public service announcement:

my best friend turns eighteen today.
David Charles Campbell,
The way in which we became friends still remains a mystery to me. Newspaper was a deciding factor of course, but how you became a semi-permanent fixture in my red bubble car and how you ended up coming home with me everyday after school and how you became known as 'Dahveed Campbell' in my phone--it's all a mystery to me.
You were awkward and fifteen and the awkward sixteen-year-old me knew that something great in the name of friendship was about to occur. And we thought we were so cool, riding around in my ridiculously over-heated car, taking adventures to buy cheap horrible cds at Big Lots and the Warehouse. The sweet sounds of the faux-lesbian duo T.a.T.u filled our lives, as did spending hours on end at Barnes and Noble reading AP/SAT prep books and really really (at least to me) boring nature encyclopedias. And we would go to Ford Park with fruit from Trader Joe's and I would trade you some of my mango for some of your pomegranate and we would talk about Mr. Belk because he's probably the best man to ever live and we would pine ways to win our then significant others' affections and we would make fun of people who made fun of us.
You turned sixteen and we had your party at Bjs with random people from newspaper and we ate a lot of pizza and you wore the Hannah Montanna wig, of course. During our junior/senior years we became much more sophisticated and did all the usual stuff but by then the employees at Coffee Bean knew our names and we talked more about philosophy and you copied my AP U.S. homework and we were so disappointed to find out that T.a.T.u were indeed fake lesbians. We went to more parks and spent a lot of time sitting in cars at night and freaking out when bubble car stalled in front of the Watchers' house. We loved newspaper, State Street deli, Slugworth, and became completely infatuated with a man named Instructor Antonio C. Curtis. We ditched class for Mama Mia, sent each other mega text messages late at night when one or both of us seemed to be having a meltdown, yelled at Mrs. Shineral as we drove past RHS, and crashed into the curb that one time when it was really hot. At some point I left for college and when I'd come home, we'd gossip more and learned to smoke cigarettes together.
And things haven't changed; you're the one person that I know I will always have even when everyone else has gotten sick of my randomness, my mood swings, my analyzing of every single little thing, and the way I cannot stop talking about whatever my current obsessions are for the month, or even the year. And now you are turning eighteen, and I feel like I've already accepted this because eighteen is synonymous with maturity, thus I have started referring to you as "my friend Dave." And I'm writing you this 892847 word essay on why I love you and why you can't ever leave me because I might as well just stop breathing so I'll end it soon, I promise.
I everything you. More than anything in the entire world. Thank you for three beautiful years of laughter, love, fun, lots of driving, comfort, support, learning, friendship, acceptance, etc. You've helped me realize so much about this world and so much about myself, thank you. So, in conclusion...

Above: Beginning of summer '09 and beg. of summer '08, exactly one year apart.

Happy birthday frog pussy.

Virginia is for Mason

California lost one of its shining stars today. Ivy left us for Virginia. She's off to change the world by spreading the liturgy of the Libertarian word. I miss her already.

Bottle opener? Can opener? I've got a lighter.

"Maybe it's just more sunny than hot."

Weed, next three exits

I was fortunate enough to accompany my three man friends on their road trip up north last week.

First destination: Sacramento. Long story short, I was to be staying there though after a series of unfortunate events I drove my best friend’s car (which was then dubbed ‘Get Away Car’) to Berkeley on Tuesday night where my two ailing friends and I were taken in by possibly the kindest person in the world. In & Out at eleven p.m. never tasted better and almost getting to use a space blanket (tin foil) made my night.

Second destination: Berkeley. Man friends left the following morning. Their destination was Oregon and I was reluctant to see them go. The rest of my week in Berkeley was awesome though, and included the following: Julie, bookstores, thrift stores, beer pong, writing letters, writing anything, Dave Eggers, nature jogs, freezing yet perfect weather, Forrest Gump look-a-like, stolen newspapers, hardwood floors, gummy bears, etc.

Third destination: Ride home. The lone friend in Sacramento makes the pilgrimage to Berkeley to pick me up and take me home. He arrives with the awkward Sacramento kid we stayed with and whom I was never really introduced to and a baby duck. I sit in the back seat with the baby duck. The normally seven hour drive takes us almost nine because we stop at Target, several McDonald’s, a couple gas stations, and a lake. I get home at one a.m. smelling pretty badly, feeling blood clotty from sitting for so long, and annoyed with ducks.

Oh, California Woodstock!
[P.S. I realize I change tenses midway through this post. Forgive that.]

Little Letters

Dear stolen ipod,
I seriously miss you. I hope you are in a good place (though you’re most likely not).

