Thanks for following us too. Your blog is awesome. Uhm, well- there is two of us that use this blog. My best friend who is titled "Rainbow" on our blog is named Katelyn and I'm "djfun" but my real life name is Sasha. You are a musician, a vegabond, and believe in love- you are. our. kind. of. girl. :)
“Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Yes:). We became best friends in 11th grade and did everything together. We ended up roommates together in TN. Since she's been gone, it's the first time we've been separated since meeting. Ha, I just am realizing my intense love for that girl. I'm glad you had the chance to meet her recently. :)
Me too. She seems to have such a sweet heart. I sat by while she said goodbye to Shelby, Donna, and Megan. It was tough to watch. She loves her friends so much.
Is probably cleaner than yours. Yes, even the hypothetical/imaginary Volvo you have somewhere in the garage of your mind. I just spent 4 hours with cleaning products and my father. We cleaned the headlights out, glued one back on (have gorilla glue on my hands to prove it), Dad concluded that starter fluid is great for cleaning, so I was sitting on the driveway with paper towels and a flathead screwdriver, gingerly spraying ether into the the crevasse of the headlight cover and running the towel-covered screwdriver around the edge. He then compiled for me a box of tools which I can fix my car with, including a massive 1 inch socket and a ratchet that’s a good 16 inches to get my oil pan bolt off. It was rad. The toolbox is this gnarly old rusted thing that was once my grandfather’s. Its in the back of my car now. So Girlscout. I feel that my face is sunburned from carwashing. And I know I am going to be sent to the grocery store soon, but I find it so satisfying to answer, when asked why there is a severe amount of dirt beneath my fingernails, that I was changing the spark plugs on my car. And the cuts and scrapes and strange discolored spots are from the tensioner on the alternator. And when questioned as to why I would want to work on a car, I can say “Because it shouldn’t cost a hundred dollars to put on sixteen dollar belts.” There is something so liberating about being self-sufficient and understanding of something that girls seldom venture into. I love walking into a parts store and knowing what’s better than this or that, and not being talked into buying what I don’t need. Going in with grease up to my elbows and getting parts from the junk yard. Its a cold, hard, dirty place. But I find such interest in old things, well-built things, in taking up the mindset that if its broken fix it and if you don’t know how, learn to do so. I see analogy in getting your hands dirty. In waking something up that was dormant, in righting what needed repair. My last car was something I couldn’t fix myself. An ‘89 240 that had been owned in prior years by the Pennsylvania equivalent of the Dukes of Hazzard before finding a home with a 20-something married couple who knew little about cars. It was a mess, come to find out. But the day I got it, I broke down in the room I was staying in, and found so much of myself in that busted up car. The wrong parts, the messed up wiring, the rust and the mud. And God showed me redemption in that. He showed me that He works for the best in situations and fulfills dreams in the disappointments we face. I found myself weeping over this object, seeing how much God cared for me in it. It occurred to me that no amount of self-sufficiency could truly make me independent of God. And no amount of time could extract deep-rooted desired from my heart. I had always wanted to fix cars with my dad. From the time I was 13 until now. My father has the most amazing car, an old ‘71 muscle-bound beast. I would read his car magazines and pretend to know what gear ratios and compression were. I liked 289s and 351s and 302s. But I never got to work under the hood with him. I realize now that it was his respite, and every time I ventured out to the garage in order to help, he was finished, or he was undertaking something I probably wouldn’t be able to aid him in. He did show me how to change a tire, but I wasn’t a boy, after all. Now, being 23, I looked at my past and realized that God was working on me through that vehicle, and that I was completely okay with having my Heavenly Father alongside me, bolting things back together. So today was full of grace for me. Because as I rummaged through the disorganization of my dad’s toolchest, he pulled in the driveway. “Dad, I need a ten millimeter socket, do you have one?” I asked. And he came in, magically producing all the sockets and wrenches he could find that read “10mm”. He then helped me tighten the v-belts. And after discovering my headlight, he dug through all his tools so I could have the extras and made me a toolkit. This may sound insignificant, but I never thought it would happen. And today, though it may seem unappealing to some, was a wicked good day in my book, and I will look back on it with thanksgiving, knowing that both my Father, and my dad, hear me, and care for me.