Today, is an anniversary. First of all it's my parents' anniversary (and, crazy kooks that they are, they're taking me and JW out to dinner... this somehow seems backwards, but who am I, a hungry and broke college student, to complain?).

The popular thing to do these days seems to be divorce. When there's a hitch in the going, the hitched get going, or something like that. Contrariwise, my mom and dad have stayed together through thick and thin, and I admire that.

But their anniversary is not the only one I'm celebrating today. I'm also celebrating my own anniversary, the anniversary of my freedom from my last crap-tastic relationship. I guess it was kind of selfish of me to get dumped on my parents special day, huh? But alas that is how it happened.

I thank that breakup for reminding me how to love God school, for getting me into Adam Ezra Group, for making it permissible to sneak out of monasteries to make out with Italian boys in the middle of the night, and for scaring me into working seriously on my novel (I'm scared to end up like that).

I thank that breakup for acting as foil to the relationship I have now. Without knowing the worst, I would have no idea I'd stumbled upon the best (or been stumbled upon by the best, as the case may be). The most I could muster would be a half-appreciation. JW deserves better than that.

I thank that breakup for re-defining and re-outlining who I am. I'm not your average Christian, but I'm feeling close to God for a change, and I sure couldn't say that last October.

I think we celebrate a lot of frivolous things in our culture (half birthdays, national kids day, etc.), but this isn't one of them. You can celebrate an ending as much as you can a beginning. After all, as Semisonic said many a year ago in the song Closing Time, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

Peace, love and apple cider,
Miss Rex

Flashy flash flash

When I was 11, I got my first laptop. Yeah, I know: Spoiled. But I WAS in the middle of writing a novel; I suppose my parents justified it as their contribution to my child prodigism.

Not long after that, I got my first flash drive. This was back when flash drives were first invented and held, like, 256 megabytes of info (read: not a lot). It was always a hassle plugging it into the USB ports in school computers because the ports were set back farther than my drive would plug in.

But you know what? I'm still carrying that thing around, something like eight years later. I've had other flash drives along the way, but they always seem to disappear. Maybe I've kept track of this one because it's so big and ugly and useless.

Suffice to say, it is time to buy a new flash drive. One that holds more data. One that looks... cool.

For the days I'm feeling classy:

For the days I'm feeling kawaii:

For the days I'm feeling vintage:

For the days I'm feeling witty:

For the days I'm feeling rude:

For the days I'm feeling geeky:

For the days I'm feeling badass:

In my endless quest for epic, it seems pretty clear to me that I should go for the one that can simultaneously house my fantasy novel AND light things on fire.

Not to mention, I won't be able to afford a SWAROVSKI flash drive until AFTER said novel makes me sickeningly rich and famous. (Dreaming big is good, right?)

Peace, love and gigabytes,
Miss Rex

Another end-of-the-world story

The end of the world didn’t come the way everyone expected it to, and Ravenna was the only one to realize what was happening. She sat in the cupola of her hilltop house and watched as the stars lined up behind the moon, single file like a gaggle of goslings behind their mother, and as the ocean drew back and back and back as if the Atlantic was baring its teeth before sic’ing. It was only a matter of time, she thought, before everything would end, and since there was nothing to be done about it, she simply sat and watched.

But dawn showed up anyway. The sun, rising in the south, must have missed the memo that the world was over and he could go on his way now; the Earth no longer needed him. Ravenna did the only thing she could think to do, what was the thing she always did: she got ready for work and rode her bike out to the atrium.

Her boss was nowhere to be found, nor were the animals she always tended. It seemed her charges must have known what was coming and fled, trampling the flora as they went.

Ravenna wandered the grounds and found nothing but yesterday’s traces of life. Nothing moved, nothing twittered, nothing scurried into the bushes.

That was when it dawned on her that she hadn’t seen a single car on the road that morning. Suddenly panicked, she leapt back onto her bicycle and rode until her legs couldn’t pedal anymore, through the business district, to the harbor, down the coast on the wrong side of the Jersey barrier. There wasn’t a moving car on the street.

She finally arrived at her old house. The family car was still there, but her family was gone.

A balmy breeze swept through the yard, though New England was waist-deep in November. Ravenna could only shiver in response. The world had ended, all right, and she’d been left behind.


I wrote this a few weeks ago as an exercise for my class and forgot to post it. Thoughts? Comments? A simple Like or Unlike?

Peace, love and California dreamin',
Miss Rex

Excavations of Claymore: Cooney Cooney

Rich. Dark. Handsome. What's not to love?

This is a coffee-lover's coffee. There's no sweet, spicy, or minty masking of what's in the mug; it tastes like what it is. It's good, honest coffee. Flannery O'Connor was the first to say that a good coffee is hard to find, but tonight we can call off the search: It's been found.

Cooney Cooney's bitterness may bite, but luckily he's a smooth talker. The drink's creamy overtone softens the taste without sugarcoating it, just like a good writer's workshop. It all evens out to a rich, earthy experience. Dark, yes, but even the land of Oz had its dark places, and you can be sure that was magical.

Take it from a girl who likes her milk and sugar with a smidge of coffee: This drink is bomb.

Peace, love and procrastination,
Miss Rex

As you can see, Excavations of Claymore have returned! Thanks, Michael, for demonstrating that the baristas do indeed have their shit together. At least some of them...

It's time to cast your vote for the next drink of the week. There are only a few left! After that we will venture together into the great unknown! I.e. I will let you all list random flavors, throw them together in a drink and see what happens.

Almond Joy
Cocoa-nut Island
English Challenge
Prickly Cactus
Thrilla in Vanilla
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