chronicles of naurnie.

Oh, What Do You Hear, My Darling Young One?

2013-06-07T14:41:00.000-04:00

26 weeks tomorrow.

They tell me you can hear. I spend a lot of time thinking about you and your little ears, and how I hope they are just perfect. Because of all of the senses that I love, I think I love hearing best of all. Do you know my voice, Sally Gray? Can you tell by my tone what mood I am in? What words are you catching? Or are you just in there, hearing sounds and not knowing yet quite what to make of them? Every night your father talks to you. Sometimes he reads to you. Sometimes he just says whatever crazy thing is popping into his head. He wants you to know his voice, too. He says, "Of course I'm going to talk to my girl. She hears you yammering away all day long about stuff I'm sure she doesn't care about. She needs to hear me talking, too."

After he said that, I started wondering about you... when I am in meetings or on conference calls, when I am in the car singing to myself, when I am talking to my own mother on the telephone, when I am laughing. Right now, I carry you with me all over kingdom come. You hear what I hear. Hell, you've already heard Iggy Pop. You've been backstage at the Opry. You kicked me so hard at the Father John Misty show that my breath caught in my throat. One day you kicked through all of Blood on the Tracks while we were driving home from a weekend trip to Charlotte. I can't decide if you are in love with music or you perhaps just want some peace and quiet. My hope is that we will have music to share. I guess time will tell.

For so long, I felt like this was a dream. But now I have come to anticipate and look forward to your movements. In only three short months we will know you and your little face. You will cry and we will try to decipher what it means. I can't wait to meet you and find out what you sound like.

I promise always to listen.

Let's TACO 'Bout It.

2013-05-03T13:33:00.004-04:00

I'm a little embarrassed to tell y'all how much this video tickled me. Apparently not too embarrassed to post it, though. I am incredibly surprised that my husband has never done anything like this to me, especially considering he has a very incriminating video of me sloppily eating a patty melt at Noshville and begging to go to Robert's Western World.

Girl Child.

2013-05-01T10:20:00.000-04:00

remnants of the stephens girls' tiny feet.

Last Monday, we found out that we are having a girl child. She has huge lips and is very leggy, and she will be named after my Granny. I admit I had an inkling she was a girl, but I wasn't positive. After all, I only have a sister and ladies are just my frame of reference. But all of my dreams about the baby were ones of her.

Over the weekend, I visited my parents' house. As I was standing in the kitchen with my sister, my mom produced a large plastic bin from the attic containing some of our baby/childhood clothes. Tiny Easter dresses, the little white French shoes we wore to church, Feltman gowns, sweet little diaper shirts embroidered with ducks, my little sister's riding boots from kindergarten, and a pair of moccasins purchased at Cherokee, North Carolina by my grandfather on a road trip to Washington, DC in 1984.

We are a girl family. And I felt an overwhelming happiness that we are bringing another girl child into this family that adores girl children. I am grateful for the opportunity to raise her. I think I might be pretty good at it. After all, I have the best mother in the world. If I am half the mother she was, this gal will be just fine. Not to mention that she will be quite well dressed.

Her name is Sally Gray.

17 weeks.

2013-04-12T10:10:00.000-04:00

17 weeks, 5 days.

Photo taken by my husband, Willie, after our third anniversary dinner on Wednesday in which I consumed too much food (including bread pudding). The bump is bigger when I've eaten a giant meal. It's hard to tell at this point if I've eaten too much or the baby is poking out.

Tomorrow will mark my 18th week of pregnancy. So far, things have been fairly easy since the passing of the first trimester. I keep wondering when this whole "having a child" thing is going to feel real... In fact, I've sent many a text to Jamie about this very topic. I'm still at the stage where I'm not really showing, I can't feel it move, and sometimes... well, I forget that I'm pregnant. I mean, we ordered a cheese plate at our anniversary dinner at Mateo and I was halfway through devouring the soft cheese before William said, "I thought you weren't supposed to eat that." Oops.

I have dreams about the baby. But in the dreams, it's not a baby. It's a fully formed adult and I am my mother's current age. We are riding on a rickshaw through a market in India. I'm wearing a floppy hat and seem to be quite happy. Maybe I'm dreaming of some distant thing to come.

Other updates: It has officially become spring in North Carolina, complete with unseasonably warm weather and a light green dusting of pollen over all surfaces. I am boycotting pants. We bought a bird feeder for the back yard; watching the birds from the glider on my back porch makes me miss my Granny. We have a crib but no crib mattress. I have become obsessed with the show Hannibal on NBC. I have plowed through 5 library books in the last week and a half.

The SXSW Skinny.

2013-03-20T16:08:00.000-04:00

Every year, thousands upon thousands of people descend on Austin, Texas to attend the music festival SXSW. If you live in Austin, I apologize on behalf of all of us. I spent most of my life in a city that hosts giant music festivals, and I can tell you all that I feel your pain. You have my sympathy from the bottom of my heart. Last year was my first SX experience, and I have to tell you that this year I felt much more prepared for the insanity. Last year, I felt a bit like a june bug in a hurricane... You're not quite sure where to turn or where to go. You don't know your way around and your phone dies. And your hotel is a couple of miles outside of town and you can't figure out how to get someone to take you there at 3:30 am.

This year, however, I felt like I rocked that mess. I got a ton done, and I met a ton of folks. It probably also helps that my hotel was downtown. I could see the Omni from just about any location, shining like a beacon in the night, reminding me that if I could just make it a few more hours, I could get in the bed and watch HGTV until I fell asleep.

I will say that even though I really hate being amongst the general concert-going public and I deplore standing in any sort of line, there is something to be said about trying to see Nick Cave and magically stumbling upon Iggy + The Stooges in the process. Or, you know, running into Alexander Skarsgård at showcase for one of your artists is pretty alright. And even though I saw mainly artists that I work with, they were all incredible. I am regularly impressed and humbled that I get to do something that I truly love for a living. Our artists are nothing short of professional and amazingly talented individuals. It's also pretty great to be walking down the street and run into friends/colleagues you haven't seen in a long time. Including my college mentor, several publicists I interned for years ago, and my high school best friend whose husband is a drummer for a band called Leagues. She had her two-year-old with her, who is ADORABLE.

eric northman. me + miss isla.

