laugh loud...cry hard

more crap I hate

Thanks to my new blog follower, fred, I've been inspired to talk about more crap I hate. Actually, between the positive feedback and the facebook 'top 5 things I hate that everyone else seems to love' ... I have all the inspiration I need.

And, quite frankly, all this poetic introspective waxing is wrecking my reputation for being full of sarcasm and moxie.

Texting

First of all, is that even a word? Spell check doesn't seem to think so - perhaps it's made-up; much like your life when you are 'communicating' over the phone in cryptic, misspelled words and poor punctuation. You have the phone IN YOUR HAND...put it TO YOUR EAR, for god's sake!

Cake

More than anything, I just don't care about cake. I love the look of cakes. I marvel at the sight of people baking and decorating them. It's art! I just have no interest in putting that sweet mess into my mouth. It's called a 'Pie Hole' for a reason - that's where the pie goes.

Skim milk, Margarine & Low Fat Dairy Products

 
I know I may be in the minority of the American population, but this obsession with keeping fats out of the diet (meanwhile sluggin' down a quarter pounder and chasing it with a diet coke) has gone too far. I like whole milk. I drink my coffee with half & half (though I prefer heavy whipping cream) and like butter because it's actually natural and tastes like something besides some fakey oil product or watered-down version of something perfectly delicious. And guess what - my body knows how to process that stuff. It's magic. Yay.

Heels

I like pretty, pretty shoes as much as the next girl - but most heels just plain SUCK. They hurt my feet. They hurt my back. In an interview in BUST magazine, Francis McDormond said that she only wore heels when she was lounging.
Smart, smart woman.

The Dog That Eats My Underpants

Elvis and have have come a long way. And let me be clear, I do NOT hate Elvis. He's a great dog. But he has a dark, alter ego that does really, really bad things. That dog is The Dog That Eats My Underpants. After 35 pairs of delicates were destroyed, along with yoga pants, leggings and the like...I just stopped counting. No, he doesn't eat the entire thing - no...just the 'good part'.

Disgusting.
Truly.

Eeew.

today, the rain, the water

Today I took what seemed like the longest shower of my entire life.
It had been raining, that cold, damp, drizzly rain. I felt colder than what would be reasonable.
The water was as hot as I could stand and when it joined with the bubbles of my soap, bathed me in a cloud of almond-scented bliss. I chuckled to myself when I looked at all the tiny bruises I'd been ignoring. My legs looked like they did when I was twelve or so(about as skinny, too) and spent my days jumping and climbing in various adventures.

I truly could have spent the whole day there.
But I didn't .

And the shower turned out to just be nine minutes long.
Funny.
But what a glorious nine minutes.

spring

Perhaps a certain sign of Spring - I've been thinking about kissing.
A lot.

That said, I've also been having dreams where I'm being fed spoonfuls of honey while luxuriating in the shower. Nice dream. Sad part is that I wake up and face the day which has been rife with moving stress and such. I rather like honey. But it's not as good as kissing.

So I've been taking a stab at writing about kissing in all it's glory. It's harder than you think. Poets and other writers have been doing that for centuries.

For example, these are three of my favorite little kissing quotes:

I kissed my first girl and smoked my first cigarette on the same day.  I haven't had time for tobacco since.  ~Arturo Toscanini

kisses are a better fate
than wisdom.
~e.e. cummings

Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.  ~Albert Einstein

Brilliant! Heartfelt with a dab of humor. Which is exactly how kisses should be. While everyone has stories of good/awkward/passionate/first kisses that sparkle in their mind - kisses mean more than we let onto. We think about kissing people and what their mouth will taste like. I knew someone who used to say that their favorite place on earth was the last six inches before a kiss.

I just read this today:

"You really learn a lot from a kiss. ... Sixty-six percent of women say they would dump a guy after a bad first kiss," she says. "It's not only because you're getting that good whiff of him so you're seeing if you like the way he smells. All your senses are engaged, and you get a sense of his sensuality, his connection, whether he's a take-charge kind of guy or more of a stepping back kind."

When it comes to relationships, Berman says kissing frequency is a direct indicator of happiness. "It turns out that couples who kiss and cuddle regularly are eight times less likely to be stressed and depressed than couples who don't get that," she says. "You have to have a minimum of a 10-second kiss every day."

