This Square Peg.

Happily Not Fitting In Since 1978.



National Poetry Month: Les Poèmes (#8,9,10)

The weekend ran away from me, as did poetry. But not for long. Apparently, my muse can’t abide by weekends. And yet she loves weekdays. What can you do? Speaking of her, below are my poetic offerings for Saturday, Sunday, and today. They share an interesting theme.

Weekend Haiku #1 (Saturday)

ah, what a weekend–
when i drink in all the sun
and forget to write.

Weekend Haiku #2 (Sunday)

it’s not an excuse
but my muse has attitude–
and off days, as well.

Monday Haiku (Today)

yet when Monday comes,
champagne and inspiration
all for This Square Peg.


Happy Chiwetel Friday.

This is Chiwetel Ejiofor. There’s not much else to say here. I love him and it’s Friday. 

Bon weekend, mes amis…

Blogvember #26, #27, and #28: Life.

Three days, huh? Let’s investigate my brief Blogvember absence.

I took walks and got in some great steps.

I hung up new artwork for l’appartement. This lovely French sign means flower market. It’s not particularly centered, but just take comfort that my use of a hammer (!!!!) didn’t result in the loss of my sweet fingers.

I indulged. The caption tells you everything you need to know. Le sigh. But it was so, so good. 

More décor shopping. A birdcage as decoration is intriguing, no?

That’s all she Square pegged. Hope you had a fanstastic weekend and welcome to Monday.

Blogvember #19: The Wrestler.

I’ve become a professional wrestler. 

It’s the only way to explain why my bed looks like this when I wake up. I snapped this photo a day ago, moments after arising from my slumber (ah, poetry) and gazing at my bed in crusty-eyed shock. Had I participated in a dance competition in my sleep? Had I entered some kind of back-to-Math-class nightmare in which I fought an eager teacher engaged in a quest to make me understand fractions? Or had I fulfilled a secret wish to become a wrestler? Perhaps it’s the latter. 

I should add that I tried to videotape myself once to determine what was really happening at REM. When I woke up, the phone that I had propped up next to me was under my bed. 

Le sigh.

Happy Saturday. May you sleep serenely, unlike me. 

Blogvember #12 and #13: Le Weekend.

#12: That quote to the left about sums it up. Our sense of humor. Our laughter. Our love. (Because, yeah, I’d traipse through a fire and/or super humid room for her, fro or no.) Those times when la bestie utters words that change my life. My goals to always be there for her. 

She arrived on Friday night and will be leaving in a few hours. She brought a burst of light and much-needed familiarity into this new place and environment that I’m adjusting to, both emotionally and otherwise. I don’t think I’ll be able to communicate just how I needed that. 

I snapped a few photos, but she’ll hurt me if I post them. So just call your bestie and tell him/her that you love them. 


#13: I bought a couch!

While furniture shopping yesterday, one of the employees showing us around the monster of the store we were in took me the very couch that I saw and saved from their website. If that isn’t kismet I don’t know what is. Delivery is next Sunday and you shall see it then. 

Happy Sunday, dear reader…

Blogvember #6: ‘cuz I’m easy…

Happy Sunday. May thoughts of hit songs written by Lionel Richie fill your day. And may you eat lots and lots of croissants. Like I’m about to. 

Blogvember #5: Any Frolunteers?

Saturday night with le fro. Who’s coming around to twist this thing? Anyone? 

Bon first day of the weekend…

Meanwhile, in Paris…

Image courtesy of Pinterest, which was courtesy of Vicki Archer, who I am now following on Pinterest..

I think this Parisienne embodies my future life in the City of Lights. In every way you can think of.

Bursting with a thousand words, and I agree with every letter.

Happy Friday, and bon weekend, mes amis.

The One and Done.

Other than drinking copious amounts of champagne while watching the Academy Awards when I was 16 years old (how nerds “turn up”; we all make mistakes), This Square Peg can’t make it beyond one drink.

I was reminded of this during the weekend, when a friend offered me wine at a cookout. After a few, tiny sips, I was giggling like a happy fool. And that’s typically what happens: I take a few sips and I start laughing. And speaking at a decibel only cute puppies can hear. And complaining about the heat. Case in point: I went to a swanky restaurant in the city with my uncle and brother and had half of a cocktail. By the end of that partial cocktail, I was fanning myself, complaining of an invisible heat, cackling, my voice raised as I asked whether George Clooney, who was known to frequent the establishment, was in the room. The ride home found me sprawled in the backseat of the car, asleep and muttering under my breath. You can imagine how much fun my family had with me.

Apparently, the girl who sipped the foamy parts of her Dad’s beer when she was three years old (Mom is still not happy about that) can only handle just that: foam and sips. Of course, this doesn’t occur with drinks that taste like fizzy soda (i.e., wine coolers) and/or drinks where I can’t taste the alcohol. Those do not fall under the category of one and done. Maybe two and done. But the reactions are fairly the same. Anyway, in case you’re wondering:

  • Fizzy, bubbly things like champagne and fruity drinks are wonderful.
  • Harder drinks are out of the question.
  • Wine must be sweet.

Overall, though, add my inability to take more than one drink to the rest of the things I generally can’t do: tumble, eat spicy foods, and engage in anything having to do with roller coasters and/or lifting these feet off the ground when they’re not in an airplane. Ah, well. C’est la vie.

Welcome to Monday. Onwards and upwards…

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