marriage season.

it's officially the summertime and that means it's officially marriage season. and in the twinkling, smiling face of all of these recent marriages is, of course, the outpouring of approbations, the lauding of the bride's unique yet stylish choice of flowers or colors or dress or lipstick shade. All of the compliments come with one's own style of written enthusiasm, like a "YAY!" or "omGAH!" or just simply, "CONGRATS." And a better part of these praises come from the Facebook. But do ya ever, in the long winding list, wanna comment with your full name? Just stick it right in there....doink...."Amanda Ramsey." Everyone would see it, blink once or twice, and question my sanity. They would think, "what the WHY!?!?!" But I figure it's like signing the Facebook Congratulations guestbook. though I don't know if anyone else would interpret it that way.

Hello, hello!

Like Ashlee, I haven't had a lot to say...except that I'm embarrassed by my family. My parents are atypical, in an off-putting, uncomfortable sort of way. And I realized this more and more with each passing weekend, and it's even more glaring when my boyfriend decides to take a shaky step into my little Madison world. I just wish the mandatory parental time would end with the pleasant greetings of my mother, who sleepily meanders into the room and awkwardly languishes before our eyes (she's only just woken up from her three hour mid-day nap, give her six minutes to process questions!) and then, there is the father, biceps and back budging from his XXL wife-beater. No need to malinger here. We'll run into him later at the gym anyway, making it a true Ramsey Family affair. This is not okay. I want to construct a lean-to in my backyard where Graham and I spend some quality time together in peace and sin. Is it so much to ask? Give me your apartment, just for a night. I promise we won't smoke your weed or eat your Ramen or steal your Vonnegut or Shaw or Woolf.

a conversation in abbrevs.

Amanda: Julia, is Mom still home?
Julia: Idk.



Wake me from this nightmare.

de la soul on the real

...real SCARY.

From "The Grind Date"

I don't have sex with people I do business with neither
and that's the real
but I do do business with people that I have sex with
so if there ain't no conflict, let's get this grind on
cause I'm gonna fuck the shit outta you, that's word.

If you're ever in a situation that calls for bizness with De La Soul, the early 90s hip-hop group, best known for their badass sampling and date-rapeily quirky lyrics, get the fuck out of there.

My experience watching The Kids Are Alright.

I am completely enchanted by the grungy, dirt-ringed drain quality of actress Mia Wasikowska's crazy-long hair.
My first question is, of course, "Can I have it?"

lawd jesus

not a lapdog

conversations

MOM: You need to stop worrying. You're a worrier by nature.
AMANDA: And where do I get that?
MOM: I worry about that.





......

what do you like?

a friend of mine recently began sleeping with a new fella. he is sweet and doting, one who cherishes the small intricacies, calling it "charm," and allows the strange womanly duality, the pull and tug of sweetness and PMS, to fall by the wayside. and, upon their first sexual transaction, he asks the very forward question of, "what do you like?"

although i picture an odd, sexual guru man, possibly with a gold chain and weird goatee, asking like a querulous sex servant, "what can i do for you this evening?" i suppose this is an innocent question. it may be well-meaning. however, this guy may lack some maturity and confidence in the bedroom, which provides the reason for this timorous surveying of likes and dislikes. but questionable expertise aside, this query, i feel, is very broad. so, let me break it down for all the bf/husband/gf/what-have-you readers.

1. No socks.
2. No power tools.
3. Feet at the end of the bed, far away from me.
4. Keep crying to a minimum, please.
5. No references to anything involving Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, Sylvester Stallone, or Arnold Schwarzenegger. Let's not taint this with shitty movie lines. Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. are OK.
6. Do not call me "Mama." I'm not your "Mama."
7. No music from an American Idol contestant (sorry, Reuben).
8. Compliments welcome.
9. And please exit quietly when finished.

Feel free to provide your own!