Make Me Whole Once Again...

This song really speaks to me right now. but let me clarify. Yes- it is a Nick Lachey song. No- this does not tell my story because Jessica Simpson just left me and I want a new girlfriend. Pretend this song is about my life and having hunger for what is holy, merciful, graceful, life changing, spirtually empowering, and good- God. When I am driving around my beautiful little city with the windows down, singing out lound with Nick, I am not singing to some other fallen person, I am singing to Jesus. Enjoy.

Watch my life, Pass me by, In the rear view mirror

Pictures frozen in time are becoming clearer

I don't wanna waste another day stuck in the shadow of my mistakes

Because I want you, and I feel you,crawling underneath my skin

Like a hunger, like a burning, to find a place I've never been

Now I'm broken and I'm faded, I'm half the girl I thought I would be

But you can have what's left of me

I've been dying inside little by little

No where to go but going out of my mind in endless circles

Running from my self until

You gave me a reason for standing still

It's falling faster, Barely breathing,

Give me something, To believe in

Tell me: It's not all in my head

Take what's left Of this shell

Make me whole once again

I've been dying inside you see

I'm going out of my mind, Out of my mind

I'm just running in circles all the time

Will you take what's left?

Will you take what's left of me?

Make me whole once again.

The Boots

Here is yet another side-splitting tale from the Chrissy Crypt. Please enjoy with a nice cup of tea while you sloth around in your home on a lazy Sunday in your over-sized warn sweats. It is that kind of a read:

The Boots
(A true story lived and retold by Chrissy Logue and Erica Ronhovde)

In his usual fashion, Dr. Nelson was vague about what his students needed to wear for the day's field study in the San Juan Islands (where he was teaching his annual summer school for Seattle Pacific University). Everybody, including his hottest, sexiest, smartest students, Erica and Chirssy, had no mud boots which were apparently necessary for the day's events. So Dr. Nelson drug a pair of rubber boots from the campus dive shack for the students to fight over once the had arrived at their destination for the day.

As the rock-tattered university van approached the marina, Blakely Island's one gleam of civilization, it was down to Erica and Chrissy for the use of the boots. The girls decided to take to the boots along for the boat ride, and they would decide who would get to use them later. Several miles of frigid wind and half a sun burn later, the boat arrived at Spencer Spit, the area of study for the day. The girls had yet to decide what to do with the boots, and looking at the sight, wondered if they would even need the boots after all. The final decision was to set the boots on the crest of the spit in front of the boat, so they could access the boots had they approached terrain requiring them.

The spit was small and uneventful, and Dr. Nelson drug the class over every square inch of it discussing everything from crabs to pickleweed exhaustively and inefficiently for for over 3 hours. By the end of it all, Erica and Chrissy were starving and ready to get back on the boat, as well as the rest of the class. Everybody slothed of board, and as Dr. Nelson directed all four of them to specific boating duties, they shoved off the pathetic excuse for a "biology adventure." As the boat slowly turned back toward the mouth of the bay, the crest of the shrinking spit slid into view with a surprising sight.

The flat slit of the spit horizon was so ungracefully adorned with big, black, awkwardly abandoned boots. Breaking the horizon with their synthetic shape, one boot stood, and one lie on it's side as they silently sent out their victim cries of SOS. Spotting the intrusion crowning the beach, the girls looked wide-eyed at one another in dumbfounded bewilderment. It was too late, and quite frankly too embarrassing to point them out and attempt retrieval. Laughing and fearful of the discovery of the boots MIA, the girls sat as calmly as possible as the boat sped away from the spit that would soon be gone under the rising tide, freeing the captive boots forever.

Another song to shame my name... and my hair color.

It is most likely a curse that I am blonde and that my name is Chrissy. I recently heard a song that REALLY puts my name to shame. The lyrics are below. Wraning: not for the faint at heart- it is pretty much soft-core porn. The song is "Fuck the pain away" by the Peaches. Gag me quick, I only had stomach enough to post the relevant section of the lyrics:

Suckin' on my titties like you wanted me,
Callin me, all the time like blondie
Check out my chrissy behind
It's fine all of the time
Like sex on the beaches,
What else is in the teaches of peaches? huh? what?

Meet Blondie

My new little set of wheels... a SLIGHT upgrade. I would honestly like to know however, who the hell makes that color leather, let alone buy it... BA! And kudos to Parris, who names all of my cars. So everybody, say hello to Blondie, the newest member of the "fam" (wink wink Leslie).

Trixy's Obituary

Trixy Volkswagen Logue was born in the summer of 2001 and grew up under the care of Chrissy Logue, her first and only owner for 5 happy years. She lived in Hillsboro Oregon most of her life, and her last years where spent exploring the streets of Seattle Washington. On April 22, 2006 at 12:40 in the afternoon, Trixy's life quickly and suddenly ended when she was blindly t-boned at the intersection of 4th W Ave and Barret Street on Queen Anne Hill. The entire back end of her passenger side was smashed, the airbags deployed, and her back right end was also demolished as she spun 270 degrees into a car on the other side of the street. Trixy was a good, active car who enjoyed helping others, traveling, and long walks on the beach. Although her life was tragically cut short, she lead a full life, was loved by those who knew her and will be missed.

Scandinavia

Ok so I have a newfound pride in my genetic roots thanks to Carl, with a C because it's the best letter in the alphabet, Hagen. My blonde, Scandinavian, meat-heat of a friend speaks 4 languages and has immigrant parents with crazy connections pretty much all over the place. Not only is he all-up-on's about his homeland- he makes it virtually impossible for me to not have some serious blonde Scandinavian pride. True, I also have quite a bit of German, but who cares- blonde pride bitches! My eyes have been opened to naked saunas, Swiss bank accounts, and "porridge" of all things. (by the way- it's oatmeal you foreigner! I kid I kid.) Have I sparked your deep inner passions to delve deep into all that is Scandinavian? Good- here is a link.

http://www.goscandinavia.com/

Deep Breath..... .

Goodbye, no use leading with our chins,
this is where our story ends,
Never lovers ever friends.

Goodbye, let our hearts call it a day,
but before you walk away,
I sincerely want to say...

I wish you bluebirds in the spring, to give your heart a song to sing,
And then a kiss, but more than this,
I wish you love.

And in July a lemonade to cool you in some leafy glade,
I wish you health, and more than wealth,
I wish you love.

My breaking heart and I agree that you and I could never be,
So with my best, my very best,
I set you free.

I wish you shelter from the storm, a cozy fire to keep you warm,
But, most of all, when snowflakes fall,
I wish you love.

-courtesy Frank Sintra