Baby, I love you. But if you do that one more goddamn time, I’m going to scratch you with my toenails.

The other day, The Lawyer and I were watching Jersey Girl.

(What? Jersey Girl was a GOOD MOVIE. Why did everyone hate on that movie so hard? On that note, why does everyone hate on Ben Affleck so hard? HE CO-WROTE GOOD WILL HUNTING, DAMN IT. AND KEVIN SMITH LIKES HIM, SO YOU SHOULD, TOO.)

Sorry, I’ll stop yelling now.

Anyhooter, we were watching the part where B. Aff’s character, Ollie, and his fatass pregnant wife Gertrude (played by J.Lo) are getting ready for an important something-or-other for Ollie’s job. Ollie is trying to get the two of them out the door in a timely manner and Gertie is just not having that shit. No ma’am. She’s pregnant. She’s enormous. She can’t poop. She has a motherfucking PERSON practicing kickboxing in her uterus. She wants. To. Cry. And do anything but leave the house, but she has to support her husband.

Ollie consoles her, while gently reminding her that they need to go. Like, now. Gertie, through tears, complies and says, “Just one more minute,” and runs to the bathroom to fix her makeup.

It’s at this moment that Ollie does that thing that, apparently, all men do behind their girlfriends’/wives’/hos’/boyfriends’/trannys’ backs: the “boyfriend cringe,” as Lawyerman called it. They do some kind of thing with their clenched fists in the air while looking extraordinarily annoyed. The kind of thing one reserves for times of great disdain. Sadly, I can’t illustrate this because, apparently, Googling “Jersey Girl movie boyfriend cringe gif” does not yield desirable results for this blog post.

Who knew?

But you know what I’m talking about, anyway.

Since The Lawyer mentioned it, I asked.

“Do you do that behind my back often?”

“Define . . . often . . .”

I thought about all the times in which I could have annoyed The Lawyer to the point of gesturing violently and wanting to silently throttle me as I slept.

“Once a week?”

“Well, if once a week is often, then yeah. Pretty often.”

-Record scratch-

“Wait, WHAT?”

I couldn’t imagine that I could ever be that annoying. Surely, I’m not! I thought. He annoys me way, way more than I annoy him! He’s perpetually annoying!!! HOW DARE HE!!!!

“What do I do that’s so annoying?” I implored.

“Well, I can’t really think of anything in particular right now.”

WRONG ANSWER.

Dudes. Don’t tell us we annoy you often and then not be able to back it up with examples. That’s just bad form.

Finally, after much prodding from yours truly, he came up with ONE thing he could think of that annoyed him on the reg.

You know those salt and pepper grinders you buy from the grocery sto’ . . . the ones that have lids on them . . . kinda like this?

The Lawyer and I use these to season our food. When we cook dinner at home, I usually serve myself first because 1) WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST, BITCHES, AND I’M BOTH and 2) I’m always hawngriest because I heart food and NOMNOMNOM and 3) he is extremely slow in putting his food on the damned plate already.

So what annoys Lawyerman about LRC?

It annoys him that I leave the lids off the salt and pepper grinders.

I LEAVE.

THE LIDS OFF.

FOR HIM.

SO HE CAN USE THEM.

ON HIS FOOD.

WITHOUT BEING BOTHERED TO TAKE THE CAP OFF AGAIN.

I can’t think of a more ridiculous thing to be annoyed by.

And now, you ask, what annoys ME about The Lawyer?

He corrects me. On everything. Even when he’s wrong.

Except I do the cringe/arms flailing/IMMA MURDER YO ASS face right in front of him, instead of behind his back.

Because I want him to be prepared for the middle-of-the-night throttling.

So tell me, bloglings (no, really, tell me. I’m curious). What is it that your current or former significant other does/did that makes/made you go ABSOLUTELY INSANE?

What do/did you do to a current/former significant other that causes/caused grave annoyance?

Irritation

I’ll spare you any poeticism or whimsy I may have otherwise included in this post and just get right down to business.

I’m irritated.

With the New York situation.

I’m irritated that he’s not here.

