Finally got it! A Canon Rebel t1i. As a Christmas present – from me to Mikey, from Mikey to me. Joint Christmas presents are the best… we have joint custody over the thing.

I have only done some experimenting, but I make it a point to catch the sunrise on most mornings and to take pictures of passing dogs. Dogs that resemble their owners. Maybe the camera is why I haven’t written in a while – but it’s a damn good excuse! There are way too many beautiful things around to be looking at a computer screen for any extended period of time. If only I could talk while I photographed, ran, work or drove and somebody could transcribe my words verbatim. Nah, that would be way too weird. The world isn’t ready for all that’s inside my head.

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No Shoes, No Shirt, CANDY

Today was HOT in San Diego. Hillcrest, to be specific, felt like a boiling concrete basin. I stepped out of the office only once, to stroll about five blocks to the nearest candy shop. Not for my own indulgence; I was way too sun-baked by the time I got there to be excited about chocolate or candies.  I was on a mission to get Halloween-themed treats to arrange into Oster and Associates gift mugs. I finally reached the Candy Depot, across the street from a great restaurant with a 70’s retro theme and clever menu named Snooze. The first time I went there was in August with Julie; I had huevos rancheros and ‘OMG! French Toast.’ Crazy good.

It’s probably a good thing, but this candy store was out of my very favorite candy.

Chocolate Covered GUMMY Bears

Chocolate Covered Gummy Bears should never be ‘gummi,’ unless they are animated bears. They are chewy, chocolately and delicious. I’ve made my own rendition many times, usually subbing milk chocolate with dark. It’s quite a process, though; you should make your own batch of chocolate covered gummy bears if you really enjoy standing over a stove for at least an hour. As long as you have wine, it can be fun – and it offsets the price of these typically expensive little guys.

After a day of candy and fall at work, I retreated to the west, back home to the ocean. It was almost too much work to slip into my bathing suit before heading out to the beach. I went straight for the water – the waves were actually big today. I swam out to where two surfers awaited the perfect ‘left’ and just floated around. I’m sure they thought I was nuts out there in just my bikini. Numb to the water temperature, I was pitched up by each set, and didn’t want to swim back until the setting sun cast its last ray. Several hours later, I’m still sitting in my bathing suit and I know I’m covered in salt and sand.

Sexy Room

I’m currently waiting for my Simple Roasted Pumpkin Seeds to be done roasting. I ‘spiced things up’ (: and they smell really good. I’m a sucker for ambiance, and even though I’m sitting alone – at least the room looks sexy. Vanilla candle and Michael Buble.

Feel free to check out other photos I took today, please excuse the excessive use of tilt shift. iPhone 4S is cool, but not nearly as cool as the DSLR I’ll have as soon as I can manage it.

Here’s my stream: Thea’s Pictures

I’ll never be a fish


This is Baxter, the newest addition to the BK Lounge. He is a beta fish. Baxter lives in a square tank; he has a bamboo corner and marble floor. Like me, Baxter likes to people-watch. He is a quiet observer. He casually circles his tank, watching five girls go about their daily routine. Walking, talking, cooking, talking, dancing, brushing, sipping, talking, chugging, washing, baking, sleeping, spilling, breaking, laughing, dancing all around his high post on our granite counter top.

His habitat is static, and his water does not move with the pull of a tide or become jarred by a heavy wind. He swims in circles, occasionally eating particles that ripple the surface above him or slurping scum from the crevasses of his marble bedrock.

He watches Taylor bake bread, after bread, after delicious bread. He sees Kassi apply Neosporin meticulously to yet another accumulated flesh wound. He eats the same pink pebble snack everyday and he has no enemies to name.

He reminds me of a fish I knew named Fred. He was my mom’s fish. As giant a goldfish as they come, Fred was trapped in that slippery body, capable of most things human, I’m sure of it. He would stick his giant fish lips to the glass wall of his tank that imprisoned him and blow bubbles at his visitors. When he wasn’t trying to speak to us, Fred had only one thing on his agenda.

Fred’s Agenda

He was part Koi, maybe – with a bulging head and protruding eyeballs. Fred was the size of a child’s fist. When he wasn’t swimming, the weight of his belly would drag him downwards like an anchor.

Like all fish, Fred wasn’t expected to last forever. I was away at college when he passed – mom called me with the bad news. Fred Jr. succeeded him (not for long), and now, Wally swims alone in that tank, nestled in a corner by a great bay window overlooking my parents backyard.

My favorite fish used to be the Humuhumunukunukuapua’a, Hawaii state fish. The name rolls off your tongue. First time I ever saw one in the wild was the same day I got sea-sickness for the first time. My face turned green and I was clammier than E.T. My only defense was to free-roll around on the floor of the snorkeling boat in my sherry robe.

I’ll never be a fish.

Friday Morning Formation Imagination

Looks like the theme for this week is going to have to be sunrises. Twist my arm. I thought waking up was going to be a problem in my new dungeon/WOman cave/lair (converted storage room to bedroom with no windows). Turns out, I sleep so well that my internal clock doesn’t feel bad about waking me up with the sun.

