Oversharing. It's awesome.

I've lately decided besides all the nice normal reasons for wanting a boyfriend (love, sex, companionship- i.e. the basics) there would be some definite other upsides to having someone else around.

1. At least it wouldn't seem like I was talking to myself at home, I could just pretend I was actually talking to the other person.

2. Someone to put lotion on the spot of your back that you can't reach no matter which way you try to contort yourself. Seriously, WTF is with this section always being exceptionally dry and hurty and itchy. It's a real fucking pisser.

3. Cheer with me while I watch sports (uh, hopefully we like the same teams). I realize this is sort of related to #1. Plus this will keep me from eating all the hanky panks myself.

4. Have you ever tried to flip a queen size mattress on your own? It's unbelievably hard (that's what she said!...sorry, I couldn't resist) and one of these days I fully expect mid-flippage that I'll lose my grip on it and the entire thing will come crashing down and pin me against the floor. And when I call for help there will be no one to hear me, perhaps I should just get a Med-Alert call button for situations like this?

5. Someone else to peek outside when they hear some loud banging noise that cannot be identified. About 50% of the time I'm fully convinced that I'll pull back the shade and there will be a serial killer standing there banging my trashcan lid against the grill. It would be nice if someone else could look outside and tell me to stop being such a crazy.

6. I'm absolutely worried that this last one will make you think I'm a total freak, more freaktastic than someone who wants a boyfriend to rub lotion on her back and check the backyard for scary axe wielding murders while she talks to herself. Every so often (a couple of days after a hard workout) it would be nice if someone rubbed my bottom. Yes, right. The bottom area or not so delicately: my ass. I can't help it. It gets tight and sore and my hamstrings feel like the are being shredded every time I move ( I know hamstrings are not located in the bottom- but they are connected and it all hurts so I include them). Oh and I stretch all the time. I try to get massages once a month to help keep injuries at bay (do this, it's magical how many fewer injuries I get) and I always make sure to ask that they "loosen up my hips, whicharetightfromrunning". Oh holy fuck, this totally makes it sound like I'm going to some back alley "massage parlor" looking for sex instead of a real massage. Damnit. I give up. I probably should delete this whole last one and just call it a fucking day and be done with it.

In summation, my butt gets sore from working out, it would be nice if my hypothetical boyfriend would like to occasionally make it feel better. THE END.

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Chip Chop Chip

I was supposed to start training today for the half-marathon I signed up for months ago but somehow I find myself at home and cleaning instead (but I am dancing around to music while I do it- sort of like cardio, right?). I will get up tomorrow and go to the gym in the morning before work and run, probably huff through a couple of minutes and then want to die. I'll admit I've not been running since the beginning of January right before the cold/sinus congestion from hell set in. That lovely little bastard knocked me on my ass for over a month, which is why my stomach currently looks like it's a soft pillow.

Lets not even talk about swimming, ha. My suit suddenly became entirely see-through especially in the backside and I was flashing people at pool. Lovely, right? So now I need to purchase a new suit but I keep forgetting the stupid gift card for Dicks when I'm near one. Bah.

I'm finally going to purchase a new goddamn bike. It might mean that I'm not going to pay off that credit card like I planned which isn't very responsible is it? Bah. Sleek little road bike, come to me. I love you.

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A deep and abiding love

When I was a girl, probably no older than 5, my mom started going to this french bakery by our house in Texas. Besides smelling absolutely heavenly and being full of warm and crusty loaves there were also cases full of french pastries. There was one case on the right side of the shop, it was very tall and entirely made of glass. It spun very slowly and within it were fat, red strawberries covered in dark chocolate.

The moment I saw them I fell in love.

The French bakery is just a memory but to this day I still adore them so. Several years ago I was at a friends wedding, stuck at the singles table at which none of the other singles showed up to which was pretty much the longest meal of my life. Every other table was full and no one offered to join me at my lovely pathetic party of one table. The bright spot was when the servers brought out the tray of strawberries. You can bet your sweet bippy that I attempted to eat that entire tray myself. I failed though, because although the idea of being a complete glutton is alluring the actual carrying out of it is a whole 'nother reality.

I bring this all up because I was in Cleveland this weekend visiting my brother who was on leave. This means my very lovely father bought me a whole box of chocolate covered strawberries for Valentines Day. So now I'm camped out on my couch with the box of strawberries and momentarily very glad I don't have to share with anyone. Although I'm sure that will wear off when I realize that I can't realistically finish them before they spoil and that I actually do like to share. Damnit.

The alcohol breakup lasted all of 5 days. Restraint, I don't have it. In my defense I was at Great Lakes Brewery and could not pass up the delicious Edmund Fitzgerald porter. It's amazing. If you can at all get your hands on some please do so and then write me to tell me all about it.

I'm completely lacking in the ability to come up with transitions this evening (blame it on the chocolate-strawberry coma I'm slowly slipping into) but I also cut my hair this weekend. It's about chin length and choppy, I really wanted to hack it all off completely due to my usual winter malaise but refrained because I don't know if I have the face to pull off super short hair. I think my head might be too round and I would look ridiculous. Photo coming soon, hopefully.

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For a couple of years now I've been experiencing what is called alcohol induced insomnia. Which basically means that my body freaks the fuck out if I drink. It started off just as waking up obscenely early after a night of excessive drinking but it seems to be getting worse. Two drinks spaced out evenly throughout the night and I'll sleep for 3 hours before waking and being unable to fall back asleep.

Which totally sucks. Today I was the walking dead since I had two cocktails last night after seeing He's Just Not That Into You (don't go- it sucks. There are no words for it's suckitude. It's not even campy-hilarious-Showgirls bad, it's just painful). Three hours of sleep are just not enough for me to function on and those three hours were quite fitful to start with, by the end of the work day I was near tears.

So I think I'm going to have to take a hiatus from drinking. Which pains me, I love alcohol and it loves me like Ike loved Tina. Sometimes all I want is a cold frosty Oberon Ale or a belly warming snifter of bourbon. I will probably be a bit cranky and annoyed while this self imposed exile from adult beverage land is taking place. Be forewarned.

I've still been cooking up a storm. This weekend alone I made orangettes, london broil and my mom's cheese zucchini. Which doesn't sound like too much food, but it was.

Some of these lovely orangettes will be dipped into chocolate, the rest left plain. I plan on making some candied lemon peal soon and tossing them in sugar and citric acid to make a very grown up version of sour patch kids.

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