So, this is the first weekend that has passed since I started this blog. Am I supposed to write some sort of recap? I'm feeling the pressure since Jess advertised me in today's entry of her blog. But as she pointed out, my style is different from hers. I don't have a blogging groove yet, and maybe I never will. For now I write things that either amuse me (like CNN's grammar blunder) or that I would tell a whole bunch of my friends about anyway (like a bird pooping on my head on my way to Rob Gym). I'm definitely more shy than my brilliant and beautiful sister Meagan is, especially since I know that actual grownups read this blog, but I suppose I could change.
But anyway, here's the thing: I have friends and family who live very far away from me, and these days, most of what I know about them I know from reading their blogs or journals or webpages or whatever they call them. And sometimes I do things or think things all the way out here in California that make me particularly happy or sad and I wish that these people were here to share the experiences. For example, Matt and I made this amazingly incredible pizza this weekend, and as I sprinkled the olives on top all I could think about was how much I couldn't wait to make this pizza for my parents because I think they'd really like it. Now that 's kind of a bad example because I can't share a pizza through the internet, but you get the idea. I can share the story about the pizza. (Not that it's an interesting story, of course.)
And here's another thing: I really, really, really like to write. I like it better than most things that I do. I think I might like it better than all things that I do, but I'm not sure--I do watch quite a lot of E!, after all. So I'm giving it a shot. I can't promise to update as faithfully as Jess and Meagan do theirs, and I certainly can't promise a lot of substance. I'll tell you what I can promise, though--appropriate use of the words "this" and "which."
Sooooo, here's the weekend recap: It was another gorgeous, awe-inspiring Santa Barbara weekend. We slept late on Saturday, made blueberry pancakes for breakfast, went hiking in the afternoon, made pizza for dinner, watched LA Story and went to bed early. As a result, I was up this morning before 7:30, something that never happens on a weekend. And as a result, I'm really tired. And although I can't begin to tell you how much I dread the start of a new work week, I hear Matt setting the alarm clock, and I'm going to bed.
But anyway, here's the thing: I have friends and family who live very far away from me, and these days, most of what I know about them I know from reading their blogs or journals or webpages or whatever they call them. And sometimes I do things or think things all the way out here in California that make me particularly happy or sad and I wish that these people were here to share the experiences. For example, Matt and I made this amazingly incredible pizza this weekend, and as I sprinkled the olives on top all I could think about was how much I couldn't wait to make this pizza for my parents because I think they'd really like it. Now that 's kind of a bad example because I can't share a pizza through the internet, but you get the idea. I can share the story about the pizza. (Not that it's an interesting story, of course.)
And here's another thing: I really, really, really like to write. I like it better than most things that I do. I think I might like it better than all things that I do, but I'm not sure--I do watch quite a lot of E!, after all. So I'm giving it a shot. I can't promise to update as faithfully as Jess and Meagan do theirs, and I certainly can't promise a lot of substance. I'll tell you what I can promise, though--appropriate use of the words "this" and "which."
Sooooo, here's the weekend recap: It was another gorgeous, awe-inspiring Santa Barbara weekend. We slept late on Saturday, made blueberry pancakes for breakfast, went hiking in the afternoon, made pizza for dinner, watched LA Story and went to bed early. As a result, I was up this morning before 7:30, something that never happens on a weekend. And as a result, I'm really tired. And although I can't begin to tell you how much I dread the start of a new work week, I hear Matt setting the alarm clock, and I'm going to bed.
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