I Don't Know Why

I went to the grocery store today.  The produce guy asked me if he could help me find anything.

"No, thanks, I have everything."

"Did you see we have blackberries for $2?"

I thought, "Blackberries!  I LOVE blackberries."

But out of my mouth, with no participation from my head, came, "I'm allergic to blackberries."

Uh.  Where the hell did that come from?

"That's a shame."

"I know."

Seriously, mouth, what the hell.  Apparently, I lie to strangers for no reason, even when it doesn't benefit me at all.  Allergic to blackberries.  You know, just today, for fun.  Ridiculous.

So Close

Sorry, Grandma

My grandma taught me how to cross stitch when I was in the 6th grade. It's a big thing in our family. Our two family matriarchs, my grandma and her sister, my great-aunt Louise, have seen to it that pretty much every significant occasion in all of our lives is commemorated with a framed work of lovingly cross stitched art. Birth announcements, wedding announcements, graduation announcements, new homes, turning 30, and anything else you can think of merits cross stitching. After the death of my grandmother, every stitch is precious to me and to the members of the family who proudly display her effort and love on our walls.

I suppose it's because cross stitching is so sticky sweet and kind and loving to me that I find subversive cross stitch so pee-in-my-pants funny. Grandma would not approve. But good gracious, it makes me want to order the patterns and whip out my needle. And honestly? I think Great Aunt Louise would laugh her ass off. There's a naughty streak in that one.

I Had a Rough Weekend. But I Have Really Great Friends.

You can read about why the weekend sucked here.

I just want to say that even through my I-can't-take-this-anymore-please-God-make-it-stop moments of this weekend, I was still feeling very blessed and looked after and taken care of because I have two very good friends at law school who stepped up and were friends in every sense of the word, showing, frankly, reckless disregard for their own health and wellbeing since they showed up at my apartment bearing supplies, support and offers to do anything I needed.

Ashleigh showed up at 11:00 pm with Gatorade and Saltines and emailed a professor for me to get me an extension on a paper due tomorrow. Heather was here the next day with Pedialyte popsicles, soup, and ice, and then made another run late that night to a 24 hour pharmacy to pick up my prescription. And they offered and were willing to do three times that if I hadn't been afraid of getting them sick, despite having their own finals to prepare for and papers to write. Plus, don't even get me started on the countless text messages, phone calls, and what can I do's. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It sucks being sick. And it sucks even more when you're 2000 miles away from your mom. But if feels really good to know you have really great friends.

I can't tell you how much I appreciate you both and how grateful I am that I found you here.

And don't you worry, should you start vomiting too, I have plenty of left over Pedialyte popsicles and prescription suppositories with your names on them. I will rush them right over. You're welcome.

I Had a Rough Night

I went to bed at 12:30 last night and fell quickly blissfully asleep burrowed under my cozy down comforter surrounded by five pillows, all of which I need. I like to be surrounded by soft comfort on all sides. Then I woke up. To my right knee throbbing. This has happened before. Only this time, it was worse. So, so worse. The entire right side of my left knee felt like someone had put my leg in a vise of some sort and then cranked it abruptly and painfully to the right, twisting and contorting my knee into positions no knee should go. I looked at the clock. 4:00 am. This is no good, I thought. Also: ouch.

I lay on my back with my eyes closed, wondering what happened and trying to fall back asleep. No good. I decided I had to go to the bathroom so I sat up and my knee only reluctantly accepted weight. I limped to the bathroom. On the way I saw that there was a light on in the main part of the apartment. Curious. I know for sure I turned all the lights off. I got a little scared because roomie Lauren was not home last night so it couldn't have been her. But I decided to pee before going to check it out so at least if I was about to be killed I could be spared the indignity of peeing myself in the process. I knew I would not be able to save myself since I couldn't run. It was all starting to add up. Conspiracy.

As I sat and cherished these last moments of life, I started to wonder if I had left on a light. No, I was sure I hadn't. Then I suddenly remembered that hours before, when I was brushing my teeth with the bathroom door open, I had spotted movement out of the corner of my eye and discovered a little roly-poly bug chugging along the carpet in the hallway. I like roly-poly bugs. They're one of the fun bugs of childhood, right behind lightening bugs, because if you touch them with your finger, they curl in a ball and you can roll them. Oh, it's hours of fun. Although, I never understood why that was an effective defense. Seems to me they're just making themselves bite-sized. But that's neither here nor there. So, relieved that the bug wasn't a spider I would have to kill (spiders are NOT fun bugs), I picked up the little roly-poly bug and carried him through the apartment and placed him outside. I must have turned a light on in the process. Mystery solved. I limped to the kitchen and turned out the light.