From The Oprah Winfrey Show (full article)

So, folks, tell me about a kiss you remember. It is, after all...spring.

...but I'm YOUR freak...

So I pretty much pity anyone who has to be around me all the time.

Scratch that. Let me rephrase...I have a sneaking suspicion that it may be a challenge to try and understand all the quirky, lovely things that make me the fabulous, bright superhero that I 'em'.

There are loads of odd little rules that are difficult to track.

For example:

I don't like milk on cold cereal. Perhaps because I'm a slow and methodical eater, the crispness disappears before I can finish. And then the milk gets warm. Ew. But for hot cereal, new rule. Oatmeal should be served with loads of milk, to the point of soupy. Because the oatmeal is already wet and warm, the milk will be the same.

Complicated? Yes. But I'm your freak.

Mornings have a very special set of rules. Talk softly and sweetly. Ideally, carry me around until I wake up and don't have 'baby kitten eyes'. (you know, when kittens are so new, their eyes aren't opened yet.) Engage me in conversation, but be patient if I'm speaking softly (that's the level your voice should be, too. And don't ask any big questions or tell me really bad news. That's one way to make my life (and yours), a truly living hell.

No big or bad before coffee.
In fact, save all of these things for after lunch. Just to be safe.

Some days I get lonely. But I love my alone time. I just like to know what to expect.

But I'm your freak.

And I know you love me, but it may take a mighty long while for me to feel like everything is lovely. That's kind of a tough one that I'm working through. Really, I am.

I send loony emails asking if people are still my friends (because I've been dumped by at least one). It's my stuff, not yours - but just knowing that you care makes all the difference and helps me calm the hell down the next time my frequent-fleeting-freaky worries rear their angry head.

Because you never really know what the day will bring - I just want to know what I can expect. And that it's pretty good. But that's a bunch of crap, too - because nobody has control of any of it - and while I try to release mine, I still picture the worst-case-scenario of what could happen.
It's fuckin' sick.
And annoying.
So I work on my worry. I really do. You probably don't know the things I do to chase away the demons and coax my buddha to hug my soul and bitch-slap my internal dialogue. Sometime it works wonders (you never hear about that) and sometimes I struggle (you hear lots about that).

Thanks for loving the whole Robbye.

I'm your freak.

some days are just like that...

I'm having one of those days.
A Monday.
Like the ones I used to have when I was working in good 'ol corporate america. The ones where you wonder what the hell you're doing being upright. The letdown of reality after the bliss of the weekend.
Today was like that.

And then I noticed that I hadn't  posted anything in a really, really long time. Things have been busy - of course they have - but this time of refection seems to be slipping away, wrapped in to-do lists and obligations. Perhaps just having a taste of quiet is not enough. All work on no play...you know the drill...pretty soon Jack is a Very Dull Boy and you're wielding and ax and chasing your family around the lodge, in the middle of being snowed-in.

Truth be told, I DID have a great time at "Together Music" with Yvonne, Evelyn and Sarah. Kids are completely hilarious and amazing. At two, they run around with their middle fingers up at people who tell them to be quiet or still or...whatever...Because they CAN. Not so much at 40 - middle fingers (literal or not) are pretty much frowned upon. It's tragic. For those whom have a spirit which needs to be moved, I highly recommend Music. At least gets you started on the right foot.

But, DUDE! It's cold out. I want to stretch my arms, but I can't - too many layers make it impossible. My eyelashes are freezing together - my ass feels frozen. It's just not fun.

And having a house for sale is exhausting. Everything needs to be tidy, and if you live with three boys, like me, it's not an easy task. Boys do stupid things. The leave dishes around, and then complain that the dogs always want to be in their rooms. Of course they do. You have things that smell like food. (To them, not me...rancid food just doesn't do it for me). Is it just me, or is the odor of ass wafting from your room? hmmm.....?

A friend of mine tagged me in a photo at an event I attended last June. I look grumpy. I always do when I don't know my photo is being taken. Being pleasant is tough. And tiring. Some days I say: you can have me dressed or have me pleasant, but you can't have both.

'nuff said.

I need a nap.
And a bath.
And salt water and sun.

'nuff said.