These are a few scattered thoughts that have been on my mind lately. Enjoy. Or not. Whatever. They are in no particular order, and dedicated to my friend Damien who told me I should blog more.*
–I wish I had thought of Shit My Dad Says first. The things that come out of my father’s mouth are simply amazing. I am rather positive that I could make entire stand-up routines based solely on what my dad says to me. Example: After dental surgery on Monday, these delightful passages were among some of the first he uttered through his swollen cheeks:
- “I sound like an 80-year-old homo with a lisp.”
- “Wait. No. You know who I sound like? THAT GAY SLOTH FROM ICE AGE!”
- “I started watching The L-Word on Netflix for the tits. I was like, ‘Yeah! Tits!’ Now the tits don’t even arouse me and I care about the story. What? Am I turning into a chick?”
For the record: My father is not nearly as homophobic as those quotes might suggest. In fact, he once told me he LOVES gay guys because they leave more women for him, except for the lesbians. BUT, he loves lesbians, too, because they’re “way hot.”
–Last week’s constant stream of major news made me simultaneously glad and disappointed I no longer work in the news media. On the glad side, the news was so distressing that it would be pretty upsetting to have to cover in any way. On the disappointed side, I miss being in an environment where it is encouraged and necessary to absorb as many facts about breaking news as possible. I couldn’t turn away from the coverage, as tragic as it all was.
–I once told my boyfriend not to send me flowers at work, because being the center of attention would be embarrassing. Then he did it. I was mildly embarrassed for like a minute, but now I have really pretty flowers to look at so it’s OK now.** He also left a really funny card that I will probably keep forever.
Just figured I’d drop these off for you. It’s my way of showing I can occasionally be a decent boyfriend.
–Speaking of my relationship, I must not be a horrible girlfriend. This thought actually came from my grandmother, as we were discussing Tony’s weekend work schedule; he works as a DJ every Friday and Saturday night. My grandmother said she thought most girls would get mad, and nag their boyfriends about how bored they are every weekend. I don’t do this. Partly because I really, truly do not mind being home alone on a weekend night. I’d rather have my boyfriend around, of course, but the alone time can be relaxing for me. I can be a homebody, so what? This Saturday I sat on the couch, read two books, and cuddled with my cat. It was cozy and relaxing and I loved it. Don’t judge me.
Anyway, I don’t like the idea of girls getting mad at their boyfriend because they’re bored when they’re not with him. Get a hobby. Make other friends. Whatever. In this day and age, there is no reason to be bored when you don’t have somebody else there to entertain you.
–What scares me most about Boston is that I imagine these scenarios before they happen more and more these days. Tony and I recently took a weekend trip to Buffalo and Niagara Falls. We went to a Sabres game in Buffalo, and there was quite a bit of construction happening around the arena when we were there. As we were leaving, the very large crowd was funneling through a pretty tight space between construction work, and there was a bit of backup and waiting as the crowd tried to squeeze through. The sad thing is, one of the first thoughts I had was, “Gee, this would be an opportune time for someone to bomb us or start shooting into the crowd.”
Depressing thought? Absolutely. But is the thought itself depressing, or the fact that there have been so many instances of people attacking crowds that I can picture something like that happening so easily?
This is a thought I had just days before the bombing at the Boston Marathon. So clearly I am not alone in picturing these scenarios–the difference being, of course, that I would never consider engaging in such horror. But if someone like me sees these situations and thinks it, obviously the enemy does, too.
The world is getting so much scarier.
–I wish I could escape the feeling that I’m a prisoner in my own body. Call it “unlucky.” Call it “accident prone.” Whatever it is, I’m always hurting. Of course, I got hit by a car walking across the street (I had a walk, she drove away, I’m fine and seeing a chiropractor), so back pain is certainly expected. It still stinks when you’re getting into a good exercise groove and it is all derailed. Insert whining here.