That he was gone for a week, back for two days, and now gone for two weeks again. I’m irritated that the bulk of our contact with each other has consisted of random picture messages with little to no meaning. That he hasn’t been calling back when he said he would. That the frequency of his calls and texts is dwindling as the days pass.

That he could already be back but he’s chosen to wait a bit longer. That he’s apparently not as anxious to see me as I am to see him.

I’m irritated that I’m stuck here in Small Town USA hanging out with my cats and watching American Idol because all my other friends are too busy while he is in NYC with all his friends and plenty of shit to do.

I’m irritated that it seems I’ve been relegated to a secretary of sorts—checking his mail, watering his plants, shipping a package to him, and apparently serving as an Allergist Referral Service.

But you know what I am most irritated about? I’m irritated that I have no fucking clue how to deal with it.

He hasn’t wronged me or intentionally hurt my feelings. He’s really done nothing wrong. These things I’m doing for him? Are totally voluntary (except the Allergist Referral one—no, NY, I don’t know any good fucking allergists in this area, and you know damned well how to use Google). I’m being a good friend. I would expect nothing less from him if the tables were turned.

Then why do I feel like such a fucking pushover?

I love doing things for people. I’ve established this. Nothing breaks my heart more than disappointing someone. And if I needed help with something, I’m quite certain he’d have no problem offering it to me. I just haven’t asked him for help with anything.

I’m kinda curious to see how he’d react if I did ask for help with something. Now, don’t get me wrong. I hate games. But I just want to be sure I’m right about him—that he does want to do right by me and isn’t just using me for whatever mundane tasks he needs completed while he’s away.

Any ideas on something I should ask him to bring back for me, New Yorkers? Something unique to NYC? If he goes out of his way to get something for me that I have requested, then my doubts will be squashed. I figure it’s worth a shot.

But, I’m still fucking irritated.

I gotta P

The lovely, hilarious, and beautiful brookem over at Skrinkering Hearts did one of those posts where you are assigned a letter of the alphabet and then you have to blog about ten things you love starting with that letter. I wanted to participate, so brookem assigned me with the letter P. If you want to participate, leave me a note in the comments and I’ll assign a letter to you. Fun fun!

10 Things That Make LRC’s Life That Much More Enjoyable, Beginning With The Letter P

1. Purring. Those of you who are cat lovers can attest to this—there is nothing more soothing than the sound of a cat purring in your ear. Especially when kitty has that look of contentment on her face, eyes closed and an expression that you’d swear was a smile, if only cats could smile (pictured below). My kitty, Pepper (yep, that’s her in the picture!) is the BEST at purring and snuggling. She has it down to a fine art. I’m one who has to have a low, constant buzzing noise to go to sleep (box fan, let’s elope) and Pepper’s purring soothes me to sleep almost immediately.
2. Photography. This has become a hobby of mine over the past year, since I got my current job and hence inherited the task of handling a big, fancy DSLR camera. The one I use is pictured below. I want to purchase one of my own someday (D90, I’m looking at you), but right now it’s just not in the budget. Thanks, Murray, for leaving me with a mortgage I can’t afford. You’re super! I recently went to a photography class so I could figure out how the eff to use the damn thing. I’m still pretty green at this, but one day I hope to improve and who knows, maybe I can make a side job out of it, photographing events and such. Right now, though? It’s just a hobby.
3. Pearls. They’re just so classy and timeless to me. I love them in any size or color. I’ve begun my own collection; I just can’t stop. My attire can seem a bit stuffy sometimes, what with the cardigans and argyle that can be found in abundance in my wardrobe, but I just love the classic look. Pearls just seem to complement my clothes nicely. Boys: no pearl necklace jokes here, mmkay?
4. Pretzels. Almost every time I go to the mall I get one of those gigantic, greasy, salt-covered pretzels from Auntie Anne’s and devour it in one sitting with a little tub of cream cheese. I don’t care how many calories these things pack. They’re just too damned good for it to matter. And none of that sugary shit. I want my pretzel with big ol’ fat grains of salt all over it. Bring it.
5. Photoshop. I use this on a daily basis, for work and personal use alike. I’m no expert, but I’ve done my fair share of photo editing and illustration in my day. Those of you who use it know exactly why I’m singing its praises. Shit is AWESOME. You can take a totally crappy picture and fix it up. I always make sure to cover up blemishes and shine on people’s faces in photos. I never go too overboard with it (you don’t want the person to look freakish or not like themselves), but it’s great to be able to fix those little imperfections so you have a nice looking photograph. Also, the Pioneer Woman has some SUH-WEET Photoshop actions you can download. “Boost” is a gift from heaven.
6. Puppies. If you don’t like puppies, you have no soul and should probably leave my blog now. I don’t think I want to know you.(from CuteOverload.com)
7. Pulp Fiction. This is one of my favorite movies of all time. It’s so quotable. Most memorable scenes include: Vincent (John Travolta) accidentally shooting that guy’s head off, the infamous dance scene (I can’t check to see if that is a good video or not since I’m at work and YouTube is blocked, so I’m just gonna trust Google), the scene where Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) has the wallet that says “Bad Mother Fucker” on it, the Christopher Walken watch-stuck-up-my ass scene, Jules’ monologue about “laying vengeance upon thee”, the Mia Wallace drug overdose scene . . . I mean, I could go on and on. But I won’t. But I do watch Pulp Fiction pretty much every time it comes on television.
8. Playlists. I love making playlists for EVERYTHING. When I’m working out, when I’m cooking, when I feel like singing, when I feel like DANCING, when I feel like hating men, when I’m feeling sullen, when I feel like chicken tonight (again, at work—can’t check the link) . . . I just love having music to fit my mood. Life’s better with music. Try to disagree with me. (Yes, I actually do have a playlist called “I Feel Like Chicken Tonight.”)
9. Porch Sittin’. In my area of the South, it’s sunny and warm about 632 days of the year (I might be making that figure up) and I love sittin’ (not sitting) on the porch and knocking back a few twelve ouncers while the sun sets and that gentle breeze brushes my skin. Relaxation at its finest.
10. Peen. Duh. I’ve you’ve been reading this blog for more than five minutes you know what a nymphomaniac I am. I can’t get enough of the sausage. You know what I’m talking about—that sweet man meat.

