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

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.