This week, I heard myself say it aloud right before baring all: “I should totally write about this.” Or, worse, mid-story, I revealed, “oh, I’ve written about this.” I can’t not say it. It makes no sense, but it’s what I do. Some other things revealed to me this weekend:
Never, ever, under any tribal circumstances, get anything more than nails done at a nail salon. A massage is risky (yeah, back and whack’s too). Let’s not even mention that I paid a woman $60 to watch me wax my own damn como se llama for over an hour and a half. Then I had to go tweeze. NIGHTMARE. I’m never leaving Helga.
I like men in uniform. Not a janitor, UPS, or Con Ed uniform; we’re talking purple hearts. But mostly, it’s like not love. It doesn’t do that much for me actually. So, I take it back. I don’t like men in uniform, and handcuffs are totally overrated.
I love gray hair on a guy. Salt and pepper gray, not Don Knotts gray. Just writing it makes me kinda wet.
A finger that touches my mouth while I’m kissing is by far the biggest turn on there is. You know, he’s holding your face, and a graze of finger brushes past my tongue during our kiss. Seriously, it does it for me more than anything else. It even trumps gray hair. Combine them both, and I’ll never leave. But then you’re stuck with me, the girl who cries over movie previews.
I think I’m beginning to prefer red wine to white.
I adore piano bars. This wasn’t a revelation in and of itself… more of a, “Oh my God, I’m totally doing this more often!”
I weigh too much and need to join a gym and shut my mouth.
No matter how many times I try, I really can’t get away with wearing fuchsia.
I love music for the lyrics, which must mean I like poetry.
I should eat more lobster in life.
I really want to spend the rest of my life with someone, and I’m ready.
I look better in pants than I do in jeans.
I look better in skirts than I do in pants.
I look fat in nothing.
I have too much stuff.
I hate cooking in my current living conditions. This makes me kinda sad because I really love cooking.
I write better dialogue than anything else.
My writing is more substance and less style.
Having fresh flowers in my apartment really does make me happy.
For all the crap I talk, I actually did like the movie Serendipity. Jeremy Pivin is so the celebrity I’d spend the rest of my life with… okay, or Jon Stewart. It’s a tie.
I’m not always this frisky. Something is in my Poland Spring.