All images were stolen from various sources, so sorry if I stole one of yours. Remember, if you want to participate, tell me in the comments and I’ll assign you a letter.

I’d love to see my Google Analytics after this one

Topics of discussion on gchat with Andy today:

• Steve Jobs
• The Dark Knight
• Blue balls vs. pooping in terms of importance (not as in, which should I take care of first—no, no. We discussed which was more newsworthy)
• Trans fats
• Jennifer Aniston
• Naked teens
• Robot sex
• Throwing away Christmas gifts from relatives
• PMS/Bloating
• Wagering on someone’s death (Andy’s co-workers actually do this)
• The abstract nature of happiness and love and how our perspective distorts our hopes for both
• Pooping in the river
• Purses made out of cat fur
• Medicaid reimbursement rates for rural hospitals
• E-Penis
• Dog farts
• Analog to digital conversion
• What does Edward do when Bella is on the rag (Related topic: Oxygen content of period blood)
• Actual topics of relevancy

OK, that last one was a lie.

We clearly have too much time on our hands. Although, we did manage to cover a myriad of topics in a relatively short period of time. You know what that means—we got SKILLS.

Either that, or we’re slightly retarded.

Just a little service I provide

I’ve been doing some thinking lately about why I blog. Why I choose to share what I share, and withhold what I withhold.

When I returned to blogging around October of 2007 (previously I’d had several personal websites and a LiveJournal, on and off, since about 1996—when I was THIRTEEN. Literary masterpieces, my first “blogs” were not), it was mostly just to share my interesting and comical thoughts (although, how “interesting” or “comical” these thoughts were is debatable). I had become bored at work and needed something to fill all the moments in my workday after I’d checked Facebook and MySpace eleventy bajillion times, after I’d finished my work and there was little to occupy my time.

I was in a relationship with Murray at the time, and while I did blog about things related to him, our relationship was not the focus of my blog. I started out at Blogger, then moved to WordPress a few months later, deciding that it was the superior of the two. I used my first name and Murray’s first name (although I switched to using only his first initial upon my move to WP), and would only post photos of myself periodically.

