Epiphanies and Equations, Or Why I Feel a Trip to the Beach Coming On

2012 has begun, and I have failed to spout forth a resolution. I am the equivalent of an algebraic equation: unresolved. In my defense, I am not a fan of math—unless it's one plus one equals an incredible afternoon of delight.

While having lunch with my BFF—the absolute smartest person I know, besides me* (obviously), I enjoyed two epiphanies. Actually, I didn't enjoy them so much as I was unhinged by them. And since BFF also serves as my personal GPS (Global Perspective Sister), her trademark poignant line of questioning assured that I would locate my epiphanies somewhere over Pollo Enchiladas and Fish Tacos. When last we found me there, I was crying into a bottle of cerveza and pondering the mating habits of sand crabs, where I left my cover-up, and why zinc oxide can't just be clear.

Okay, so . . . Epiphany One. Apparently, a person can have a few too many loose ends in her life, and the preponderance of said loose ends can make a normally together person feel all sorts of unresolved and, well, icky. Math wiz that I am, the equation looks like this: Too many loose ends = too many variables = overwhelm = risk aversion = a disturbing bout of inertia. Sure, I oversimplified, but who can function with that kind of resistance?

Epiphany Two. My discombobulation, heretofore known as Epiphany One, is a major buzz kill equivalent to, say, a borborygmic pressure cooker. Yeah. Quiz later. Anywho, no avoiding it. Before you can make a resolution you'll keep, you have to be clear on your shit. You have to know what you can and can't live without, what you have control of and what you don't, what will make you the happiest, what you're willing to walk away from, and what will take care of itself. Plus, how many carbs are in a slice of margherita pizza—or the whole thing with maybe some pineapple. Or more precisely, would I benefit from a nice getaway in the sun, sand, and surf instead of thinking so hard? These are things I must get to the bottom of.

In summary, time to shore up my loose ends so I can really enjoy my next big adventure with a clear conscience, a joyful heart, and a renewed zest for life. Who knows, 2012 could be my best, brightest, biggest year ever. Maybe it will even be Apocalyptic. Hey, I think I'm having another epiphany.
_____________________
* and HSM, but I'm not telling him that cuz, well, there are only so many kudos you can freely bestow upon a Hot Sexy Man before he reminds you about them, like when he posits how you can be Mensa material one minute and a laughable 12-year-old the next. Clearly, I'm not a 12-year-old (I know you are, but what am I?); I'm just flexible (that's what HE said!) on an intellectual level.

|

Tweet

Because, Well, I Can

I'm a girl who truly appreciates a thoughtful man, so bear with me while I talk up my boyfriend. Hot Sexy Man (HSM) came back bearing gifts from his recent trips afar. He seems to have a knack for choosing just the right things for me, so I think I'm going to keep him. Because, well, he keeps calling.

Here I am with my little Destructo, 
wearing my new pearls.
(Click to enlarge.)

First, let me quote Diane Sawyer who once said, "There's no substitute for paying attention." Hardly a more apropos statement, I assure you, cuz lucky for me, HSM really listens. After I mentioned I'd never had one and thought it would be the absolute coolest, HSM came home from Virginia with a beautiful pearl necklace. That's right, my BF gave me a pearl necklace, and I liked it. Of course, we might be talking apples and oranges . . . but whatever, it's my new favorite thing.

Then last week, I discovered just how well HSM knows me—and therefore how much he can see into my soul—after only six months. See, he gave me the gift that keeps on giving, direct from Flagstaff, and I'm re-gifting it to you all. Because, well, you deserve it.

Here it is, my special book: Creative Cussin': A Mix 'n' Match Profanity Generator. And peeps, it's the Redneck Edition. Sweet! It's chock full of preciously inscribed sentiments on spiral rings, and all one has to do, if one is so inclined, is flip through and choose a feeling/attitude/outlook for the day. Does HSM really "get" me, or what?

Curiously, he also gave me some special scented bar soap with cacti embedded in it. Wonder if there's a message in that for my mouth. Hmmm, not too subtle, HSM.