Please let me also say this: I understand that SXSW used to be a small-ish industry event where unsigned or up and coming bands could get some attention they deserved. Now, it's totally overblown. With artists like Dave Grohl, Justin Timberlake, and Prince overshadowing a lot of the weekend night activities, it makes me wonder if this is really about the industry stuff anymore... It's hard when you're trying to get an artist from point A to point B and the streets are jammed with drunken college students who are stumbling around on their spring breaks trying to get into shows without wrist bands or badges. Go to the beach, y'all. We're trying to work here. You'll get to see these bands, too, when they tour. We're just making sure the kinks are worked out first.

Also, let's discuss being pregnant at SXSW, shall we? I had thankfully entered my second trimester right before heading to the Lone Star State and my general nausea was gone for the most part. However, my ol' sniffer was in full effect. People, y'all smell. For real. The odor of thousands of people peeing in the streets and the overwhelming amount of garbage and body odor wafting around is enough to turn a gal's stomach. At the Haim show on Saturday night, I danced up front with the kids. (Who am I? Somehow I got ungrumpy and managed to rock out.I danced around like a pregnant teenager with my friend Mary Kirk.) Some guy around me kept farting ALL through the show. Funny, yes. Also? Smelly. Also? I love Danielle Haim. That bitch is too cool. Este's bass face freaks me out, but I can still dig her foul mouth. But that little one needs to put on some pants.

HAIM TIME.

Also, the bathroom situation ain't too great. Especially as a lady who normally can hang in any situation and NEVER have to pee, this is no longer an option for me. I gotta go a lot. And it's not so fun. I'll leave it at that.

a tour of bad bathrooms.

Also, being the designated driver for your co-workers isn't exactly the best way to bond with them. Especially if they're yelling obscenities at pedicab drivers and using your rolled up company banner as a didgeridoo out the van window. We all survived, though, and I didn't put anybody out of the car. Although I probably should have. I'm pretty sure the baby was wondering where in the hell we were... loud noises, a constantly moving mama, not enough sleep, too much Tex Mex. Although, really, there isn't such a thing as "too much Tex Mex." But hey! My bebe has already been to SXSW. That's pretty cool...

Also, my little bump popped out finally while I was in Texas. It went away, though, when I got home. This confirms my suspicion that it was mostly an over-consumption of chili con queso.

one more of me + isla. one of the bump. please excuse the shitty quality of said bump photo. i sent it to willie as reference. it was in my hotel room + it was late. and i had just met eric northman.

The Branson EP.

2013-03-11T11:26:00.000-04:00

It's true. Our small Branson baby will be here in September.

Graphic made by my best pal, Meg Willoughby. Adorable Third Man Records onesie courtesy of Miss Jemina Boyd.

A Very Naurnie Christmas. Take Two.

2012-12-21T15:03:00.000-05:00

Last year, I was pretty on the ball about this. This year, not so much. If we were making a list of things that Naurns is bad at doing, Christmas in general would be on the list. This year especially. I got my shopping done late, we've been using the same roll of wrapping paper for going on three Christmases, I failed to order enough Christmas cards to send out to everyone on our list, Willie may have put more than one card in some envelopes because they were sticking together, and it's been 60 degrees almost every day this December. But I do like y'all, and I do think that Christmas playlists can be fun. So here you go. Better late than never, I guess. Enjoy your holiday wherever your travels may take you.

Merry, merry.

Click the image for the playlist.

Oh, and click here for the link to last year's playlist if you feel so inclined.

Special shout out to my #1 beyotch, Meg, for making this killer graphic for me.

Halloween Mix Tape.

2012-10-31T15:54:00.001-04:00

A Few Things:

A) I love you guys.
B) I also love making you Internet Mix Tapes.
C) Halloween is a spectacular holiday.
D) I've dressed up as Annie Hall twice in the past 5 days.
E) Truman has a skeleton costume.

Oh, and one more thing?

I also love Jamie for putting this amazing image together for me. Well, I love her for lots of reasons. But she gets it. Ya know?

Click here to stream the playlist. Enjoy yourselves. And remember, y'all, tricks are for hookers.

Megan's Triathlon Recap.

2012-10-02T11:22:00.000-04:00

I am taking a break from this blogging hiatus because someone I love has made me very proud. This past weekend, my best friend Megan competed in her first half Ironman. Wait. She did not only compete in the Ironman, she dominated that sucker and met several goals she set for herself. You know, I have to tell you guys that she is an inspiration to me every day. Not just when she competes in and completes triathlons, but every single day she works hard to better herself. She knows herself better than any one person I have ever met, pushes her own limits, and is really an incredible person. I stole this recap off of her Facebook page without asking her... Yes. I logged in under my husband's name and read every single word. SO without further ado, here is her very honest recap. Thanks for being funny, smart, and so determined. Also, yes. I think you should cut your hairdo.

Hard to believe, but on Sunday afternoon, I completed my first half Ironman. I can say I've been working for this since May, but honestly, I've been working towards this for the past 4 years. I'll never forget the first 5k I ran in 2009. It was the longest 3.1 miles of my life. I thought it would NEVER be over. And that I would never do it again! I was so tired afterwards that I took a 4 hour nap.

But I got stronger, learned how to run longer and little by little started realizing I could go further. I thought, "You know, I could PROBABLY do a sprint triathlon… I could PROBABLY do a half marathon…. But nothing further. Only crazy people run FULL marathons. Only ATHLETES do Ironman races…" Well, call me a crazy athlete. In my wildest dreams I used to think that I could one day relay a half Ironman-- only do 1 part of the 3-part race. That seemed doable.

Jump ahead to this past February when I asked my parents for entry fee into Ironman Augusta for my birthday. Yes, I asked for pain and punishment for my 31st birthday. By March, I was signed up for the race and already researching training plans online. Though I keep a good base of running, biking and swimming year-round, I'd have to amp it up in May to be ready for the race at the end of September. Through 2 bike wrecks, 2-a-day workouts 6 days a week, 3 triathlons, and hundreds of bottles of gatorade, September 30th slowly approached.

This past week, my stomach was a bundle of nerves. One minute, I'd be super excited and ready to go. "YEAH! Let's do this! I'm going to kill it!" Two minutes later I was dry-heaving into my office trashcan. "I can't do this! Why did I think I could do this? I'm not ready! I'm going to come in last!" And yet, on Friday, I was in the car with all my gear headed towards Augusta, GA. I could still turn-back, right?

