compliment?

I never know quite how to take this one:

"You look so amazing ON FILM."

week's highlights

1) Last Friday, Anne did what Anne does and was wanting to slap my posterior. I saw the look in her eye! So, I wiggled it in her face and told her to go ahead (yes, we'd been drinking and dancing). She swats me and instantly looks up and says, "How's Lauren been?"

Ass-ociation.

2) The other day, I was telling Anne how bad my next day was going to be...to the extent I was programming in a reminder to myself to eat at lunch. "What else could I forget that's vital?"
"Brush teeth. Bathe."
"Sleep."
"Remove tampon."
"No, I'm keeping that."

3) The coffee and tea companies are getting serious about their copy. The San Lorenzo Dark roast is "bold, dark, exquisite." Gimme summa that! And then there's the Lemon Blueberry PASSION tea. Hey, I have lemon blueberry passion! It's like we were meant to BE.

crying from desire

This has never happened to me before, though I've sort of wanted it to. It's true, too; my eyes are watering from Want.

But it's a worthy cause. Meet the cocoa bar. Specifically, it was this that did it to me - : rasberry truffle cake :. As if that's not enough to liquify my brains and have them run down...well, nothing sounds good here and I do not want to ruin my appetite, but the point is that the new one is right by my darling LZP's.

Okay, the thought of doing our margaritas-to-go and eating some of these chocolates and then some blood orange and grapefruit gelati with Pelle in the dogpark just made me get misty with anticipatory joy. Oh sunshine, we've missed ye.

iscream, lover

I've never been able to talk dirty to a lover, but judging by the filth that was just coming out of my mouth as I sat un-observed talking to my ice cream, I think I know what I need to imagine if I want to possibly pull off Le Dirty Parle.

the ghost of william's testicle

I admire the aplomb with which my dear friend (with the help of his many and wonderful friends who are not me) handled his diagnosis of testicular cancer and resulting surgery. It's not surprising, but typical. Still - appreci-a-ti-on.

Apparently this was bothering me more than I was aware, however, and made itself be known in dreamland last night - and, fittingly, in a most appropriately annoying way.

IN THE DREAM, Balls (long ago referred to as TMS, in keeping with blogging naming constraints) was there. I call Balls Balls because he would say it as an exclamation, and he climbs crazy high things and is generally balls-out. Of course, initially it was to try to get him to stop exclaiming, "Balls!" but we know how those things play out. One of the last times I saw Balls, I believe between trips to the Himalayas and to partake of the TransSiberian Railroad, he was all chatty about wanting to have kids. As I recall, I had spontaneous and temporary Parkinson's develop, being unable to stop shaking my head 'no' as he talked. ("Hello sweet baby. I know it's my fault who your dad is. Or was. Since he died trying to backflip off Everest. And Aunt Emi and Aunt Anne totally have alibis. Wink wink. Urm, sorry, though. I goofed. You got me.") Also, he always had at least 1/8" of facial hair. Why? Why?! And usually at least 1/4". Outside of the Arctic Circle, no one should have facial hair - or certainly not on a regular basis.


Anyhairroot, Balls has shaved (so many layers of meaning - totally), and is attempting to make himself appealing as a mate. As he keeps talking, I start making a case for how serious reproductive stuff is, and tell him about how William had this particular cancer, and his funny photos, and how so many people began judging his sperm and leaving comments as to their appearance/destiny. Balls is un-phased, and counters. He has had this testicular cancer so had his manstuff frozen. All I have to do is agree and he can have me knocked up with more surety than an average male. (This would appeal to him, so the thought will never be shared. With him. Who doesn't know diddly about this blog.) More insidiousness ensued, but unlike so many other things I'd gladly forget, this bit my brain has mercifully blocked from memory.

hey hey hey, it's may day

Remember how nice it was when you were little and you'd wake up on May Day and be all, "Weeeee! Where are my lace doilies?! [Then, more manically...] I must make May Day baskets for all our old neighbors and leave them on their front doors, and it will be a total surprise and make them so happy and and andAND AND..." [spinning girlishly, giggling and being in love with the sky and sun] "I have to start picking flowers THIS INSTANT."

Then the careful selection of which blossoms had reached their prime and it was justifiable to sacrifice, keeping them watered as the bouquets were prepared, and then matching them up in what were essentially floral death ceremonies. (Oh, stop. I know, I know - such the Romantic. Sweet youth!)

Finally, walking them discreetly down the block, a smaller crop each year, as I realized how few of our neighbors I actually considered worthy. Halloween? Carefully noted. "You-a give me a leetle sumthin' sweet, and I'll-a give-a you a leetle bit a dees [flowers]..." Then, in the end, the disappointment that the purity of the sentiment was getting colored, and probably at least ten to thirty minutes of self-criticism before resolving to Put Things Right and put some bouquets even onto the doors of total strangers.

To regret later.

Yay! May Day!

good at being pretty and that's all they see

That's our house.

I love it that I just found this note on my bedroom floor (sounding so much spicier than it is), have absolutely zero idea of where it came from, and after reading, "You are so beautiful that I want to kiss you," my first thought was, 'I wonder if this is mine or if it was for KR or JS.' There's no telling. It could've gotten swept in under the door. The paper? Somewhat familiar looking. The handwriting? Girly. The wording? Unspecific.

Go to it, supersleuths. Nancy Drew, we need you!