Back in bed, I tried to turn over and get comfortable. I like to sleep on my tummy with one leg straight and the other curled up. I have created an artist's rendering for your benefit:

I am a very talented artist. Anyway, that position made my knee hurt like hell and suddenly, laying on my stomach, I started feeling little waves of nausea which were progressively getting bigger. I turned over. That helped. Only I cannot, have not, will never be able to fall asleep on my back. Problematic. Every other position put some sort of weight or pressure on my knee or was making me nauseous. I don't know what was up with that. I was afraid I was going to throw up. And kneeling to do so was really going to hurt my knee. It's pretty much the worst combination of symptoms possible if you think about it. So I lay on my back, falling in and out of half-sleep, having a stream of consciousness conversation with myself that went like this:

"My knee hurts. I'm nauseous. I need to go to sleep. This sucks. I'm glad that roly-poly bug was not a spider. I hate spiders. Remember that Discovery channel documentary you saw that said that you are never, no matter what, more than three feet away from a spider at any given time? I wonder where one is now. I wonder if one is on me. [Shudders] I need to fall asleep. Sleep now. Sleep please. I'm not falling asleep. Now my wrist kinda hurts. Why does my wrist hurt? I'm laying on it. Why am I laying on my wrist? This night will not end. Sleep. Spiders. Wrist. Knee. Nauseous. Why am I nauseous? Maybe I'm not eating enough. That doesn't make any sense. Obviously if I throw up there will be nothing left in my stomach for nourishment. Surely my body knows that. I'm not making any sense. Ow, my knee. This sucks."

And so on for quite some time. Eventually I had to turn over on my side and prop my knee on a pillow and ignore the throbbing and I eventually fell asleep.

Now, my knee still hurts, I can't bend it. And there is a persistent mild nausea which will not go away. Also, did you know that you are never more than three feet away from a spider? Honestly, isn't that terrifying? I think about that all the time. Also, my knee really hurts.

Administrative Update

I didn't realize that only registered users were being allowed to comment on the Diet blog. It has been brought to my attention and fixed. Now everyone should be able to comment. Knock yourself out. Thanks Whits!

To Sher

I just want to tell my best friend in the whole world happy birthday. Every year we get older it's more and more precious to me that I've known you since we were 12.

And now we're both 26. Bona fide adults. Though I realize that terrifies you.

Don't worry, love, it's only going to get better.

And if life starts getting way too serious, I promise to pick you up and take you to do something mildly dangerous and not at all reasonable to shake things up.

Or to remind you of what it was like to be 16. Honestly, 26 is way less terrifying.

I'm really thankful we get to be kids and grown-ups together. It's only going to get better.

Happy 26. And many more.

Humina Humina

Okay, I thought of something I like about the return of warm weather. Baseball players, shirtless and otherwise. I was leaving the gym the other day, which backs up to the university's athletic facilities, and who was congregating outside but baseball-uniformed reasons to love Spring. And just my luck, they were all only about 20 feet from where my car was parked.


Oh, don't mind me, I'm just stretching. With my phone in my hand. Pointed at you.


I'm just going to drive by real slow and casual-like. Just checking a text message. Yes, I always turn fully to the right as I'm driving to check my messages...Click.

I Suck

I have nothing to say to strangers. I'm not good at small talk. In fact, putting me in a room alone with strangers is pretty much the most horrifying thing that could ever happen. Which is why I would like to pull the person who invented the "mixer" by the hair down a bumpy road full of sharp rocks. First of all, it's a horrifying concept. Second of all, you took a wonderful word that brings to mind cocktails and whipping together pastry batter and made it evil.

Last week, I attended a panel discussion of lawyers who practice in a field I'm interested in. There was a reception afterwards so we could all, you know, mix. Except I suck at mixing. I especially suck at walking up to someone who I would love to work for, learn from, and generally follow around and tell them so to their faces. Usually, I just stand near the person I want to talk to, nodding in agreement and laughing in all the right places, while the person next to me does the talking. I try to jump in occasionally with something, but my question is usually promptly and directly answered and then I have no follow-up. The person I'm supposed to be impressing will usually look at me as if to say "anything else?" and I just smile and then mumble something about how good the hors d’oeuvres are. I got nothing. Unless you'd like to hear an anecdote about my first period? No? You sure? More hors d’oeuvres? I'll get them. You stay so you can keep talking to my fellow classmate who you will probably hire.

Honestly, can we cut the bullshit? Here is how I would like a mixer to go down:

Lawyer: Hi, I'm hiring.

Me: Here's my resume.

Lawyer: You're hired.

Me: Thank you. I have nothing to say about my period.

Lawyer: I appreciate that. These hors d’oeuvres are good.

Me: Totally.

The end.

Sometimes You Just Know

They had me at "participants will spend 60 days lying in bed."

