Monthly Archives: September 2008

an eloquent way of explaining things

Boy and I visited with a friend this weekend on the peninsula.  And he nonchalantly threw out the word “perineum” in conversation. (No, really, I don’t recall what we were talking about.  But it’s boy, he easily throws these words in without a second glance from the casual listener.)  I heard him use it and my automatic response is to whisper to myself “perineum, not perennial, not perennial, they’re separate things” and then I inevitably use the word perineum in relation to this lovely ficus I bought at the nursery last week.  Our friend asked “what’s perineum?”  And I looked at boy wide-eyed, not sure how to explain this one without coming across like a crass potty-mouthed trashy girl.  And without a pause in cadence he threw out this definition:

“You know that strip of land between your dirty bits and your naughty bits?  Perineum.”

And wouldn’t you guess that the way he balanced the situation, bringing up the word and then backing it up with such an eloquent definition, that’s why I find him attractive.

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something’s wrong with people

I read this on Wandering Bella‘s blog.  So I’m forwarding it on.  Because for those of you who have met Jack or read about Jack and know how important he is to me, you’ll understand why these guys need to be saved.

Go here – http://www.igpr.org/ – make a donation.

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Imagining Death

The topic came up in the car tonight.  But it’s not the first time we discussed this.  With boy being 11 years older than me, we’ve discussed who might die first.  I think he will.  Because he’s old.  He says I will.  Because I stress out too much. 

And in the car he mentioned my death, and I cut him off to correct him.  “My death will be spectacularly dramatic.”  I went on to describe it as a car wreck, while on my way to the hospital where I work.  Hit by some driver that has no respect for life or humanity. 

Boy looked over to me and said “you’re joking, right?” 

“No, there will probably be a lot of blood.”

“Because I’m writing a story and in it that is exactly how you die.”

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an introduction

I’ve talked about my sister a lot here and to most people I talk to in real life.  We’re very much alike, more so as we get older.  This is my favorite picture because it shows our personalities:

That’s Lauren on the left, me on the right, and mom in the middle.

She finally started a blog.  And it’s weird to read about her life and realize that I’m sitting here struggling with issues and she just states what they are without all this wondering and I read it thinking oooh, that’s what it is I’m feeling.

Anyway, world, meet Lauren: Twin Times

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a “dry run” he calls it

About five or six years ago, boy came up to Saratoga Springs for my college graduation.  I was always ecstatic to have him come visit and on top of that, I had family coming as well.  It was the first time in my 4 years that my family had come to see where I was going to school.  It was a big weekend for me and boy knew it.

We were clowning around in my apartment on the evening before my family arrived when he pushed me down on the bed and pulled a ring box out of his pocket.  Just for some background, I was 21, we had been dating for all of 2 years, and I had NO idea where I was going to live after graduation.  He, on the other hand, was 33 and working a really bad retail job in Pensacola.  So what did I do?  I wouldn’t take the box.  He held it out for me to take.  I shook my head then stuck my hand out and pushed the box away from me and said “no.”

Okay, now here’s the lame part.  Or not so lame.  It was a pair of diamond earrings.  Yes, very sweet.  BUT WHO DOES THAT?!  It looks like a ring box so WHAT DID YOU THINK I WOULD THINK IT WAS?!  It was funny at the time, but boy was so discouraged after that experience he often used it as the reason he would never propose.  Because I would do the same thing again.  Obviously, right?

Fine.  Whatever.

You know that episode of The Office where Jim fake proposes to Pam?  Here it is.  I’ll give you a second to watch it:

While walking Jack on a very unseasonably gloomy evening, boy and I passed under an archway of trees that covered part of the sidewalk.  He turned around sharply, and did EXACTLY what Jim did.

I stood there, waited for him to tie his shoe, and let him stand up.

Then I slugged him.

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the black-bottom cupcake incident

I hate sharing food.  When I eat, I’m hungry and I usually intend to finish everything on my plate.  Really, I don’t like to share anything.

Why?

The black bottom cupcake.

One night several years ago (more like 4) boy and I spent the evening walking around Rockridge.  We bought some desserts from that little pastry shop by Peabody’s before driving back to the Creek where, at the time, we lived together.  I sat on the floor leaning against the couch and he was sitting on the couch and we watched TV in the dark eating our desserts.  I offered him some of my cupcake before I finished it.  And when he gave it back to me, all the cream cheese was GONE.  He stripped the cupcake of the best part, the part I was saving for last, because it was the BEST PART!

In his defense, he thought I was offering him the rest because I didn’t want any more… (as if I’d ever not finish a cupcake?)

And I entered into one of those completely unjustified rages that had me throwing a temper tantrum and him offering to drive all the way back to buy me a cupcake and I narrowed my eyes and sharply said, “no. but you owe me.”

And since then, he cannot pick food off my plate.  Ever.  And when I divide desserts in half, if there is a slight size difference, I get the bigger piece.  And if he looks away, damn straight I’m going for that raspberry in chocolate sauce on his plate.  But if I see his fork near my honey chocolate crepe, he will be reminded of the cupcake.  The one where he took the best part, and left me the crumbs.

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Blank Stare

I’m really good at the blank stare.  My pre-school class photo has me cocking my head to the side with my jaw slightly dropped doing the same blank stare I still do today.  Lately I’ve been walking around with this look plastered on my face.

Ever have a conversation with someone and no one was around to witness it, and then you walk away thinking am I crazy or was there something way fucked up that just went on there.  And then you try and recount it to someone else and it’s nearly impossible because the only thing you can say is “I have no idea what just happened.”

This happens every time I talk to one person.  And I’m starting to think I’m a little crazy.  Don’t get me wrong, this happens quite often with strangers.  Like how I talk to Jack while we’re walking and the person in front of me thinks I’m talking to him.  So I pass the person and say “oh no, just talking to my dog,” and I walk away with the scene from Dirty Dancing flashing through my mind where she says “I carried a watermelon…?”  But it’s not like I’m trying to have a worthwhile conversation with a stranger, so who cares.

But sometimes I want to have a worthwhile conversation with someone.  And this past time, it was like trying to slap a brick wall in an attempt to get it to say “ouch” and guess who’s the only one walking away saying ouch?

So here’s my little lesson from that experience.  Don’t walk up to a brick wall and think it will shake hands with you.  It won’t.  And then don’t try and beat it up.  It doesn’t care.  But if you walk around it, you might find a friend standing there on the other side.  And then you won’t have to look like an idiot staring blankly at a brick wall.

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