One day, not long after the breakup with Murray, when checking my blog’s stats, I got a sinking feeling that my privacy was about to be compromised. I made the impulsive decision to close the blog and open a new one, and only told those in my gmail contact list about it.

This is that blog. I named it Long Red Cape after a song about letting go of something you had been holding onto for far too long. Not only was I in love with the song, but I thought its meaning was very fitting for the phase of life I had just entered. Moving on. Letting go.

Through blogging, I have “met” throngs of amazing women and men, and I’m grateful for the experience I’ve gotten through all of this.

When I look at my entries that garner the most attention—higher stats, more comments, longer and more emotionally-driven comments—are the ones that relate to my dating life, post-breakup.

While I don’t write this blog for my readers, I also don’t do it JUST for me.

That being said, I think one of the things that makes my blog unique is the theme it has adopted as the months have passed (almost six months since the breakup! CRAZY! Seems like five minutes ago I was writing the five month post) is this: dating in a small town.

You may be thinking, Whoop-De-Fucking-Doo, LRC. Congratulations. I don’t give a shit.

I know many of you who read inhabit large cities. I live in a town of less than 20,000.

Dating in a small town? Is some TOUGH SHIT.

Do you know how hard it is to hang out with someone ONCE and then find out the next week everyone is talking about how you are in a relationship with that person?

So all the crazy stuff that has been happening to me has largely been the result of living and dating in a small town. Because Murray? And BE? And New York? And even Adam?

Yeah, they all know each other.

For example, the other night, after drunkenly giving NY my number and probably being more flirtatious than usual, I saw Murray, and he said, “So, I saw you talking to [NY] . . .”

Me: “Yeah . . .” (thinking: NONE OF YOUR DAMNED BUSINESS, HOLMES.)

And the other night when I was out with NY? One of his friends said, “I see your car over at [name of intersection] sometimes, who lives there?”

Me: “Um . . . [BE]’s parents.” He asked me this RIGHT IN FRONT OF NY.

So, uh, don’t be surprised if the craziness continues. Because I am in like with two boys right now, and I hope, for my sake and theirs, that the shit does not hit the fan.

In NY-related news (you seem to all like him so this should make you happy): we hung out again on Friday night, and I actually did sleep in his bed. Still no sex, which is the way I want it to be, but there are times when we’re getting hot and heavy on the couch that I am thinking GOD WHY DON’T YOU JUST RIP MY CLOTHES OFF ALREADY. He doesn’t snore, which is fantastic, because I have a hard time getting to sleep when it sounds like someone is choking on a windmill. I cooked dinner for him last night and we played Scrabble.

Can I just say? I LOVE THAT HE WANTED TO PLAY SCRABBLE WITH ME. I always feel like I’m being an imposition on someone if I ask them to play a game with me. Most guys I date, do not play games (well, not games like SCRABBLE anyway . . . they play MIND GAMES. Totes different). I ended up conceding because he was ripping me a new one.

I actually think he might be too smart for me. He writes shit. Shit that gets published. He has a very quick wit. And he has a phenomenal vocabulary.

And I? I write this little blog that is basically just a dump for my brain and emotions. Not exactly on the same level as his stuff, as I have read some things he has written (GOOGLE = MY BOYFRIEND).

I know this sounds bad,  but I’m not used to being the less intelligent one. It’s not that I need to feel smarter than the other person to feel in control. It’s not that at all. I LIKE smart guys. They TURN ME ON.

I just feel uncomfortable if I’m unable to communicate with someone on a higher level than myself. I think things like, “Does he think I’m just another one of those cute, dumb girls who has gotten through life on her looks alone?” I mean, I know I’m no beauty queen, but I have felt judged on my looks before. People think that since I’m young and cute, that I can’t possibly know anything about life, because things have just been handed to me.

I didn’t mean for this to turn into a long-winded rant on feeling pigeonholed, because I really don’t feel like that most of the time. I guess I’m just not used to being the less intelligent one.

BUT. That doesn’t stop me from being SERIOUSLY IN LIKE with NY. He makes me giggle, and he gives me the WHOOSH feeling when think about kissing him.

—–

In other news, Ashley of Turquoise Ribbons gave me this lovely award:

The award says: “This blog invests and believes in proximity” (meaning, that blogging makes us ‘close’-being close through proxy). These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbon of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers!