I would be willing to do this for my country. I am a patriot. How much do you pay?

I'm Going to Talk About My Period Now

Joe has long claimed that he knows when I'm about to start my period. Which is saying something since it can be a bit erratic and usually I don't even know when it's coming (I know what you're thinking and frankly I don't think it's enough information...) Apparently, my mood changes. I become grouchy and irritable. I want to talk about how the world is ending and he doesn't love me and everyone is going to die, probably today, and why doesn't he care? PMS, he says. I say he better be glad he doesn't live nearby because I would like to punch him in the testes.

I started my period for the first time at the end of 5th grade, mere months after our first sex ed class which explained what was going to happen to us soon and that it was perfectly okay and normal and DON'T FREAK OUT. So when my period started and I found myself all alone in my house after school, I did not freak out. I totally know what this is, I thought calmly. This is my period. They said this would happen. I should not freak out. So I calmly went to my parent's bathroom, got a pad, and probably went back to playing with my dollhouses.

When my mom got home I told her what happened and I also gave her firm instructions not to tell Dad. She looked me in the eye and promised me she wouldn't.

When my dad got home, I walked into the kitchen for dinner. He congratulated me. In front of my brother. I shot my mother a horrified look and then my knees buckled, my face got red and hot, and then my whole body liquefied and I became a sizzling puddle of humiliation on the floor.

My mother had lied. My father knew something unspeakably embarrassing about me. I was betrayed and humiliated.

So maybe it's not the hormones that make me so unpleasant, Joe, but the deep-seated correlation between every monthly cycle and betrayal, humiliation and the end of life as I know it. Did that not ever occur to you?

Ass.

Something New

The Lovesome has a sister. She lives here.

SATC 2

I cannot wait for this. I'm so excited.

Although, I will say as much as I loved the first movie, I was a little disappointed. I just did not like that Carrie went back to Big after what he did to her. That was humiliating and awful. Get out of the fucking car, you prick! And she justified it by saying that it was partly her fault, the wedding turned into something that was all about her and what she wanted. But then they ended up getting married in a way that was all about what he wanted. Her friends weren't even there to see it. What happened to the small wedding of 75 she had initially planned?

I also do not buy that her friends would jump right back on board the Carrie and Big train considering everything he put her through. Of course, this is coming from a girl that is notorious for hating her friends' boyfriends. Although, I will say, that without fail, every single boyfriend I have ever hated in the end I have been absolutely right about. And the ones that I've loved have turned out to be fabulous keepers.

Actually, now that I think of it, not a single one of you who were mad/annoyed/disappointed because I thought your boyfriend was an ass has thanked me for being right all along and for insisting you deserved better. Ridiculous. Can I at least get a "you were right all along, I should have listened to you, I'll never date anyone you don't approve of ever again..." Or a parade. I would like a parade. Or you could treat me to a movie. I'm really looking forward to SATC 2. Ah, full circle. Nicely done.

Happy Birthday To You

My little blog is one year old today. Happy Birthday, Linda. I just decided its name is Linda. Linda Lovesome. Linda is one today. Linda is not making me any money yet. Oh, Linda.

I Would've Totally Blocked You From Viewing My Pictures Anyway. Also: Sunburn Hurts.

What's hotter than a farmer's tan? Farmer's sunburn. Why you shouldn't write papers outside on unseasonably warm days:

Pretty. I got the hairiness from the French/Italian side and the fair skin from the Irish/Scottish side. Thanks mom and dad. Why it couldn't have been switched so I could've gotten the olive skin coupled with no discernible body hair is a question that shall plague all my days. Way to suck at gene passing.

In other news, a girl asked me today if I would accept her friend request on Facebook. I, being totally hip and with it, replied that I wasn't on Facebook but that I would accept her friend request in real life. Dude, she scoffed at me. Totally made a face. Um, isn't real friendship better than virtual friendship? This is a backwards world we live in.

I have to go rub aloe on my arms and ponder the lack of virtual friends in my life. Awesome.

Sometimes I Wonder About Me

Joe was here this weekend. We cleaned out my car. After a while it became clear that I should document this business because otherwise no one will believe me. I offer no explanations or apologies. I simply present a series I shall call Items Found In My Car (WTF Edition):

A perfectly lovely and never touched pair of Kenneth Cole earrings I vaguely remember buying months ago:

A wicker basket:

An unopened letter opener and magnifying lens set:

A paper towel holder:

A set of matching coffee mugs (never used):

Knuckle tape (you know, for boxing):

A dirty yoga mat:

An electric paper shredder:

A rusty garden shovel:

Then, while removing some 13+ pens from the front seat area, I accidentally sat on my digital camera and broke the lens. The end.

Cleaning out the car is at once scary, disturbing and dangerous.