Before the start on Sunday morning, I had to go pick-up my registration, my timing-chip, get tagged, drop off my bike at transition, EAT, SLEEP, try and just relax. It is exhilarating and also intimidating to ride around a town filled with cars towing triathlon bikes, spying very fit athletes walking around on every corner, and seeing that well-known IRONMAN logo everywhere you turn. THIS is big-time…. I can still turn-back, right?

4:30 AM Sunday morning came too fast. I was up and eating-- something I would need to remind myself to do for the rest of the day. Just keep eating and drinking. Dressed and ready to go, I was on my way to the transition area by 5:15 AM. And so were 3,400 other racers. It's an odd site to see a sea of athletes walking around dark city streets in the pre-dawn hours carrying packs of gear and food. Our bikes waited for us in the transition area that sat at the finish line of the swim. It was required for all racers to drop off their bikes the day before, so literally millions of dollars worth of bikes had slept overnight in a field by the Savannah River. After checking my tire pressure, I started strategically laying out the rest of my gear that I would need for each portion of the race. In the dark. You have about a 1'x2' piece of ground below your bike to claim as "your space". Bike helmet, bike shoes, socks, running shoes, water bottles, food, running hat, race belt, sunscreen, sunglasses… it all has to sit there, organized, just waiting for you to grab it.

By 6:30AM, I was standing in line with my swim bag to catch a bus that would take me 1.2 miles upriver to the swim start. I commented to the guy in front of me that I felt like I was standing in line waiting to go off to slaughter. I could still turn-back, right?

At the swim start, I met up with my parents and my friends who were there racing as well. As the sun began to rise, the "boom" of the starting cannon went off at exactly 7:30AM. The pro men were off! And damn, they made it look easy. The rest of us mere mortals watched from the side of the river as we waited our turn to start. Because the race is so large, they divide everyone into "Age Waves". These waves started every 5 minutes. Unfortunately, my wave didn't get to start until 9AM! That meant I had a lot of time to kill. And a lot of time to get nervous. With me in my swim bag was my wetsuit, goggles, swim cap, and food, so I tried to keep eating. And going to the bathroom. And eating some more.

As my swim time got closer, I put on my wetsuit and got ready to go. Want to do some excellent people watching? Go to a swim start and watch thousands of people struggle to pull on a wetsuit. It's hilarious. But any triathlete will tell you, wetsuits are awesome! The morning of any race, a water temperature is taken by race officials. If the temperature is BELOW 76 degrees, the swim is considered "wetsuit legal". A wetsuit is wonderful because it makes you buoyant, which in turn, makes you swim faster.

Finally, it was time to "walk the plank". I hugged my parents good-bye and got in line with my group. This was my last chance to turn-back. But I didn't. I put on my goggles, sat down on the pier and lowered myself into the water. 2 minutes to go. Surrounded by a group of about 60 other women my age, we treaded water and laughed a little. The current in the river was strong and we were having to back-stroke just to stay behind the start buoys. We wished each other luck. 10 seconds to go… I turned and waved to my parents on shore. Here goes nothing….

The cannon went off. I was swimming. I knew this would be my strongest part of the race, so I took off, trying to gain a lead on the other women. I wanted to quickly get away from the pack and away from kicking feet and flailing arms. The sooner I could find a little room, the sooner I could get into a rhythm. After about 200 yards, I was feeling good. Below me in the water I spied kelp growing. I could feel it as my arms went through the water. But the water was nice and cool and the current was strong. I did a good job of sighting and was keeping a straight line and as I took my breathes, I could see that I was quickly passing landmarks like bridges above me. This was good. I was feeling good. The anxiety went away and my thoughts started to wonder… "Should I cut my hair?… I need to remember to get trash bags at the grocery store… Ahh! Was that an alligator?… That bitch just cut me off! … Heeeeyyyy, Sexy Lady Oppa Gangnam Style!" Yes. This is what goes through my mind.

Before I knew it, the swim was over and I was starting to make my way to the exit point. As I come out of the water, I see my dad. As I'm running up the boat ramp, there's my mom! Yay! 1 down, 2 to go. As I run, I start to unzip my wetsuit and pull it down to my waist. Time for the strippers. Yes, these events include strippers. I run to a group of volunteers standing by a carpeted area. A man tells me to lay on my back with my legs in the area. With a deadpan-straight face I say, "I'm not the kind of girl" He goes BEET red. Everyone laughs. So I lay down, he grabs the wetsuit at my waist and in one tug, pulls it off. As I stand up, he throws me my wetsuit and I ask, "How much do I owe you?" Again, he goes beet red, and I run off laughing. Got to keep a sense of humor or you'll never get through the day.

In transition, I put on my socks, bike shoes, helmet, grab my sunglasses and food and my bike and head towards the bike start. Heading out of the chute, I see my parents once again, and they cheer me on. Now begins the part I've dreaded the most-- the bike. 56 miles in the saddle.

I was worried that I'd be out there, all alone, but for the entire bike, I rode with a continuous pack of racers. The miles slowly ticked by and I was able to find a good rhythm. I had decided I wouldn't push it too hard on the bike. I was going to stay conservative. As I passed the 5 mile marker, the 10 mile marker, the 15 mile marker, I tried to stay focused, and at the same time, entertain myself. I sang in my head (Heeeeyyyy, Sexy Lady), I made small talk with the other racers, and I tried to enjoy the scenery. So far, I couldn't have asked for better race weather. It was overcast with a SLIGHT mist in the air and chilly. Absolutely perfect. As I neared the first "hill" at mile 17, I worried about how I would do. Would it wear me out? Would I slow way down? Would everyone pass me? Well thanks to the wonderful "hills" of Nashville, I was more than prepared. With only a slight raise in my heart rate, I sprinted up those hills, passing other racers. Whew! Sigh of relief. Now, just get through the miles.

At high points, I was giddy with excitement. It was amazing to be riding with people who were strangers and at the same time felt like long-lost friends. I realized that all summer when I was training at home in Nashville, they had been out there putting in the miles in their own towns. Now, they were struggling with me and I with them. At my low points I thought of my friends Sarah, Daniel and Marianna and pretended they were there riding with me, pulling me along as they had done on so many training rides.