So since this is the season for giving, here's your special sentiment below. Think of it as a little love in a post from me to you. Because, well, I like you.

Now I'm trying to decide where to keep this priceless gem so that everyone who visits me can enjoy it. What do you think? Shall I place it strategically, say, in the bathroom? Or as a coffee table centerpiece? What about in the foyer for those heartfelt goodbyes?

Here's a hug, and one for the road to let you know that I think you're a "Bastard Licker!"

I know. Stops the heart. Everybody, thank HSM. Because, well, he's earned it.
|

Tweet

Surprise, Surprise

I like surprises. I really do. Not the kind where your pooch leaves you a mammoth I-can't-believe-you-left-me-alone-with-what's-her-face-for-the-whole-weekend dump in the middle of the carpet. Not the kind where your teenager discovers she's oops-wonder-how-that-happened skipped a period. And I'm not too sure about the I-told-my-parents-about-you-and-YOUR-BLOG announcement, cuz . . . holy first impressions, Batman! Those heart-stopping surprises can leave you pinging around the room like a crazed pinball in search of a deep, dark hole. But I'm talking about fun surprises. Man surprises, cuz when a man surprises you with his good intentions, you get a feel-good smile out of it. At some point.

But, as we all know, there are right ways and wrong ways for a man to surprise his woman. For instance:

Wrongway Surprise Exhibit A, which says:  But I Was Doing You a Favor
After Winter put her cake in the oven, she went to the store, leaving her husband Adam "in charge." Adam, a self-professed "excellent baker" from waaaaaay back, took it upon himself to exhume their daughter's birthday sheet cake from the oven and frost it. How hard could it be, right? You pop that sucker out of the oven, cut it in half, plop it on a plate, and slather the creamy stuff all over it, just like you do to your face in the morning. He must have been thinking, When she sees what I have done for her, I am so getting laid tonight.

I give you now Surprise Exhibit A, for which we all got a good laugh and Adam got a good tongue lashing, and for which (I am betting cold, hard cash) Adam did not get laid.



Even though it looks like it, this hand-frosted masterpiece has not been, nor would it ever be, attacked by rats or raccoons or humans who are not blind. Plus, Adam's bakery exploits necessitated a replacement cake, prepared in record "OMG we don't have time for this" time by his harried wife.

Wrongway Surprise Exhibit B, which says:  But You LIKE Surprises
Lacy's husband Wayne, always a kidder, strategically placed an intriguing trinket in her bathroom shower, hoping she would come upon it and be pleasantly shocked and awed, followed by uproarious laughter and phone calls to all her friends about how he “got” her good. He must have been thinking, She's going to be reminded how much I make her laugh, and—slam dunk—I will surely get laid tonight.

I give you now Surprise Exhibit B, the sight of which caused his wife to highjump six feet into the air, clutching her ample bosom, while shrieking his name like an evil banshee, and for which (I am betting cold, hard cash) Wayne did not get laid.



Note also that Surprise Exhibit B is considerably larger than a real cockroach and therefore inspires higher decibels. And since Waynerdog repeated this little trick with me, his unsuspecting roomie (because he could), I can attest to the part about highjumping, bosom clutching, and evil banshee shrieking. As a side note, turns out Wayne can scuttle out of a room just as fast as a cockroach.

Rightway Surprise Exhibit C, which says:  But I Was Thinking of You the Whole Time
Hot Sexy Man, or as he likes to be called, HSM, spent the earlier part of last Friday night in the liquor store where he chatted up 24-year-old hottie distributors and taste-tested their finer offerings. While there, HSM texted me, "I got something for you." He must have been thinking, She's going to think I only have eyes for her, and this will get me laid tonight.

On his arrival several hours later, I was presented with Surprise Exhibit C.

I really did dig it and, of course, you see how much we drank once the bottle was opened. I will let you guess how this one turned out—if you dare risking your cold, hard cash.

(In the interest of full disclosure, cuz I know you peeps have come to rely on my honesty, I am still and always a virgin.)
|

Tweet