So here are the folks I’m passing it on to:

One Step at a Time

Skrinkering Hearts

Little Spoon

Start spreadin’ the newwwwwwwssss, I’m leavin’ todaayyyyyy

Still not talking about you-know-who.

My dating life has taken an interesting turn as of late. Due to a recent weekend with my girl cousins (I seriously have the best family EVER), I consumed what had to have been bucketfuls of Coors Light and brazenly gave a boy my number, written on the back of my business card.

I don’t really know why I did it (OK yeah, I do. It was the Coors Light. And he was obviously into me. Flattery. It will get you everywhere). I wasn’t all that interested in him. He’s good-looking, but not in the traditional Oh My God I Must Fuck You Now way that BE is (DANGIT I didn’t even go two paragraphs without mentioning him. GET OUT OF MY BRAIN, BE). He’s more non-traditionally attractive, one of those guys that wears plaid shirts and dark jeans with his low-top sneakers and listens to Velvet Underground and owns a Macbook and drives an old Volvo because he really doesn’t give two shits about his method of transportation.

Not to be TOO specific, or anything . . .

Anyhoodsterpoot, I kinda forgot all about it, so I was surprised to hear from him on Tuesday. He wanted to take me to a movie on Thursday, but when he found out about my wide open social calendar (I’m awesome), he bumped it to Wednesday.

Our phone conversation was awkward at first, because he hadn’t really thought about what he was going to say, and I wasn’t expecting to hear from him, so we were both acting a tad strange.

Despite that, I was looking forward to our “date” (OH MY GOD A REAL, ACTUAL DATE. ONE THAT DOESN’T INVOLVE DRUNKEN SEX).

(Not that there’s anything WRONG with drunken sex. Because there TOTALLY ISN’T.)

By the way, I’m calling him New York, because that is where he has lived for the past ten years. Just FYI.

So I did what any self-respecting single woman would do. I Google Stalked him. And I found out some very interesting tidbits of information about him.

New York? Was in this movie. Which I have not seen, so I don’t know how big his actual part was. I know you’re going to go try to figure out which cast member he is. Don’t even lie. I’ll give you a hint: he’s not “uncredited.”

He has his own IMDb page. HOW FREAKING SWEET IS THAT?

I resisted the urge to ask him, “Oh my God, so do you like, KNOW Michael Cera?!?!?” because that would automatically deduct 27 cool points from my repertoire. And I just can’t be thowin’ away cool points like that.

And also, I don’t want him to know I Google Stalked him. Because not only would that deduct cool points, it would ADD crazy points.

So, the date. We went to see the new Bond movie, which was better than I expected it to be. Conversation flowed much more easily than it had over the phone, which was good. I didn’t feel awkward around him like I thought I might. He’s reserved, which is not what I’m used to, so I thought I’d have to do most of the talking (which I totally do anyway). Surprisingly, he had a lot to contribute. He’s smart, cultured, well-read. Well-mannered and considerate. His house was clean and charming.

And we totally made out on his couch like teenagers for like twenty minutes.

Which was nice. Different. But mostly in a good way.

He didn’t try to get me into bed, which was refreshing. I give the date a solid eight out of ten.

I did feel attraction to him (obvi, or else I wouldn’t have macked on him), but I’m not feeling the big fireworks. Yet. Although, when I got a text yesterday I was surprised at my disappointment that it wasn’t him.

So I texted him post-drinks/appetizers/trivia with my mom to tell him I’d had a good time, and to thank him.

A couple hours passed, and he texted me back.

“Same here. What are you up to?”

We went back and forth for a few minutes and we ended up watching the GT vs. Miami game (side note: GO JACKETS) at a local pub, then going back to his place for a nightcap.

More mackage.

It was better this time, but I think the overall conversation/vibe was better on our date the night before. I ended up being far too sleepy to drive home, so I slept on his couch, and again, he did not try to bed me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I can be a sex FIEND. But I’m not making the same mistake I made with BE . . . getting intimate far too early.

