I have always wanted a blue guitar. I don’t play. It’s not worth me having one. But I still want it. Curse you, Nancy Wilson (from Heart, not the jazz singer).
I don’t shave my legs, because I cut myself pretty badly once. However, I use Veet for Sensitive Skin, and during summertime in the desert, I use it a lot, because I don’t like wearing shorts with even a tiny bit of stubble. I used it this morning, so there isn’t a single strand of hair on my legs at the moment. If I were courageous, I’d go out with hairy legs, but I am a product of my culture. I get grossed out myself when I see a woman on the street (or in le Mart du Wal, where I see it most often) who, in my mind, didn’t bother to shave, so obviously I have been brainwashed.
Semper Fidelis means “Always Faithful.” One isn’t allowed to be married to a former jarhead without knowing this.
I used to say I would rather swim in a lake than an ocean (I don’t care for waves when I’m in the water, although they’re okay if I’m walking on the beach), but my brother-in-law just sent me a captioned photo of this diving bell spider that lives almost completely underwater, and I’m guessing it meant freshwater, so fuck lakes.
I used to wear black and gray a lot, almost constantly, because it was a good way to fade into the background. I don’t kid myself that black is more flattering if one is fat … if one’s clothing doesn’t fit right, no color will look good. When I finally decided to step out of the shadows, I filled my wardrobe (gradually, and cheaply, by making use of sales at le Mart du Wal and lot purchases from eBay®) with jewel tones and funky patterns, and I guess it’s working, because one of the managers at the company of the chocolatey-brown trucks advised some of my coworkers that she wished everyone dressed like me, since I always look so pretty, professional, and put-together. And I managed this without $5000 and a visit from Stacey London, so there.
My hair is super cute. I’m wearing it quite short because it’s more comfortable in the desert in summertime. I had them use a #3 clipper around the back last time and cut the rest to about one inch layers. TS Toe’s first words when he saw me last month were “Your hair is so short!” and I told him I fell asleep in the chair. I tend to wear really cute earrings when my hair is this short, just to make sure no one thinks I’m a boy; that is, before they get a glimpse of my incredibly impressive rack. Anyway, the color right now is dark brown, with
a few grays naturally-occurring crystalline highlights.
I am normally a rational person, but I have entomophobia and arachnophobia (see above paragraph about swimming in the lake) and no amount of intellectualization on my part when bugs aren’t around will convince me that they won’t eat me when they are around. I turn into a scaredy-cat when it comes to bugs, and it’s humiliating, but I can’t get past it.
I am over the age of 21 (nay, twice that), so I guess I am an adult, but I am not a grown-up and you can’t make me be one.
We rent. I hate it. I hate being poor, and I hate that the best apartment we can get with our lousy credit is this one, with the scorched bathroom sink and the dented front door, outside of which I found, the other day, a dime bag that one of my more careless neighbors dropped. I live with the riffraff. On the bright side, the apartment managers love us, because we’re quiet, and we always pay our rent on time.
I used to tan very well, but I refuse even to try anymore. I’ve heard too many horror stories about malignant melanoma. As for tanning parlors, I only have a small amount of money to spend on vanity, and I prefer to use it on super cute haircuts and adorable (but inexpensive, because I go to le Mart du Wal) manicures.
I have the telly on pretty much all the time, but I’m not always watching it. I read whilst it’s on; I sleep whilst it’s on; we leave it on when we leave the house. I wouldn’t say I’m addicted to television. I will say that, the other day, I was watching A-Team, and That Man of Mine said we had to leave for work. Before I left, I stuck my head back into the bedroom (where the telly is) and said to it, “Liam? Bye, honey. My husband’s making me go with him. There’s juice in the fridge and I think there’s some hot water left if you want a shower.” (What? That Man of Mine has been making me roll my eyes for years. It’s time I made him roll his.)
I used to love spending time with my mother-in-law. She passed away in 2010 and I miss her. I love my sisters-in-law and my stepmother-in-law. I think the reason we get along so well is that we never spend any time together except on Facebook.
I am not a sugar freak. Even less so than I was: I gave up refined sugar and white flour for the past two months in an attempt to detox. It has been absolutely determined that I’m not a sugar freak — but I am a bread ho. See me on the 16th, when my detox ends. You’ll probably find me at La Bocce, shoving pizza into my mouth like it’s my job. (I won’t. Now that I know I can do this, I will be doing this most of the week, and on my cheat days, I will be eating, at the most, a single slice of pizza. I am so tired of being fat.) I am not jonesing nearly as badly for sweets.
I have no idea what happened to Larry King. Wait; let me check — nope; don’t care.
I give less than a shit what my zodiac sign is. Astrology leaves out Ophiuchus (the serpent-bearer, a sign that ought to fall somewhere between Scorpio and Sagittarius but doesn’t, because that makes thirteen sun signs and only twelve months), which makes it patently inaccurate at best and complete bullshit at worst. I have found that, if someone tells me their sun sign and I predict, “You’re deeply sensitive, but you stand up for what you believe in,” they always reply, “Yes, that’s right.” When I am asked for my sign, I tell them I’m a Penguin, with Parrot rising, and that Penguin personalities tend to do their own thing without worrying about some random constellation 66 light years from where they’re actually having to deal with their days.
I can’t remember the last time I made a wish on my birthday. I haven’t even had birthday cake, except at work, in the past few years. The year before last, we were avoiding Retro Bakery because That Man’s sugar was out of control, and last year, I was too sick to want cake, which is pretty fucking sick. Anyway, even before that, I can’t recall when I last had candles on a cake. I blame the Neurontin. I did make a wish on the tip of a slice of pie two months ago (dessert of my last refined-sugar meal before detoxing): I said to myself: “I wish this pie wouldn’t make me fat.”
I ripped these questions off from the Mom, but she did this ages ago and probably doesn’t remember where she got it. At the time, she said she got it from Z’s World, who might have gotten it from Sunday Stealings.
I used to skip breakfast, but I can’t do that anymore. Some of my meds need to be taken on an empty stomach, but if I want the rest of them, particularly my pain meds, I have to eat something. I do not tend to eat the full Denny’s-style 1,500-calorie breakfast. Multi-grain toast or high-fiber cereal with soy milk is usually good enough for me. If I want the calorie-laden breakfast at all, I’m more apt to have it for dinner, since I can’t finish it in one sitting.
I have no idea what I would name the royal baby. It’s not my baby to name, and I don’t know the protocol. I know they need a fuckton of names. I’m going to go with Jacqueline Andrea Suzette Prentice Tyler Mountbatten-Windsor. Go me, incidentally, not only for knowing Prince William’s surname, but for remembering Jackie Tyler’s entire name. It’s more than Pete Tyler could do.
I don’t buy newspapers at all anymore, ever. I read the RJ online, and if we need newsprint, we buy $10 worth of gas at the AM/PM across from our apartment, Monday through Saturday, and they give us a free one. I don’t miss the newspaper. I prefer reading the comics online anyway, particularly Dog Eat Doug, which is my new favorite since Charles M. Schulz died and Lynn Johnston sold out.
I’m pretty sure most of those factoids were repeats, but I don’t much care. I’m not at all sure who’s paying attention these days, anyway.
drinking: ice water
listening to: Candlebox, Far Behind
tired of: erick erickson. he needs a nice cold glass of shut the fuck up