Obsession: Lip Balm

 

Not kidding. At any given time, I will own not one but at least three different kinds of lipbalm. Currently carrying:

• Yes To Carrots: C Me Smile Lip Butter in Berry [USDA Certified 95% Organic =) ]
• Blistex Raspberry Lemonade Blast [with SPF 15!]
• Softlips in Sugar Cookie [yummy!]

I don’t quite know what it is, but I love my lipbalm. Like Lays, I can’t just have one or else I feel empty and inadequate. More than just for the taste or the smell [although they all smell really, really good and the my first tube Raspberry Lemonade Blast ended up being more of a snack than of a lip treatment], more than just good they do protecting my lips from the evils of dryness and chapped-ness; it’s a comfort, like a Linus-blanket for my lips.

And I’m not a slave to flavor or brand. I love experimenting with different types. It’s funny, really, though, because now that I look back and contemplate, I can always associate a different part and/or relationship(s) of my life with the kind of lip care used at the time: classic Cherry Chapstick was senior year of high school and the year postgrad, most of that time spent with one certain somebody; Avon lipbalm in Strawberry were the early years of high school; Avon lipbalm in Tangerine was every summer, no more, no less; Blistex in Berry Blast did me well through grade eleven and through many a break up; and, of course, the standard throwbacks to the Bonne Bell days that punctuate every lipbalm transition.

Some girls have diaries, some girls have wardrobe changes, some girls have hairstyles to get them through the phases in their life. Me? I’ve got my arsenal of lip buddies along with the memories I know they’re gonna bring.

And the Drama Llama stops here

 

It’s like an never ending roller coaster of stupid words and fruitless actions that are getting me nowhere! Seriously, just throw me a bone or hit ‘PAUSE’ because I need to stop, reevaluate, and just catch my breath.

I won’t go into much detail; I’ve learned my lesson (the hard way, of course, or else it would never have stuck with me) that people seem to misinterpret the slightest remark as the airing of dirty laundry. But whoever originally stated that “When it rains, it pours,” was one hella smart cookie. Seriously. It starts with innocent remarks and offers that seem way too good to be true and then it blows up into ‘he said’, ‘she said’, and regrettable saying and pointed fingers. Then the Drama Llama caravan makes it’s way into other parts of my life: previous drama that I just don’t have the energy to get into (resulting in more spiteful words and normally ignorable actions), unrelated preexisting drama that suddenly finds it’s way into the current situation, and the laughter of those sitting at home watching my misery on television because I have determined that my life is like that of The Truman Show and I’m being horribly set up like Truman Burbank.

Honestly, I’m out of breath just thinking about it. And I can’t seem to sort any of it out in my head because it’s all too confusing. And it doesn’t help that I have a chip on my shoulder and ghetto-mama attitude that points me in the direction of ‘flight’ rather than ‘fight’. But that’s just who I am and I’ve got to bear with me because I’m not always the rational one.

But this Drama Llama caravan (I really, really just like saying ‘drama llama’. It’s fun; I could go for hours sitting on the floor saying ‘drama llama’ like an idiot and be happy, thus I’ve expanded it into a full on concept) stops here. I am determined of that.

Stolen: “50 Reasons to Have Sex”

Stolen from How I Met Your Mother, I now present the infamous list entitled “50 Reasons to Have Sex”.

1. 1) Because you can’t get to sleep
2. 2) Make-up sex
3. 3) Break-up sex
4. 4) Your friend told you about a new position
5. 5) Revenge
6. 6) Rebound
7. 7) Paratrooping/Bangin’ for roof
8. 8) Nothing good on T.V.
9. 9) Because you’re in a hotel
10. 10) Curiosity
11. 11) It’s raining
12. 12) It’s halftime
13. 13) Diet/exercise
14. 14) Celebrate recent weight loss
15. 15) You finally get to show your childhood bed some action
16. 16) Prom night
17. 17) You’re already at their place and you don’t want to move your car
18. 18) Show off new lingerie
19. 19) Celebrate major victory by favorite team and/or political candidate
20. 20) Your chance to do it in a specific location (ex: airplane, Burger King bathroom)
21. 21) To prove we’re not in a rut
22. 22) Stress relief
23. 23) Just shaved legs
24. 24) Forgot to buy a birthday present
25. 25) “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye is playing on the radio
26. 26) Celebrating the joy of life after a near-death experience
27. 27) Your one chance w/ a celebrity
28. 28) Time an egg
29. 29) To avoid cleaning, studying or doing work of any kind
30. 30) She wants to
31. 31) It’s cold outside
32. 32) Cheer someone up (pity)
33. 33) Keeping up with the neighbors
34. 34) Your roommate is out of town and you can do it on the couch
35. 35) Some very protected sex to celebrate the fact that I’m not/we’re not/you’re not pregnant
36. 36) Practice
37. 37) They have air-conditioning and you don’t
38. 38) Because he/she is from one of the countries you haven’t had sex with a person from yet
39. 39) “Damn, your calves look good in those cargo shorts” sex
40. 40) Called/texted the wrong person but she was into it anyway
41. 41) Because she looks like your superhot cousin and this is the closest it’ll ever get to being okay
42. 42) Breaking in a new apartment
43. 43) Because he said he loves you and you’re not ready to say it back yet
44. 44) Wingman diving on the friend grenade
45. 45) Your condoms are about to expire
46. 46) It’s getting a little hard
47. 47) Miscommunication (Cheetos sex)
48. 48) To reinforce good behavior (such as shaving & dental hygeine[sic])
49. 49) To change the subject
50. 50) Love♥