Mile 40 came with relief. I knew I could do this. My back was starting to ache a little and I cursed my bike and wished I had a tri-specific one, but otherwise I was still in good spirits. I focused on eating and drinking, conserving my energy, and the upcoming run. As I crossed back into Georgia, I knew I was getting close. I looked forward to seeing my parents as I rounded the corner of the last turn into transition. And then, I was there.

Off the bike and into transition was a great feeling. I took my time and went ahead and changed my socks, put on my running shoes, grabbed some more food and jogged out of the run chute. I say "jogged" but it was more of a slow shuffle. My legs felt like jello. I knew that they would. The first 2 miles on the run are always the hardest for me after the bike. My butt was numb, my toes were numb and I was definitely tired. But even then, I knew I could do this. I knew I could finish.

I used the first half mile to collect myself because I knew as I came around the first corner, I'd see my parents. I wanted to look strong for them. I wanted to look like I had my shit together. Slowly, a run/walk went more to a run and found my rhythm again. The run is a flat, 2-loop course that zigzags through the streets of downtown Augusta. This is great because spectators can see you up to 6 times. This is bad because as a runner, you have to go by the finish line 3 different times before you get to finish. Talk about a buzz kill.

I started to think about my friend Becca. I imagined that she was running next to me, helping me keep a pace. When I wanted to stop and walk, I pretended she wouldn't let me. The spectators were amazing and definitely kept me going. I knew where my parents were going to be standing and it was a relief to see them every single time. At mile 4, I started to struggle. I could feel myself starting to wither a little so I ate some Chomps and grabbed a Coke from the aid station. DEAR GOD! That was the best Coke I had tasted in my life! It was just what I needed. By mile 5, I was going again.

By this time, the mist was turning into a slight drizzle. It felt good. At mile 7, there were my parents again and my mom walked with me for about 50 yards. She told me I was looking great, that my time was awesome, that they were proud of me. Exactly what I needed to hear. Time for just one more lap. ONE MORE LAP and I'd be done. I was craving food. Real food. Cracker Barrel biscuits to be exact.

Mile 8, mile 9, MILE 10... So close. I was feeling good. "Imaginary Becca" was running with me again. With 3 miles to go, the rain started to pour. I didn't care. I'd been wet all day. Honestly, I smelled like shit, so this was probably doing me some good. As I passed my parents for the second to last time I heard my mom say, "We'll see you at the finish line!". Boom. That was all it took. I was off. I looked at my watch and realized I was going to make my time... I was going to meet my goal.

Sooner than I realized, I was turning the corner into the finish line chute. The crowds were cheering, I picked up the pace and as I crossed the finish line with my hands in the air I heard, "Congratulations to Megan Willoughby! You have finished Ironman Augusta!" Damn straight.

As I look back a day later, I don't have many regrets. My goal had been to run a conservative race and finish happy. And I did. Could I have pushed it more? Probably. Could I have done my transitions faster? Definitely. But in the end, I realize I can't go back, I can only race again. I have no doubt I will do it again and do it faster. I'm sure you'll ask, "Would you do a full Ironman?" My answer: Yes. When exactly? Ask me again in a month or 2...

As a final note, I have so many people to thank for supporting me through this. To my bike training buddies, Sarah, Marianna and Daniel-- thank you for all the great rides. Thank you for being there when I wrecked, for meeting me EARLY on Saturday mornings and after work... for laughing a lot... I will miss our rides this winter. To Becca, my favorite running buddy-- thank you for joining me on so many runs, for our great talks and for always believing in me. To Lauren and William, my BFFs-- I could hear you cheering all the way from Durham! To the entire East Nasty crew-- So many of you inspire me. I am never more happy than when I'm running and training with all of you! To my co-workers-- Thank you for allowing me to train during lunch hours, for encouraging me, and for sending me off to the race with a "cheering section". To my sister Sarah and brother-in-law Clint-- thank you for always telling me how proud you are of me.

And finally, to my parents. Or my "race crew" as I like to call them. Cathy "C-Dub" Willoughby: Nutrition-Specialist, Race Course Scheduler, and Cheerleader. Mike "Pack-Mule" Willoughby: Gear Manager, Heavy-lifter, Driver and Race Photographer. From the begining, you have encouraged me, believed in me and seen me through almost every race. You have driven me hundreds of miles, waited in the bitter cold and summer heat for hours on end for me to just "pass by" and then waited some more, fed my friends, fed THEIR friends...

But mostly, you tell me you are proud of me. And you hug me.

And that's all I need to keep going.

The end.

The Way It Makes Me Feel.

2012-09-12T12:59:00.000-04:00

I am, no longer, creatively fed in the way of blogs. This has been a long time coming, really, and I'm still trying to work through it. I'm not satisfied with where the blog has taken me creatively and I am not really, if we are being honest, using it to my full advantage. In fact, I feel so stifled by blogging and blogs in general that I am feeling as though it's time for me to examine why it makes me feel the way it does and why, also, I keep allowing it to make me feel stressed out.

It's a funny thing, blogging. The reason I started blogging in the first place was mainly to document my budding relationship with my now-husband and for friends far away to be able to keep abreast of our wedding planning shenanigans. I had a fun time documenting those months, even though I look back on those posts now and see how visually awful they were. But I was oh, so thrilled to be marrying William and also very thrilled to be sharing that with the world. Now, as many of us ladies in this community probably feel, the blogging world is inundated with women who have graduated past the wedding stages... now what? Lifestyle blog.

Y'all, there are a LOT of lifestyle blogs out there. And every.single.one of them makes me feel like my life isn't enough. I feel like it's not visually appealing enough or I'm not interesting enough. I mean, there are ladies out there that post photos of the latte they drank yesterday and literally thousands of women go totally ape shit over it. You know what? THAT IS AWESOME. YOU GO ON WITH YOUR BAD SELF AND YOUR LATTE and I'm not even being SARCASTIC. Your pictures are pretty and you're talented. But I just am feeling lately like I need more than pictures.