Dear weekend boyfriend/asshole,
Okay so I take back some of what I said. You are still adorable, I am still alive, and it was truly fun while it lasted. Also, I feel like you’ll be a recurring theme in my life so I shall see you soon.

Dear body,
I apologize for abusing you/causing you so much harm this past week. Give me a couple days to get you healthy again.

Dear David,
I miss you, come back from Oregon already. We need to swap stories and see what you remember.

Dear Julie, Anais, and the general city of Berkeley,
Thank you for saving me. I owe you more than you realize.

Dear eyebrows,
Prepare to get tweezed.

and Dear dying plant in my room,
Please come back to life! I’m sorry for neglecting you.

A Letter to an Asshole:

Thank you so very much for building me up only to let me come crashing down. To an extent I knew what I was in for and I was not expecting much, if anything from you, but at the same time you are a smooth-talking, lying, son of a bitch. The four days I spent with you were amazing and I am grateful but every dog has its day and you just proved to be the ultimate mangy mutted asshole.

Truth be told, I want this to end amicably because you really are a sweet guy and for that I despise you and automatically send my condolences to any girl who comes into contact with you and your bullshit vocabulary. I miss you and your stupid way of kissing me perfectly and I really hate that I become attached and long for you, you pathetic human being. Also, I hate that you gave me your iPod and that red sweater because both gestures were adorable and I want to bottle up those feelings forever but I cannot so I hate that even more.

You were the best weekend boyfriend I have ever had but do not take pride in that because you do not deserve such a title.
Best of luck,
Aubrey

P.S. I am pretty certain I left my sweater in your car again so give it back.
P.P.S. I can never listen to the White Stripes in the same way and I love(d) them. Thanks.
P.P.P.S. I stole your tea and drank all of it.

I want to ride

my bicycle.
So I have a bajillion pictures of the past week or so that I'd like to post but since I'm unable to for whatever reason, I thought I'd take a moment to share about my new favorite passion: cycling! I started biking earlier this summer and since then I haven't been able to stop. Made the longest trek of my life to almost Riverside and since then it's been pretty consistent with little trips here and there around town and also joined the most awesome spin class. I'm currently spiffing up an old racing bike that will surely help me win the Tour de France next year.

gifts of insomnia.

True to form, my mini vacation allowed me to relax. Meaning, I slept two full nights. Probably mostly because I shared a bed with mom and had to lay still but still; eureka gold at last, I slept! Now that I'm home though, I'm awake. Not complaining though. Insomnia has largely defined me this summer and allowed me a new found productivity.

A running list:
- I've gotten a lot of reading done.
- Discovered and downloaded amazing music.
- I've perfected a few recipes (can't beat cooking or baking at 2 am)
- Cleaned.
- Night yoga.
- Night walking.
- Picked up some horticulture skills (aka why the hell do I kill all plants?!)
- Made a doll so I can have something to sew clothes for.
[TBC]

Also, internet discoveries:

I read this and seriously loled. Not sure why I'm a loser but my AP US nerd bone started tickling again. (Sorry it takes up so much space)
FROM THE DIARYOF JOHN ADAMS.
BY PETER KRINKE
- - - --->
July 3, 1776
Tomorrow the congress shall vote on wording for the Declaration of Our Independence from England. While I shall endorse its passage, I cannot deny my contempt for its author, the foul Virginian, Thomas Jefferson.

Today, as the congress was being called to order, I was heard to remark that I have come to the conclusion that one useless man is a shame, two is a law firm, and three or more is a congress. While Delegate Cushing struggled at breath for his chortling, Delegate Jefferson closed his eyes, cocked his head askew (pretending to rest it upon a "pillow" of his hands) and pretended to snore loudly.

"Dear Sir," I responded, hoping to restore a modicum of dignity to the proceedings. "Be-calm yourself."

Jefferson, in what initially seemed an attempt at reconciliation, apologized and told me he'd actually commissioned a large run of my Thoughts on Government from a local printer. He informed me that they were of service to a great number of the congress.
He then extended his hand to me, and, mollified by his contrite demeanor, I reached to shake it. But at the last moment, he jerked his hand away and adjusted his wig, running his hand along the side of it!

Jefferson then called a number of the other delegates over and pretended to study me intently, with and without the aid of Benjamin Franklin's spectacles, while asking in jest, "Is that Benedict Arnold, or is that John Adams?"

"'Tis I, John Adams!" I retorted.

In response, Jefferson informed the congress he was going to pretend to be someone else for their amusement. He then produced a lace handkerchief from his pocket and, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, his wrist cocked at a 90-degree angle, began prancing about in the manner of a fop or dandy, proclaiming, "I'm John Adams! I favor a strong federal government to the detriment of states rights and the sovereignty of the individual."

