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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
- 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.
- 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.
- 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?
- 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.
- 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.
- 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) - 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.
- 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.”)
- 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.
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.
Today, after much procrastination, I finally gave in and went to my friend Sandra’s to get my hair cut (remember Sandra? She’s the one whose brother [and BE's best friend] made a complete shitting fool of himself on her wedding night). I love Sandra to death, and the time we get to spend together is limited because she is a mother, and now, a wife.
As I settled in to her styling station, conveniently located in her guest bedroom, the gossip began to flow. Friends, weddings, and cheating husbands became our immediate topics of conversation.
After a few minutes, my curiosity got the best of me.
“So, how is [BrownEyes] doing?”
(Remember BrownEyes? The devastatingly handsome guy I dated for about, oh, four months? Who gave me many, many happy moments but made sure to balance them out with some equally painful ones? The guy whom my parents thought I would marry but turned out to be nothing but a noncommital flake? Yeah, him.)
“I have no idea. [BrownEyes] acts like I don’t even exist.”
Oh, so I’m not the only one.
Honestly, I don’t miss him. More than anything, I am inquisitive. I do want him to be happy, whatever that entails. But aren’t we always masochistically curious about our exes?
As my brown curls fell to the floor it became even more evident to me how foolish I had been to put so much effort into our “relationship.” Who was I kidding? Was I so desperate to have someone around that I resorted to such logic that would inevitably cause me so much disappointment?
Yes.
Yes, I was.
And then, in true LRC fashion, I began to contemplate whether it was my fault or not. How things with BE turned out.
Of course, whatever I had with BE was ridiculous. We never had a real relationship. But something my mother had told me a few weeks ago resonated with me.
My mother knows me better than any human being on this planet. Of course, she’s not always right. I’m not the most predictable person on the planet (blame The Crazy). But when she said this to me, I began to wonder, Is this why all my relationships fail?
“You push people away. I can see men trying to get close to you, and you just have this ’stay away!’ attitude.”
I am sure, blog friends, that the opposite seems true to you, based on what I write here. But this blog? Is my catharsis. I put into this blog everything else that I do not say or do. On this blog, I wear my emotions on my sleeve. In life? I guard my emotions. Probably more than is healthy.
I’ve been hurt and disappointed in my life more times than I care to recount. I mean, haven’t we all?
But the thing is this. I can’t seem to find a balance between being completely vulnerable and being extremely guarded.
When I’m in a real relationship, you get every part of me. I’m a package deal. I’m extremely loyal, caring, considerate, and loving. You will meet no one more attuned to your needs than me.
But when does that happen?
I feel that when I show an inkling of that girl, the girl that I really am, is when men start to flee. I’m not that mysterious girl anymore, the girl who men can’t quite figure out yet. I’m just another “crazy bitch.”
And that infuriates and depresses me at the same time.
I think any negative feelings about the situtation with New York I may have procured from having someone shit on my front seat have been completely negated by the last couple of days I’ve spent with him.
I was fortunate enough to get approval from my workplace to attend a photography class in my state capital, and I brought him along with me. It was only for one night and the next day, but I really do think the experience of spending it together in a somewhat unfamiliar place in a super sweet hotel room brought us closer together. Honest to blog.
We had sushi for dinner with some friends, which, I must admit, was my first experience with actual RAW sushi (I’ve had the cooked stuff before), and I got terrible indigestion, but I didn’t let that stop us from totally stomping ass at Cranium. It was great; we defeated two couples that have been together much longer than we have (one couple who had up to this point been “undefeated”). NY was particularly impressed with my ability to spell “catastrophe” backward rather quickly.
When we got back to the hotel, though? The indigestion caught up with me. I went to the bathroom on a routine pee break and I accidentally let out, I kid you not, the loudest fart EVER. I swear, he HAD to have heard it from the bedroom. I probably shook the walls. I blew my nose a bunch of times in the hopes that he might think I’d just been doing that the whole time, but let’s face it. I probably wasn’t fooling anyone.
He never mentioned it though. What a gentleman.
But if he had, though? I so would have had a comeback. “Yeah, remember that time you made me get off the couch rather abruptly? I TOTALLY KNEW WHAT WAS UP.”
But I don’t care about his bodily functions. I would lick the sweat right off his face and not give two good god damns about it. That’s some serious “like” right there (I will refrain from using the other “L” word).
For the sake of being succint, I’ll just say this. Our mini-vacay? Was blissful. We worked out together in the hotel gym and made faces at each other in the mirror. We cuddled like nobody’s business and stayed up until 3am talking. While I was putting my makeup on in the morning, he called the front desk and found out what floor my class was on so I wouldn’t be late (without my asking! Such a sweetie pie!).
The only negative thing about our mini-vacay was the fact that, due to the indigestion from the sushi, I hardly slept that night. And when I lie awake at night? I think wayyyyy too much. And then The Worry sets in.
“What if he leaves me? What if he’s just in this for some casual fun for right now, and he has no intentions of actually keeping me around?”
NY’s future plans regarding residence are still up in the air. Right now, he’s back and forth between NY and where I am. He works on movie sets, so it’s completely possible for him to be in NY for a few months, and then back here for a few months. He’s flexible. But nothing is certain right now. As I type this, he’s on a train to DC and won’t be back until the coming weekend. I’m already missing him like crazy. I don’t know if I could go months at a time without seeing him.
If he really cares about me, which I am completely convinced that he does, then he will at least consider me when making future plans. I’m not one to hinder someone from doing exactly what they want to do. But when you’ve got a good thing going, don’t you want to keep it going? At least in some capacity?
When he gets back from DC, he has to turn around almost immediately and go right back up to the big apple to get some surgery (don’t worry, it’s nothing serious) and he’ll be there for a week or so. After that, though, he will be back here, with me. And I guess that’s when things will be more certain, once he has more perspective on things.
If he decides he wants me in his life? He’ll make sure I am. And if he doesn’t? Well then, I just don’t have any control over that, and I’ll just have to get over it and move on.
But for my sake, though? Let’s hope he misses me like crazy over the next few weeks and he can’t imagine being away from me and my fabulous flatulence for an extended period of time.