It’s a nice change of pace to be around someone cerebral. Someone with a good vocabulary who can carry on a decent conversation. But I’m going to keep things ultra-casual, as I’m pretty sure he’s going to go stir crazy before long and go back to New York, as the town I live in is not conducive to his preferred lifestyle.

And I’ve totally gotta refrain from asking him if Michael Cera is as funny in person as he is on screen. Seriously, that kid has comedic timing out the yin yang.

In other LRC news, things that are keeping me occupied right now: The Office season two and Project Runway season one (they have seriously changed the logistics of that show for the better since its pilot season. For realski.) from Netflix, and two books on their way to my mailbox, including The Forbidden Book That Makes Me Hate Myself Just A Little For Buying, But Not Really Because Don’t Judge Me For My Choice Of Reading Material, You Negative Nancy. Who has time for boys with all that awesomeness? TELL ME. WHO?

Eye on the prize

Okay y’all, I need a hobby something SERIOUS. I will never be able to enjoy being single (have I mentioned I have ADD and need constant entertainment in order to function? No? Well I do. So there’s that.) if I don’t have something to occupy my time. Lately, I’ve been Netflixing something FIERCE, but sitting on my couch watching The Office* and whatever random movie I’ve chosen every night is just not going to keep Miss LRC sa-tis-fied.

Well, unless . . . Jim Halpert? Want to come watch with me?

No?

Okay then, photography it is.

So lately, I have been eyeing this little beauty:

*drools*

I’m sorry, what were we talking about?

OH YEAH. Hobbies.

I need one.

And since I have access to all this camera equipment at work because part of my job is photography, I’ve taken a vested interest in it. When you get a great shot? It feels AWESOME. You just want to show it to, like, EVERYBODY.

But here’s my dilemma.

I’m broke.

On the one hand, I feel selfish for wanting a $1000 camera when I have access to perfectly good camera equipment at work, especially when I’m just scraping by every month and I DON’T EVEN HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO EVEN GO SHOPPING. THE HORROR.

But on the other hand? This is something I am really passionate about, and I think with some time and practice I could be pretty decent at it.

GOOD, even.

Plus, if I use my work camera every weekend, I run the risk of damaging something, and I’d much rather damage my OWN property rather than face the wrath of my she-devil boss.

Plus, it’s nice to have something and be able to say, that’s MINE. You know?

Not to say that I grew up poor. Not at all. My family was probably actually UPPER middle class. But I was not a spoiled child. I got most of my clothes on sale. I hardly ever asked for anything. I got used to having things that weren’t as nice as some of the other kids’ things.

WELL NOW, I WANT SOMETHING NICE, DAMN IT.

My parents don’t understand, as it’s an interest they do not share. My mom regularly goes on ridiculous shopping sprees, and my dad will spend $300 on a pair of boots and over $1000 on a hunting bow, so their opinions on the subject are moot.

Plus, my hobby won’t murder defenseless animals.

I have a couple hundred dollars to put toward it. And I know I can finance it interest-free over two years, which, after buying a lens and paying taxes, etc., would only amount to be about $40 or $50 a month. $40 or $50 a month that I should probably be putting in savings, but you know what? I think my happiness and well-being is worth scrimping and saving for. If I can do something, and do it well, and ENJOY doing it?

That’s worth not being able to have home phone service or designer clothing. Any day of the week.

* I just started watching The Office, from the beginning so no I didn’t watch the latest episode so pls don’t try to discuss it with me kthx, so now I am part of That Group. Anyhoods, I was feeling nostalgic (read: INCREDIBLY BORED AND LONELY) so I tried to fire up my old DOS version of Wheel of Fortune, circa 1987 (YOU KNOW YOU ENVY MY SOCIAL LIFE) and MY FLOPPY DRIVE CEASED OPERATION. Tragic, I know, as we ALL use our floppy drives on a daily basis (that’s what she said). So I googled that shit, and found a TOTALLY FREE version of it here. I KNOW, RIGHT? (This is sarcasm, as, really, who the hell would PAY for this crap?)

(Me.)

This is relevant, I promise.

So away I go, into the land of 80’s terrible quality video gaming based on a mediocre television game show with a REDHEAD VANNA WHITE (WTF?), I enter my name, and who does the computer choose as my opponents?

Happy Friday, everyone!