"I demand you cease these unflattering characterizations of me," I cried.

Resolving to fight fire with fire, I called over the delegation from the Province of New Hampshire and proclaimed loudly, "I, too, would like to slander and ridicule a fellow delegate through a keen approximation of his physical characteristics and mannerisms."

Then, hunching over and placing a finger in my nose while adopting the tone and register of Jefferson's peculiar Virginian vocal timbre, I proclaimed, "I'm Tom-E Jefferson! The delegate from Virgin-I-a!"

While the majority of the congress looked away from my ill-advised impersonation, Jefferson began to clap loudly, pretending to congratulate me.

Feigning enthusiasm for my performance, he slapped me on the back, proclaiming, "An excellent characterization!" Then turning to the congress and placing his hand next to his mouth in order to shield his words from me, but still speaking with a volume intended to be audible to everyone present, continued, "It was as if your mother were in the room with us, dressed in your clothing."

"How dare you?" I screamed. "My mother is dead."

Jefferson looked genuinely surprised and, turning again to address the congress, proclaimed, "She seemed animated enough last night!"

So filled with rage was I that I retired to the lavatory in order to regain my composure. Upon entering the privy I noticed a stack of my Thoughts on Government, resting next to the seat, with a sign beside it in Jefferson's hand, penned, "Not for reading!" and an arrow pointing to my texts!

On several occasions Delegate Jefferson has smelled of hemp and mead before the noon meal. He also frequently retires to an antechamber with his servant Sally Hemings, proclaiming they are off to "a different kind of congress." He says this while winking!

When pressed as to the infrequency of his visits to the bedchamber of his wife, Jefferson recites the crude maxim, "Once a quill is dipped in black ink, it forever favors that hue."

But enough of Jefferson and his clownish antics; I must rest. Tomorrow I shall help birth a republic.

Ah, what's this? I hear a knock upon my door! And quick footfalls! What could it be? A gift from an admirer? A note of great import? I'll just have a quick look...
Indignity! The indignity of indignities!

Upon opening the door, I observed a sack upon my stoop, and it was a-flame! I quickly moved to smother the inferno by stomping upon it soundly, only to discover the contents: horse void! From a sick horse!

As I recoiled in horror from my investigative sniff, the sound of Jefferson and his cohorts' cackles resounded down the cobblestone streets.

My only solace comes from my steely belief in the providential certainty that history will reveal Jefferson as the base and immoral cad he truly is.

Coolest house ever.
If you're ever lacking reading material.
A vintage summer.
Let's go to John Krasinski's house.
Mystery letters. Seriously thinking about doing this.

Best ever: found this website that features really really horrible photographs of people. Makes my day a million times better.



Is it sad that back in the day my parents took a picture like the top one?

Creeping in Carlsbad.

I came to the resolution that I love driving. I love road trips. If you ever need a driver, let me know. I'll drive you (just pay your gas).
So the fam is still in Carlsbad and I'm happy to be home. Love nights in when I have the house to myself and it's so nice to be in my own shower again.

Anecdote of the day:
As we're unloading luggage and food into the cottage (my dad brought so much freaking food; pre-made ribs, corn, burgers, mash potatoes...kid you not), dad goes into the bedroom and sees two men fighting in the alleyway below our balcony. They're arguing, obviously hammered, and this girl is trying to break them apart. Dad calls us in and we all go watch this fight unfold. Standing on the bed and jumping up and down, we whisper holler and cheer for our favorite: either guy in the white shirt or shiny bald guy in tank top. It gets good- guy in white shirt slaps shiny bald guy in tank top a couple of times, and it goes back and forth like this. All the while, the girl is yelling at them and we realize she's egging them on. Favorite part:
Girl [said with whiny girl voice]: "Gary, you're gay!"
Guy in white shirt (Gary): "I'm not gay, I'm not gay."
So apparently the girl sucked Gary's dick and shiny bald guy in tank top, presumably her husband, wasn't having it. They never fully fought though, much to the girl's dismay. Try harder at doing the nasty next time, girl.

red and purple.

Currently lounging in bed with tea and a book. Feeling sick and tomorrow is vacation. I should pack.
Last Friday was beach day for David, Ashley, and me. Look as we fail to get all three of us into the frame.




Also, nostalgia comes at the rarest times. Like how music can bring back memories? Yes, well they're flooding lately. Music and philosophical conversations result from the most inordinate situations. I'm finding that clarity is perhaps the most necessary feeling a person can possess. Thank you for demonstrating that.