6:30 a.m. It had just stopped raining. I could tell by the darkness of the pavement and the wet towel I left out overnight. Long-sleeve weather. I emerged from posterior Subway-Rip Curl parking lot and made a bee-line for the ocean. My sunrises are mostly enjoyed looking towards the west, at it’s reflection on massive cloud formations and the contrast of what is left of the night sky. Today, there were fewer a.m. beach walkers/runners/surfers. Means the weekend is close. They are nursing their hangovers from a successful thirsty Thursday.

Crystal Pier

Crystal Pier looks much more majestic than a beach shovel from this morning’s left angle. Julie (roommate) and I ran on the Pier a couple of weeks ago – I wanted to show her how you can feel it sway with the waves and she wanted to demonstrate Gangnam Style. Her rendition was videoed – I’ll have to beg her for the publishing rights.

Voluptuous Cloud Formation

Straight out from me was this voluptuous cloud formation>. I couldn’t believe the lineup of clouds in the background, but had no idea whether they were coming or going. The ocean looked soft and it begged me to go swimming. I resisted. The water is around 68 degrees; I’m a little bit spoiled from being in Nicaragua two weeks ago playing in 80 degree water – will blog about that soon. The cloud formations were stunning there. Lightning shows, too.

Tower 23

I love when the clouds are big like this. Looking too heavy to be suspended above the earth. I also love when they take on shapes.

<I see a snake escaping to the left side of this photo. Maybe he was startled by the bear with the big lower jaw at top right. Animal sky.

Tower 23 – cause it’s always there, lookin’ good.

Keeping up with the Theas

It’s been more than a year since my last post. The gap has not gone undocumented, though, as I logged and tracked my going-ons through emails with my long distance relationships. My mom in northern California and Melanie on the east coast. Laura in Australia and Julie upstairs. I’m beginning again, with no particular theme but thoughts and food and travel and out of the ordinary things that happen to a girl like me.

October sunrise on the west coast

Melanie: I know you get to see the sun rise long before I do, but here’s what it looks like from over here. Pretty, huh? I love the clouds and the colors and the trashcans.

I’ve been getting used to my new backyard (see photo), my new house and living with great roommates. Each of them brings something exciting and unique to the BK Lounge. Rightfully deemed the BK Lounge because our front door is close enough to hear, “I’ll have a Whopper,” ring into the intercom of the Pacific Beach Burger King at all hours of the day. They’re too busy deciding whether they ‘want fries with that,’ to hear us say, “Don’t do it!”

Currently raining storming in San Diego – and I’m bummed I have to miss the California Honeydrops play at the Slo Brewing Co. in San Luis Obispo tonight. I’ll have to jive to jazz another time. Come play in San Diego, Honeydrops!

Run limbo

Here I sit. Eating cardboard. Well, actually I’m done so, ate cardboard. An empty bowl in front of me and a still-empty stomach below me. Bran buds: fiber deer turds. The kitchen around me seems vast and empty and my blow-drying mother can be heard through the halls in the back room.

Anyway, here I sit. The clock keeps flashing ominous symbols reminding me that time won’t wait. I’m in run limbo. With each passing number and the thermometer outside creeping higher, I lose exponentially more motivation to go on my run.

It wouldn’t be quite so bad if I lived in a place where 95 degrees fahrenheit wasn’t considered a “mild” day. In Auburn, California the weather is hot. Not hot in a way that beckons the tanorexic or beach goers; you wouldn’t want to lay in sand touched by this sun. It’s the kind of hot that gets inside your head. If you can’t drive a car over hot paved roads with clothes on, you simply cannot run.

It never has to be long: a mile, two miles, three. Yet I can’t seem to deem sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the wall, less important than getting sweaty and pounding pavement for my “health” (beach bod).

Thinking, thinking, thinking about working out only makes you want to do it less. “Run limbo.” I’ll find any excuse to drive me away from physical exertion if I think about it too much. So, here I’ll sit…

# Shfifty five.

This morning I sat with my mom watching the Sunday Giants game. She was blow-drying her hair and I was going through her cosmetics as I always do, looking for things I could take without her noticing. The small TV in the corner of the bathroom glowed orange and black. Up to bat: some Phillies player (who cares). At the pitching mound: Tim Lincecum, his long hair occasionally being swept up in the soft San Francisco breeze. He peered down the line drive and wound up to throw, yet another, steeeeeeee-RIKE!

My mom stopped blow-drying to get a word in, “that Lincecum guy is amazing.” She fired up the machine again and yelled over the roar, “he’s only 27 and has been in the major leagues for four years. Not to mention he has a championship win under his belt.” She paused and switched sides on her meticulous drying-curling-brushing process, then announced matter-of-factly, “I’m gonna introduce him to Camille.” Between the blow-dryer and the Giants fans my laughter was muffled, but I was thinking… “damn, if it were only that easy.” I sure wouldn’t mind a brother-in-law with an authentic (55) black and orange uniform. My sister could use her wit and charm to pump up this stud of a man and maybe they’d win another World Series.

Giants 3-1.