What I'm trying to wrap my brain around right now is... why in holy hell has this been making me feel bad? I have NO REASON to feel bad. I LOVE MY LIFE. I am a happy, healthy, thirty year-old woman with a gorgeous husband, an even more gorgeous yellow house, the cutest dog in creation, and I'm the publicist for an indie record label. I live in a cool town, I have excellent friends, and a family that is just BEYOND. But maybe I just want to DO MORE. Help more people, be a better wife, a better employee, and spend less time trying to figure out how to perfectly photograph my kitchen cabinets.

Get your head out of your ass, Naurnie.

That's what I said to myself last week. I took drastic measures. I deleted my Facebook account AND my Pinterest. GASP. I know. So unlike me, Miss Social Media Addict. But it's taking up too much time. (I kept my Twitter + Instagram, though, because I didn't feel like I could go cold turkey.) I'm starting to feel like blogging is superficial, but aren't we all a bit superficial sometimes? But I don't want to be. I want to be well-rounded. And I don't want to be distracted by the "noise" anymore. I also struggle with the level of personal information I'm sharing here on the blog. Because surface things seem insincere sometimes, but I don't really want y'all to know all my shit. Realistically, I'm crazy busy with work. I'm taking ballet classes for the first time in ten years. I'm working on being a good neighbor to the incredible ones I have. My pinky toe nail is falling off. I'm getting involved in some community outreach. I have been trying to make my actual life interesting and meaningful. Not my blog life. My mentor in college (whom I still love and adore) asked me one question when I was graduating. She asked me, "What do you want out of life?" My answer was and still is, "I want it to be interesting." Blogging is seeming less interesting to me these days. Maybe I'd rather spend my time living out loud than trying to remember to write it all down or take perfect photos of it. I guess what I'm getting at is that I'm not finding the blogging community very edifying. Personal choice, I guess.

Do you care? Probably not. Why does that seem scary to share? Maybe because it's not segmented or curated or whatever-you-call-it.

But I've decided to apply the principle of my meat life here in my blog life. I will only surround myself with people I love and who love me back. You know. Those people who make me FEEL good and who I want to give love back to. Those people who are filling me with inspiration. I've cleared out my Google reader. Of course, there are some women I have come to deeply know and love. And those blogs will always remain in my reader. But I've gotten rid of 95% of it all. Oh, and I kept the music blogs. Because, well... that I could never give up. I will write about what I want to write about. Because I really just wanted to work on my writing skills anyway, which I do in the privacy of my guest room office about things y'all don't need to know about. I'm going to take the pressure off of myself to create regular content, if there is content at all.

Anyway, thanks for listenin' to me. As always.

ONWARD AND UPWARD.

Miss Naurnie Is Missing.

2012-08-23T12:40:00.002-04:00

reading. in my grandfather's robe.

I really haven't felt much like blogging lately. Not because I hate it or anything, but I have found myself wanting to experience my life and engage in it without always thinking of ways to make it into blog content. Ya know? So lately, I've been spending a lot of time with people who love me, women I adore who need an ear lent in their direction, and my husband who shamelessly will watch Here Comes Honey Boo Boo (don't judge) or Jackass or historical documentaries about the life of Christ or endless episodes of Friday Night Lights with me. I doubt you guys really need to see photos of us lounging around our living room in various states of consciousness with the dog flopped lazily in a lap. I've been busy working, attending a million events for the 84,000 weddings we have this fall, trying to incorporate a workout into my evenings, signing up for ballet classes, and I'm still working my way through the library. This weekend I'm going to Charlotte to co-host a bridal shower for my sister, and on the way home I'm going to stop in Concord, NC to see my college roommate who just had a baby. I mean, life is normal. And it's really, really good. It's busy, but awesome. And I figure y'all don't really care to see sloppy pictures of what I've been eating or wearing or anything like that. That's what Twitter is for. But if you're curious about what I'm eating, it's a lot of planned meals and last night I tried Mateo, the new tapas joint in Durham, and it was poppin' off. But in general, I just am not feeling like I've got much to share with y'all lately.

Except this: I washed my hair last night and despite looking kind of fluffy, it smells divine. And I've been wearing William's deodorant for the past two days and today I smell a little musky. Like Old Spice and my perfume.

So there you go. I hope you hang in there with me until things even out a bit.

Catch you on the flip side, when I'm feeling like blogging again. But maybe I'll keep throwing up the occasional playlist, per the request of Cara. Any and all themes accepted, if you've got suggestions to make.

xo.

A Late Summer Playlist.

2012-08-13T12:00:00.001-04:00

When the dog days of summer are upon us, I have a tendency to want to listen to sleepy, hazy music. Things that could be enjoyed while sipping on cool drinks on porches or laying in your underwear beneath a fan, slipping in and out of sleep. Songs that you could dance around to with your clothes sticking to you. Maybe they're songs that make me think of summer camp. Either way, here's a playlist for you. It includes an 80s Dylan song. I hope you enjoy these last days of summer.

Click here to listen on Spotify.

Back Porch Garden Update.

2012-08-09T11:07:00.000-04:00

Back in April, William and I spent a weekend preparing our backyard for the summer. He built boxes to house my tomatoes in an overzealous back porch gardening experiment. I bought three varieties of tomato plants, a yellow bell pepper bush, and several herbs. For three months, I watched these plants like a hawk. The old saying "a watched pot never boils" is true, and I have learned that the several green thumbs in our family cannot make plants produce fruit any faster. For three months, I was overly anxious about the state of our tomatoes. I was starting to feel like I had made a mistake by planting them; I was feeling as though I maybe should've stuck to just buying fresh 'maters at the Durham Farmer's Market. But lo and behold, they started producing. At first, it was just the cherry tomatoes that seemed prolific. Then, slowly, the other (and larger) varieties started sprouting! There are sprouts EVERYWHERE, and we've got some really beautiful tomatoes. I feel validated as a Southern woman by my ability to produce tomatoes. My tomato anxiety is gone!

The yellow bell pepper plant is healthy, although certain bugs seem to really like to eat the leaves. And it has just started producing several tiny peppers in the last two days. According to my other back porch gardening buddies, this seems on par with their plants, too.

Who knew that gardening on your back porch would be so rewarding?

