normally when you make glue, first you have to thermoset your resin...
eew. i just had warm tuna tartare. it was awful and completely unnecessary. like children.
so today i'm going to wax a bit personal. i hope you don't mind. it was brought to my attention today by a concerned reader/fan/devotee/drone, whatever we're calling consistent blog readers nowadays, that the entries of the past few months allude to the fact that i might, in fact, have a heart. and consequently a soul. and such a prospect frightens me. duh, something beats in this 22 year-old chest, but you can't let them know that. and so i fervently sought the evidence, and found this, this, and THIS (which, incidentally, caused me to elicit an outright UGH at myself). what's happening? this same boy who, just recently, extolled the virtues of incorporating the C word into her vernacular to his mother, is now pushing balloons as part of jolly home decor?
i suppose people do change. and it has nothing to do with getting older. that i don't do. that i won't do. that i can't do. and speaking of change, today i realized that i have this intense desire to befriend an older woman. something about a certain white maned, post-menopausal vixen sporting prada glasses and carrying a 92nd st Y tote bag that i encountered on the subway the other day held the appeal of a goldmine of patent leather, and i found myself inordinately attracted to her. i wanted to hang out with her. i wanted to hear her floorboards creak as she walked from the kitchen to the couch, sat herself next to me, and presented me with my third cup of chamomile tea. i wanted to discuss rope rugs and how she used to fool around with girls while at smith, before marrying her amazing husband of 46 years who is currently studying primates in sub-saharan africa as part of CUNY's doctoral program on primate anthropology. and how she wants me to join her tonight to watch mildred pierce on TCM and how when she watches movies, she can't just sit there and watch the movie so she is a closet needlepointer, never daring to expose her 'guilty passion' as she calls it to her friends, for fear they'll make the same association between needlepointing and old age that she's held fast to since she watched her very elderly grandmother needlepoint as a little girl. but she needlepoints, and i would needlepoint that night, too. and i would take the same subway home afterward if i weren't invited to stay the night first.
and all would be well.
so i'm accepting applications for an older woman friend. and by older woman, i'm staying within the confines that exist outside of both cougar and colostomy bag chick.
and that, my dear suze orman-watching friends, is all for today.
xo (and everything in between)