[about the author]
i actually like speaking in front of large crowds. freakish,
i work crossword puzzles in ink.
i am the american nigella lawson. or maybe the american eddie
izzard. can't decide, really.
i would be a really good mom, but i'm cool with being a really
i am sometimes more perceptive than i would like to be.
i am fiercely loyal. sometimes, stupidly so.
i never play dumb. never.
i am way too hard on myself.
i am a change agent.
i sometimes cross that fine line between assertive and aggressive.
i am not afraid to tell people that i love them.
i am militantly pro-choice.
i am pro-adoption.
i know a little bit about alot of things.
i typically enjoy the company of men more than women.
i am capable of being really mean and nasty, but i fight it.
i am a lifelong cubs fan. do not laugh.
i have been known to hold a grudge.
i have hips.
i am not my sister.
i am lousy at forgiving myself.
i am an indoor kind of gal.
i am a bargain shopper. to the point of obsession.
i am 32 flavors. and then some.
don't know what you got 'til it's gone
there's nothing like being sick -- i mean cough-up-a-lung-there's-an-alien-baby-getting-ready-to-shoot-out-of-my-forehead sick -- to remind you of all the good parts of having a boyfriend.
when you're there on your couch, too weak to turn the channel even when starting over is making blood come out of your eyes; when you're berating yourself for not paying closer attention to what it feels like to not be sick; when you're wishing your mutual fund had stock in kleenex or tylenol...this is when you are most likely to cry because you don't have a boyfriend.
because nobody is there to rub your head.
or make you hot tea with honey.
or even call you honey.
no one is there to tease you about how pathetic you are when you're sick.
or ask you why in the hell you watched those five minutes of starting over that made your eyes bleed.
someone to tuck the blanket in around your feet and put his hand on your forehead to see if you still have a fever.
don't get me wrong. there are a lot of things i've come to appreciate about being on my own again.
like watching mary tyler moore reruns while sitting on my couch in my underwear and my teen girl squad camisole, eating kraft cheese & macaroni right out of the pan and drinking diet cherry coke out of the two-liter bottle.
like not making my bed today if i don't feel like it.
like programming my stereo to play stayin' alive 15 times in a row while i make whatever i want for dinner.
like hanging that matisse print in the dining room and that other matisse print in the living room and that hopper print over the bed. because i like 'em.
but, there are just as many times -- maybe even more -- that it's a lonely kind of feeling.
when you wish there was someone there in the morning to kiss good-bye. someone who would pat you on the ass, and tell you that you smell good.
someone to miss you all day long.
| [tell me about it] | [link to this entry]