Music: Peggy Sue Play the Songs of Scorpio Rising

2012-08-08T09:56:00.002-04:00

I haven't done a music post in forever, y'all. Why, you may ask? Well, there are several reasons. One being that I spend a lot of energy on those posts and feel the greatest sense of pride in sharing what I love with you, dear friends of the internets. But I don't always feel inspired to write them. They take a lot of energy and for some reason, I feel emotionally attached to my musical posts. Obviously, music is one of the areas where I feel I have the knowledge and authority to share things thoughtfully, but for some reason they are my least popular posts. Also, I work in the music business. It is how I make my living and how I spend my waking hours. Sometimes, I just don't necessarily feel up for writing MORE about music in my free time.

But I've made a decision. I'm going to try to reinstate my musical love back into this blog, because blogs are all about sharing what you love. And boy, oh boy, do I love music. I've got a backlog of things to share with you, but today, I'm starting with a band I work with, Peggy Sue.

I struggled a bit with sharing this. I have shied away from sharing music from bands I work with on the blog because I a) don't want to hurt anyone's feelings and b) don't want this blog to be constantly influenced by my work. But I could not keep this away because it's SO DAMN GOOD.

Peggy Sue. Katy, Rosa, Olly. They are an amazing group of young 'uns from England who released their last album, Acrobats, on Yep Roc last October. Please, do yourself a favor and listen to it. It's full of dark, haunting harmonies and it's creepy and it's beautiful all at the same time. In March, I drove to DC with a co-worker (and friend) of mine to see them open for First Aid Kit and they literally blew me away. (Plus, I took CEVD with me and we ended up staying out until 4 am drinking the backstage PBRs with the plastic rings still attached. Sigh.)

Next month, we are releasing their latest effort, Peggy Sue Play The Songs of Scorpio Rising in a very limited quantity. The album features 12 new arrangements of groundbreaking rock n' roll/doo wop songs from the 1963 Kenneth Anger cult classic, Scorpio Rising. Their take on these classic songs will knock your freaking socks off. So you should listen. I got a copy of the CD from them back in March and it has been a staple in my car ever since. Also, it is WILLIAM APPROVED. Below is a video for "Hit the Road Jack"... it might be my favorite if I had to pick one. But obviously picking only one ain't easy.

ENJOY.

Tomato Miso.

2012-08-07T09:41:00.001-04:00

The husband is out of town. He's gone for a few days to Maryland for a "bachelor getaway" for one of his childhood friend who is getting married next month. Even though I think my husband is the bee's freaking knees, it's always refreshing to have an entire house to yourself for a few days. You and the dog can take up the whole bed without driving someone crazy. You can read in bed with the light on and not be worried that you're keeping someone awake. If you want, you can eat cereal for dinner and watch bad TV without incurring judgement or harassment over your choice of viewing material. But instead of eating cereal for dinner, I went all out and made myself some tomato miso using this recipe. You see, the husband won't eat sea food or Asian food of any kind. (Don't ask how I ended up married to a man who hates seafood and Bob Dylan. But rest assured that he has other very redeeming qualities.)

Tonight I'll be broiling some shrimp.

William, have a safe trip. I'll see you on Thursday after I've eaten all of the Asian food and shrimp my belly can handle. I'll be happy to have you back. xo.

Family Language by the Stephens Girls.

2012-08-01T11:00:00.000-04:00

Every family has a lexicon it uses on a daily basis. You know how it goes. Children say funny things and they become integral bits of language used to communicate within the family unit. We have several we use; in fact, my nickname, Naurnie, is one of them. I feel as though our family has quite a few of these. I'm not sure if it's more or less than any other family, but I sometimes feel as though we communicate with these little bits of phrases and words that were mostly concocted by me or my sister before our brains were able to keep up with our ability to chat.

Lately, I've been noticing that some of our family vocab has made its way into pop culture. Not because of the Stephens family is plugged in, but because of pure and hilarious coincidence. Here are two such examples.

want to kidnap us? don't even think about it. we've got a password.

Family Password.

When I was a little girl, we had a family password. The password served as some sort of security detection system for our undeveloped common sense. If a friend's mom was going to pick you up at school, before you got in the car you had to ask if they knew the family password. If they didn't, NO DICE. Trust me. I was the kind of kid who followed rules EXACTLY. If you didn't know the family password, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I was getting my curly headed ass in your car, even if I knew your daughter who was already buckled into the back seat or even if I knew YOUR family password. For some reason, all of my friends had a password. Maybe there was a pamphlet sent home from school about the dangers of riding with strangers and how to prevent someone from kidnapping your child. Maybe one mother thought this up and all the other mothers jumped on the bandwagon. Either way, I'm not really sure where the passwords originated, but we all had one. Our family password? HORSE FEATHERS.

(Please note: This password is no longer in use by the Stephens family. If you want me to ride in your car, you'll have to know the NEW password.)

One day, I was digging through NPR Tiny Desk concerts on YouTube, and lo and behold? There is NOW A BAND called Horse Feathers. This is clearly a conspiracy to kidnap the Stephens girls.

Front Bottom.

Most children and their parents also have words for their private parts. Some are silly. Some are just downright funny. But another popular phrase amongst the South Highlands mothers of Shreveport, Louisiana in the late 1980s was "swimsuit area." This also spread like wildfire, much like the family passwords. You know, this is actually pretty responsible. Whatever bits your swimsuit covers are off limits. My family, however, had another term used for private parts that are exclusively found below the belt of females. The term "front bottom" was coined by my younger sister, Caroline. Obviously your bottom is in the back. What else would you call what's in the front? A FRONT BOTTOM. DUH.

I found out toady that there is ALSO a band called Front Bottom. Which I happen to find to be incredibly funny. I wonder if they did this on purpose...

Sometimes You Just Don't Feel Like Blogging.

2012-07-30T09:46:00.001-04:00

Sometimes, you don't feel like blogging. Or really, you don't feel like your life is worth blogging about. Phases, I guess. Like instead of blogging, I have been nursing a cold. Then I gave the cold to my husband, who really needs anything BUT a cold right now. He's been breaking out in hives for weeks and trying to finish up a summer class at school that is about to drive him batty. Instead of blogging, I've been driving home from work, showering, putting on pajamas, and curling up in the den to watch Friday Night Lights with the stressed out husband. We've been going to bed early. On weekends, I've been curling up with a warm dog nestled against my belly, reading library books, and taking afternoon trips to see Batman. William spends the afternoons working relentlessly on a paper. Even our house is a disaster. I've had almost no social plans and we have been cooking dinner almost every night. I guess you could say we've been homebodies. But sometimes that's ok. Sometimes that is what you need in order to get yourself back on track. I can't say that I haven't enjoyed the solitude, holing up in the Yellow House that provides a sweet refuge for me, William, and Truman. It's a good life I lead, even if it's not always photogenic or worth sharing with the world. I think I'm ready to venture out of the house, though.

