1. Chris and I have started running together.

2. We’re usually just hikers, but lately we’ve been trying to step it up.

3. Chris can of course run for what seems like forever.

4. I myself can run for, like, a few minutes.

5. But I’ve never been a runner (even though my 6th grade gym teacher said I did the best hurdle-jump) so it’s all only progress.

1. The Dame’s Rockets have bloomed here, and they are pretty.

2. Chris and I have been hiking a lot. We’ve seen birds (duh), rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, frogs, a (biggish) snake, a bright red salamander, and little baby birdies. I also saw a beaver, but Chris was walking too fast so he missed it. That’s what you get!

3. I’ve been eating a lot of Nutella on white bread, which is delicious just like that. It’s my latest bad-for-you snack of choice.

4. Pencils with an edge to the lead are the best to write with. (That’s why mechanical pencils are good.) If I get a pencil with a perfect point, I sometimes have to scribble with it first before I write anything. I was especially picky about this in fourth grade—rewriting entire pages of homework if the pencil didn’t write right.

5. I’m happy about the new design I’m working on for my website. It’s not a total change, mostly just how the index page looks, and how the portfolio works. Even if it is super lonely around here, it’s nice to have a website to work on when I can’t draw.

You know those beautiful sketchbooks that some people keep, with detailed drawings inside of them that might as well be framed?

Well—of course—I don’t have a beautiful sketchbook. I don’t have a sketchbook at all, really, because my sketches look like this:

Small, and very scribbly. To keep them together in a big ol’ bound book would just be ridiculous and sad. (Can you even guess what they are? They’re meant to be for two separate images but I kinda like what’s happening there between ‘em.) I used to be embarrassed, but I’ve finally accepted the fact that I’m an ugly sketcher. These pencil scraps are just a way for me to get an idea down quickly—and that’s all. No collages or fancy nonsense, at least not anymore. (It might help that I’m out of school. Professors who demand sketchbooks usually aren’t prepared for mine.)

Sometimes part of a sketch will actually make it into the final version, though. For my most recent drawing, I quickly sketched the mermaid’s hands like this for placement (click to biggify):

… but after creating that rockin’ keytar, I decided I liked her hands—so they stayed. It makes me happy when this sort of stuff happens, because you can’t really plan it. A drawing remains a sketch to me until the very last steps. So… it’s cool if my first step sucks, right?

My husband told me a little story yesterday about how, when he was young, his neighbors had a teeny dog named Valentine. She was generally very amicable—though a bit yappy, as small dogs are—until you called her “V-tine.” If you called her Valentine, she’d come over and let you pet her. If you called her V-tine, a growl would emerge from deep down in her wee belly and her lips would peel back into a vicious snarl. She’d snap at your fingers until you relented and called her by her rightful name.

Sometimes, and I think this is relevant somehow, her owners would adorn her with a sweet pink bow.

1. Daybeds.

2. Pajama sets.

3. Cheer routines.

4. YA novels.

5. Friendship bracelets.

My boss thinks I’m stealing toilet paper. I tell him I have allergies. “You’re FIRED,” he snarls, and turns into a werewolf. Or jaguar.

My boss barks an order, yelling for me to write it down. He throws me a pen. The pen doesn’t write, but I pretend it does. After my boss leaves, I sneak out the back door and run away. I’m still holding the pen, and inside it there’s a little plastic woman whose bathing suit floats on or off depending on the direction she’s being held.

I’m out shopping, and I turn around to look at my husband. My boss is standing there instead.

Same scenario, except I’m turning around to grab a can of soup. My boss is standing there, watching me with a frown. Suddenly, I remember telling him that I don’t like minestrone, which is what I’ve selected. He fires me for lying. I eat my soup straight from the can and it’s delicious.

1. Jars of peanuts.

2. Meaningful compliments.

3. Going to bed—and waking up—earlier. I feel a lot better.

4. The Baker’s Edge brownie pan.

5. Gold and purple.

For a while I used to think “OH:” on Twitter meant “other half,” as in, like, a quote from somebody’s boyfriend/girlfriend or spouse. I’ve seen this acronym used on forums before, and so I’d see people preface their Tweets with OH and think, wow, these people date some hilarious weirdos! But no, OH actually means “overheard.”

I love the funny things other people have been overhearing lately. For example, Sarah from Que Sera Sera witnessed a schoolyard argument that quickly escalated into a screaming blowout, and in San Francisco, Maggie from Mighty Girl was overjoyed to overhear a brand-new family trio having fun.

Reading these scenarios reminded me of a time I was on the beach many years ago, sitting on the sand with my mom. The sun was setting, people were drinking, and then, at last, a certain couple walked by that we couldn’t help noticing: she, with her gigantic floppy hat, and he, with his very small and white (and wet) swim briefs. He himself was very small, while his lady companion was much larger. As they passed, we heard them chattering excitedly to each other. Nearly naked though he was, the man had no qualms about his appearance, and neither did the woman about hers—or his, except for one small thing. The man suddenly stumbled over the sand, leaving the woman a few paces behind him. Upon seeing his backside, she noticed (just as my mom and I had) that the tag of his swimming briefs was sticking out. She giggled and tucked it back in, patting his butt gently after she did so.

It wasn’t exactly an “OH:” moment, but certain silly memories of other people make me so happy.