Commence Tumblubbering now…
It wasn’t until recently that I realized how wonderful it is to eat the bacon with the filet mignon that it so lovingly hugs. Just picture a medium rare piece of beef with a small square of bacon sliding between my porcelain lips. Bacon porn. Amirite?
I’ve been thinking about beautiful things a lot lately. It’s amazing to see someone walking around and really looking, someone without a phone or earbuds. Someone really seeing and hearing their world. I wonder if those people like to people-watch like I do. I wonder if those people look at other people and wonder what their lives are like, wonder if they are happy with their jobs, their spouses, their appearance, anything shallow or deep. I do.
I think most people are self-absorbed assholes. They care about other people only as far as those people are an audience. Is that what blogging is? Just another way to bitch and moan about life to a group (and bless you all) who will listen? I feel so selfish sometimes. But I try to give back - support, love, friendship, whatever you need. I’m a squishy-hearted girl like that. I can’t help it, and so many abuse it. How can you? How?
On the way back from the dive tonight, I took a different route and my engine died at a red light. I need a new fuel filter. That’s about the only thing I miss about my ex - he took awesome care of my car. I’d actually gotten lost in this part of town several years before, and I drove up and down the main drag for about an hour. I was so drunk, but I figured that eventually I would hit an interstate, and I did. This time, my car died right outside a video rental place that boasted, “And more!!” Fluffy speculated that this meant porn and maybe sex toys. They also had discount tobacco, and it is the south, so who knows what’s inside.
We also passed a Dairy Queen…a brand spanking new Dairy Queen, so now I know my chances of being thin are over. Dairy Fucking Queen. I have a terrible craving for an Oreo Blizzard and a chocolate dipped vanilla ice cream cone. That was my favorite as a kid. Screw banana splits, I want a chocolate dipped cone. And ice cream cakes…oh dear Jesus, they have a layer of solidified hot fudge and a layer of crushed Oreos. You can forget that the ice cream is made with skim milk when you eat as much as I plan to. Now, if we could only get a local cheese maker, I might die happily in my relative youth.
I had this feeling that began about 7 months ago, and it went away today. Maybe it means a little part of me died, but I feel relieved.
My friend told me she found a station that played old Ab Fabs, and I felt like if I could find Two Fat Ladies and Fawlty Towers, it might be a sign. Of what, I’m not sure, but it’d have to be good.
I think about deleting this blog, all the time. I just don’t feel it serves a purpose, and well, I think everything in my life should. That’s just the way I’m built. I started this thing as a place to anonymously vent my feelings and so on, but I don’t know anymore.
When you don’t know, the best thing to do is let is sit for a while.
After seeing about fifteen barely twenty-somethings in five inch wedges that look like sandals someone found in an old warehouse that had been abandoned since the eighties, I have decided to wear flats to church on Easter. At least that way, my parents will come close to appearing my height in pictures. My mother always chops the heads off photo subjects, so I shouldn’t have to do much photoshopping. Maybe I’ll post a Easter picture. My parents do have beautiful azaleas, and the Spanish heather should be coming up soon.
I used to fantasize about running away, all the time, but I don’t anymore. I just finally decided that home wasn’t any place other than where I made it.
The beer is making me sleepy now. My belly is stuffed with beefy goodness, and I’m yawning so wide it makes my eyes run and my nose burn. “Sleep sweet,” my mother used to say, and I always had terrible dreams. At least I now know you don’t really die when you die in dreams. If you still think that’s true, then I must be immortal.