See you around.

TV Watchin'.

2012-07-24T17:37:00.000-04:00

I have to admit that I am hopelessly behind on certain TV programming that everyone else seemed to catch onto years ago. In fact, I keep a list in my phone of all of the series that I intend to watch but never seem to get around to. The list is daunting, especially since most of these shows are either no longer on television, lasted a million seasons, or are in the middle of a season making it impossible to jump on the bandwagon. They're not the types of shows you can just pick up somewhere in the middle and I am also terrible at remembering what night TV shows air. I also would be perfectly happy watching reruns of the Wonder Years and Designing Women until the end of time. However, yesterday, I made a leap forward. I was home sick with what I thought was strep throat but really just turned out to be a summer cold. Aren't those the worst? Anyway, I have decided to jump into two TV shows in an effort to catch myself up with the rest of the world. So I cranked up the Netflix instant viewing and here is what I came up with:

A) Twin Peaks. I was approximately 8 years old when this show started, so I was not aware of how awesome it was until Jamie suggested I watch it yesterday. I watched the pilot episode while eating tomato soup on my couch and now I am hooked. William, on the other hand, is NOT hooked so I will have to watch this without him.

B) Friday Night Lights. Lord, I never thought in a million years that I would watch a show about football of all things. Everyone kept telling me to watch it, and I kept resisting. But I've caved, and come to find out, you don't have to know jack shit about football to get hooked on this one. William loves this. We watch these together and are 4 episodes into the first season.

Other shows on my ever-growing list are: Mad Men, Downton Abbey, Breaking Bad, and Shameless from Showtime.

What are your faves? Anything that should be on the list that I'm missing?

Shit My Mom Buys.

2012-07-19T20:01:00.000-04:00

A couple of years ago, William and I were driving back to Durham from a weekend spent at my parents' house. As we were cruising up I-85, I was reading blogs on my phone and I came across this post by one of my all time favorite bloggers, Gracie of Woolgathering and Miscellany. I read the entire post out loud to him in the car, both of us laughing uncomfortably, unsure of if it was supposed to be funny or not. As bloggers go, Gracie has mastered the art of the uncomfortably funny, sharing these intimate glimpses into her life and her psyche, keeping me rolling in laughter, sometimes making my heart sink to my shoes. The line between the two is often blurred; that confusion is one of my favorite emotions.

Two years later, Gracie and her buddy Katrin, the illustrator behind Mischief Champion, have created an illustrated magazine of the "shit Gracie's mom buys" mostly from QVC. It arrived in the mail last night just as we were headed out for dinner. In true form, I read it out loud to William in the car. It only seemed appropriate.

If you haven't ordered one yet, you should.

Music: The Kills Cover Fleetwood Mac.

2012-07-18T15:14:00.000-04:00

I am so late sharing this with y'all. I mean... I don't know how else my musical dreams could have collided to produce anything better than this. I spend the majority of the time trying to figure out how to constantly dress as some sort of twisted combination of Alison Mosshart and Stevie Nicks (at which I have failed miserably). But as most of you probably know, there is a Fleetwood Mac tribute album on the way to a record store near you on August 14. While it includes covers of the seminal 1970s rock band from many a current artist, none can top this cover of "Dreams" done exceptionally well by none other than The Kills. I have obsessively been listening to this for a week. Now I'm getting around to sharing it with you. Listen below.

You're welcome.

Beasts of the Southern Wild.

2012-07-17T09:44:00.000-04:00

The thing is, my little Delta heart needs to see this movie. I believe I will see it on Friday. I'll probably cry.

Weekend Ritual.

2012-07-16T09:41:00.000-04:00

Ever since we finally furnished our front living room, I've found myself spending more and more time in there. The morning light is really gorgeous. Since I'm normally at work during the morning hours, I've taken to spending most of my weekend mornings curled up on the end of the couch with a cup of coffee and my book du jour. I tend to wake up before William on weekends; I pad bleary-eyed into the kitchen in my bare feet and t-shirt and start the coffee. I sit at the breakfast room table quietly until it's done perking. I fill my mug and move to the living room with book and coffee in hand. Truman typically joins me, preferring to sprawl out on the floor and warm himself in a splendidly sunny spot or curling up in the crook of my leg. I spend at least an hour reading until the husband decides to wake up. Wouldn't it be wonderful if every morning started this way?

What are your weekend morning rituals?

Also, my current reading selection: Satan Is Real: The Ballad of the Louvin Brothers. I highly recommend for country music fans everywhere.

Eats: Eggs. Tomatoes. Chilies In Adobo Sauce.

2012-07-12T15:17:00.000-04:00

Eggs are a regular dietary staple in the Yellow House. The Bransons love 'em some eggs. Last week, we found ourselves in an egg surplus. You see, I grocery shop on a weekly basis and always come home with a dozen brown eggs. So last weekend, I purchased my normal dozen since the carton that was currently inhabiting our fridge had only three remaining. Then, my mother-in-law went to Whole Foods where they were having a buy one dozen, get a second dozen free sale. So of course, she just brought the extra dozen over to our house. That makes 27 eggs, y'all. That's a lot. So I felt compelled to come up with some way to use every stinkin' one of them there eggs before they went bad. Last night, I made a concoction. I Instagrammed what I was up to. And then I got about 7 emails and several comments asking for a recipe. So here I am to share it with you. We shall call them "Naurnie's Tex Mex Eggs."

wanna instagram together? follow me @naurnie.

