dirty drawers


Love is…

When you are not ashamed to show her your comic book collection.

When you are not ashamed to let him see you in granny panties.

Knowing she’s crazy and not running away.

Knowing that he knows your crazy and yet still hasn’t run away.

When you find someone who laughs at an impressively loud fart.

When you don’t even notice the odor in his room anymore.

Seeing her reach for the check on the first date.

Seeing him hold your purse (with minimal bitching) while you try on that pair of shoes that you both know you have no business trying on.

Being able to go to your  happy place when PMS comes a knockin’.

Being able to admit that maybe you were being a little hormonal when you cried because he changed the channel during that GEICO commercial you like.

Sitting through 12 hours of the Next Top Model marathon.

Sitting through an hour and a half of terrible comedians just to see him for five minutes.

Not being afraid to let her see your dirty undies lying around.

Not complaining when he falls asleep in his dirty clothes, without taking a shower or even washing his face.

The simple things that you can’t buy in a store.

The complex things that there are no words for. 

Down by the Boardwalk

I feel like there are waves crashing in my head. I have always been fascinated by waves. Waves are in themselves an inherent contradiction. On the one hand waves are a powerful force of nature. They are capable of incredible destruction and are not to be toyed with. On the other hand there is just something so calming about the sound of waves crashing on an otherwise quiet seashore, the faint sound of seagulls high above, the wind blowing through your hair. Just think about how odd the statement I just made would sound if I replaced waves with some other noun. Would anything else crashing besides waves have a calming effect. I tell you waves are a living, moving, crashing, and calming oxymoron. My thoughts are like waves today…

Totally and completely off any kind of topic. I’m just gonna let the waves come as they may.

Have you ever had someone get mad at you and call you buddy, or pal, or some other friendly greeting? Something along the lines of “Hey buddy I was about to park there!” Or “That’s my wife you’re sleeping with pal!” I don’t know where the hell this notion of using terms of befriendment to express anger came from, but it makes absolutely no sense to me. I’ve only ever heard white people do it. Is this a white people thing only?
*Can you hear the seagulls calling?*

On the flipside I find that it is way more common for me to hear people use harsh insults to compliment people. I used to think that this was a guy thing, but girls do it sometimes too. Some examples:
Black Guy: Yo did you see that new Chris Rock special? He is one funny mothafucka. I swear that fool got no sense. He is a straight asshole!
White Guy: Hey dude did you see that new Dane Cook special? That is one funny son of a bitch! Yes sir as far as sons of bitches go he is the funniest.
Girl: Oh my god did you see the new Sarah Silverman special? I laughed so much, she is such a slut. I almost got a cramp I laughed so hard. What a whore!
*Feel the wind passing through your hair? Just relax and feel the breeze.*

I was talking to my friend the other day who is due to get married sometime next year. We were talking about life and love. The old addage is that the true sign of love is when you are comfortable enough to fart around your lover without feeling self conscious. This has been true in the past but with cynicism running rampant these days, it’s time to hold love to a higher standard. While discussing her laundry day escapades with me, we stumbled upon a new litmus test for love. You really know you are in love with someone when you are not afraid to let them see the shit streaks in your dirty drawers. If your lover has seen your shitstained undies, then congratulations, you guys are going to make it.
*Go ahead, throw a pebble. See how many times you can make it skip.*

Lastly over the weekend, my family decided that they want to go to the inauguration in January. That would have been a nice idea a week ago, but now it’s just a royal pain in the ass. There are no hotels left, the train tickets are going fast, and apparently you need tickets to even go to the parade and of course there is a list for those. My mom is talking about camping out there from the night before. In mid January, in D.C, right by the Patomic. Yeah, not happening! If I can’t find a hotel in the nearby vicinity, for a reasonable price, than I am out. I really want to go, but I am not doing the camp out thing. That’s why they have TV.
*Whoops. Tide’s coming in. Time to go.*

Sidenote – On a serious note, please pray for the victims in the school collapse that occurred over the weekend in Haiti. On second though please pray for Haiti in general. That country can always use some good thoughts.