to unpack the groceries for her while she ran the dog for five or six miles before taking her hot linden-scented shower. All this strategically planned to wear fresh-out-the-dryer Packer wear just in time for kickoff against the Vikings.

Apparently I was not my die heard Madison Girl self today.

Instead I slept in to take advantage of the honey warm sunshine surrounding my husband’s blonde head like a mythical spell. After the best kind of awakening ceremony, I made literally the thickest blackest pint of coffee yet while feeding my dogs. I wrapped myself in a wool sweater and clutched my pint of coffee. Such is a fine ritual when three days behind in my blog.

Iggy, my two-year-old “Greater Northern Punk Hound” protested my position in front of my mini iPad (connected to a Zagg keyboard of course). After several dangerous attempts to coffee into the air with a powerful flip of his nose to my elbow, I finally gave in and put a load of laundry in the washer. This finally bored him enough to make him lay down. At this point is was only 8:30 or 9 AM and according to Weather Bug it was 11 degrees Fahrenheit but felt like 4. I decided my lungs could do better to stay indoors most of the day, and Iggy could just wait an hour before his walk. We creative folk call this voting with our time.

It wasn’t until near kickoff that my jeans tumbled still damp in the dryer so I made the grunge choice of dressing in wool tights, wool hiking socks, hiking boots, flannel plaid skirt and slouchy sloppy oversized cotton slub sweater for my grocery-getting drive. I looked like a middle-aged woman trying to look nineteen again, but I loved it. Looking at myself in the mirror I remembered all those college days, dancing to Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell until sweat soaked my socks and every inch of my long hair dripped and steamed in the November air.

I haven’t danced like that in years.
Otherwise has so much changed? Sure now I have a devoted husband instead of vane boyfriends who used me as the makeup free hungry brunette- the perfect rebound to the blonde skinny prissy girl who would order salad and not eat. There seemed to be a lot of those.
And sure I have dogs now and a savings account instead of being everyone else’s poor dog-sitter.

But I still dream big, move forward with my heart first, hate makeup, eat food happily, and wear over-sized clothing. I still sing out loud in my car to REM, Pearl Jam, and “Birdhouse In Your Soul.” I still prefer wickedly cold windy walks outside when I’m too drunk, and believe that the best sunsets are carried to your toes by the waves of the bay. I still refuse to admit my special ingredient to my tuna salad and I still look at duct tape with a leery respect. Don’t put it past me to grind tooth marks into a coffee table leg, flirt with the native guide to learn how to set up proper tent camp outside before the blizzard hits, or skinny dip in Sunset Park after 10 PM in the summer.
I guess all I really need to do now is drive less, bike more, and dance a hell of lot more.
I’m game.

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