Ingredients:
a couple of teaspoons of olive oil
4 garlic cloves, chopped
1 cup chopped yellow onion (about one small onion)
1 cup of chopped green bell pepper (I used spinach last night since we were out of bell pepper)
chilies in adobo sauce
2 cans of whole peeled tomatoes in juice
salt n' pepa
8 large eggs

Here is what you do:
Heat your olive oil up in a sauté pan on medium heat. When the oil is heated, add garlic, onions, and chilies and cook for approximately one minute or until the garlic is golden. Add your bell peppers; cook for a couple of minutes. Add both cans of tomatoes with the juice, stir well, and season with salt n' pepper. Cook the tomatoes for 15-20 minutes. Don't forget to stir it sometimes so it doesn't burn on the bottom of the pan. That's gross. Also, as the tomatoes get softer, you can break them up a bit with your spoon. When the concoction has thickened up a bit, turn the heat to low. Carefully crack 8 eggs over the top, cover, and let it cook for about 10 minutes. When the egg whites are cooked and the yolk is still runny, it's time for you to eat. Dish it out in some bowls, and throw some cheese on top. Last night we used Parmesan because that's what was in the fridge, but I assume goat cheese would also be tasty. Or some good cheddar.

Notes from the cook:
You want to make sure that the egg whites are cooked the whole way through. Why, you ask? Well, nobody wants to eat "sloppy, slimy eggs." Thank you, Jesco White, for that bit of wisdom. Also, last night we used spinach instead of bell pepper. I didn't sauté that; instead I just cooked it in with the tomatoes for a few minutes before adding the eggs on top. I also accidentally used almost an entire can of those chilies and nearly burned my husband's mouth slap up. I would recommend only using a couple.

Boner Ape Tit, y'all.

Smutty Book Club Discussion: I'm With the Band.

2012-07-11T06:30:00.000-04:00

Well, pals, the time has come for our monthly Smutty Book Club discussion. I hope you've all read I'm With the Band and are up to date on the escapades of one Miss Pamela Des Barres. Personally, I thoroughly enjoyed the book. What can be better than getting an inside scoop on your favorite rock n' rollers at the height of rock star amazing-ness? Not much, I say. Not much. I mean, Lord knows I can't resist Captain Beefheart, Gram Parsons, the Rolling Stones, and Waylon Jennings and I often times feel as though I missed on a generation that I would have fit into like a glove. I do so appreciate her affinity for Cosmic American Music. Although, I will say that Miss Pamela and I often have taste in opposing band members. Chris Hillman? REALLY, Pamela? I spoke with Jemina today and asked her to send me her thoughts on the book so we could start the discussion. (Side note: We were originally going to film ourselves talking about this book while Jem was visiting last month. This did not work out. Y'all have missed out on my Mick Jagger impression.) The following is what I received from her.

From the desk of Jemina G. Boyd, who went to town inhaling a giant pickle while writing this to get in the spirit of groupie-dom:

Let me first state that in comparison to 50 Shades of Grey, this book was an infinitely better choice for the Smutty Book Club. Who doesn't want to read about drunken make-out sessions with Jim Morrison, or the sexual prowess of Mick Jagger? Pamela Des Barres did many a curious voyeur regarding the 60's a service with this memoir. She wasn't afraid to spill the beans about who was (and sometimes wasn't) an animal in the sack, but also shared some of the incredibly painful relationships she entered into during that time. Much of her early 20's was plagued by pining away for Chris Hillman (of The Byrds fame) when she should've been all up on Gram, a-bokay?

Perhaps most importantly, the book shows how powerful keeping a journal can be - do you think her coked up self would've remembered half of the book's details without them? I daresay not. I would definitely recommend this book to anyone who's ever wanted to be a groupie but didn't want to contract venereal disease.

We also found it of great import to share with you her "sex list" lest you read the book a month ago and have since forgotten about all of her escapades. Here goes: Captain Beefheart (just a hand job), Davy Jones's stand-in on The Monkees (felt up her tits), Bobby Beausoleil (of Manson Family fame), Jim Morrison (made out extensively while huffing Trimar, that stuff that set the lake on fire in A Civil Action), Jimi Hendrix's bass player (almost relieved her of her virginity), Nick St. Nicholas (Steppenwolf bassist, SUCCESSFULLY relieved her of her virginity), Frank Zappa (who hired her to babysit his kids), Tiny Tim (okay, they just played miniature hockey and ate candy bars, and he gave her the nickname "Miss Pamela"), everybody in the Flying Burrito Brothers EXCEPT Gram Parsons (which sent her into a brief religious mania), Jimmy Page, Mick Jagger (he also tried to get a three-way with her and Michelle Phillips the night after Altamont), Waylon Jennings, Robert Plant, Keith Moon, and… Don Johnson (who she cheated on with Keith Moon).

Either way, Miss Jemina and I have decided to pose some questions for you here on the ol' blog. Please post your answers in the comments and we will post ours alongside yours. Then we can really get down to brass tacks about the groupie scene.

Questions:
1. Transport yourself (in your mind) to the era in which Miss Pamela was doing her rock + roll hootchie coo. Would you have been a groupie?
2. If you answered yes to the above and didn't have to worry about catching cooties, which rock + roller would be on the receiving end of your... groupie services?
3. Do you think groupies exist today? Why or why not? Have they been replaced by models/actresses who have better access to musicians?
4. Miss Pamela says that she has no regrets re: her past groupie life. If you had the same life experiences, would you have any regrets?
5. Was anyone else unaware that the 14-year-old "Melanie" that Don Johnson was having an affair with was Melanie Griffith? (Naurnie wants to know. She had to Wikipedia that mess.)
6. Jimmy Page - a pedophile. Discuss.
7. What did you think about Miss Pamela's one-sided involvement with these men?

8. Last but not least - You're a famous rock star. What instrument do you play, and would you take groupies up on their offerings?

A Hurricane In Lipstick.

2012-07-10T14:30:00.000-04:00

Miss Wanda Jackson. What in the world will she do next? First, she cuts am excellent record with Jack White at the helm, reinstating herself as the First Lady of Rock n' Roll. Now, she's releasing a new one called Unfinished Business on October 9 with Mr. Justin Townes Earle as the producer. That woman is brilliant. The Queen of Rockabilly. Country music's first sex symbol. She will turn 75 in October, as well, and shows no signs of slowing. That voice sounds just as good she did when she was a young un', and it's even better live. Trust me. Just goes to show that when you take care of yourself, you can be a "hurricane in lipstick" for as long as you like. At least, that's what Bob Dylan calls her.

Get excited, y'all.