Proceed, Progress

 

Maybe I’m getting extremely lonely or maybe I’m going insane. Either way, I’ve actually become comfortable in my own self-imposed solitude. In actuality, though, it’s not pure solitude, so I guess “selective solitude” is a better phrase.

It’s a weird situation, really: I’ve cut myself off from all but a few people in my life and somehow, though more plain and mundane, things seem to be better. Not a reflection upon the people I’ve chosen to be part of my life, no, not at all; more of a reflection upon the state of certain parts of my life right now. And, I guess, I’m beginning to prioritize and focus on other parts of my life right now, parts that I saw earlier in my life to disregard.

Yes, I know that there’s a great possibility that I’m burning some bridges here in the process of this hermit-ing myself and I’m probably going to let those bridges blaze in all their metaphorical fiery glory because, honestly, I don’t feel the need nor the compulsion to explain myself and the things I do. The only person, I’ve learned, that needs to understand why I do the things I do is me. And, quite frankly, it’s made me happier this past week to just be me and to just be on my own instead of having to be ‘on’. Okay, yeah, I took about a cumulative total of about fifteen minutes bitching and moaning about “people this” and “people that”, but other than that I’ve been somewhat content in ignoring (future apologies inserted here) people’s phone calls, texts, emails, and instant messages. And, if people start getting desperate and start sending actual letters and carrier pigeons, I’ll probably just throw all that correspondence into the proverbial fire – my catch-all corner – without even bothering to read it.

It’s not that I don’t want to read any of the messages, whatever they may contain; quite the opposite: my curiosity is burning with the flame to know just what’s been written. I just realized that I’m done. To be more specific, I’m just done with what’s past. I can’t change it; I don’t want to bother myself with trying to make sense or rationalizing it; I could care less if you’re obsessed with it, just don’t bring it around here! Because it all comes down to this: shit happens – can’t change it and you shouldn’t dwell on it because that still won’t change anything. Of course, there will be those who say,

“Oh, it’s not that easy to just leave the past in the past!”

and to you, I say you’re an idiot. Of course it’s that easy! Just leave it the fuck alone! If you need to drag it out, let it be for historian’s purposes only! (Note: for those of you that do not understand the reference of ‘historian’s purposes’, it plainly means for examination so as not to produce similarly fucked up instances in the future.)

I think the best analogy of this is when Addison Montgomery (formerly of Grey’s Anatomy, currently of Private Practice, played by Kate Walsh; yes, I try to watch these as my own little escape from reality) told her ex-husband, Derek Sheppard (currently of Grey’s Anatomy, played by Patrick Dempsey), that after they divorced she mentally made him very small and put him in a tiny box, only taking him out of that tiny box when she had to. Props to Shonda Rimes for the romantically cynical dialogue (which I can’t for the life of me find or remember). But yeah, that’s what I want right now and that’s what I’m doing: fitting certain things in my life into tiny boxes and putting them away.

Something old, something new…

So, here it is, an new dog performing an old trick: someone else on this planet has set up a blog! While not new to blogging in general, I felt the need to find a new outlet for myself. I guess, like phases in life, my days of stubborn HTML-independence is over and I have succumbed to the world of blog-engines.

Again, while not new to the concept, I am somewhat new to the “atmosphere,” so to speak. Never, besides the Notes section on FB and my ancient Xanga account from my days as an absolute n00b, have I felt the need to, again, succumb to the use of a blog-engine. I always thought that if you wanted the world to see something, make the effort and make it all yourself. So I battled with Microsoft FrontPage and other desktop writing software; I warred with HTML and textboxes. And yet, it seems, the world of the milquetoast and conforming blog-engines have won.

But all is not lost. (Here am I, sounding like the truly pretentious idiot I come off as in my writing.)

At least, I hope.

Blogs in themselves are reason for individuality, right? So whoever loses enough brain cells to even remotely glance at this will understand that past all the hues of tan and brown and the generic Georgia font is someone who is not like anyone else in any way at all, is someone who (again) battled with individuality and lost but still tries to retain that one, singular strand that keeps her herself in this world of cardboard cut-outs and cookie-pressed morons.

Did that make sense? Hmm, I seem to ask myself that often…