For Twitter Part I, Presented Without Any Promise of There Ever Being A Part II
edited to add: fuck me, these paragraphs are killing me. later, numbered lists.
Andrew put some fancy hand lotion in my stocking over Christmas – it smells quite lovely. But I kept thinking “What does this remind me of? It smells so familiar.” I was sitting around waiting at the doctor’s office the other day and it hit me. It smells like HIS MOM.
What the hell, right? Is it that (a) he wants me to smell like his mom, the FREAK? or (b) he did not smell before buying? or maybe (c) he liked the smell and associated it with pleasant memories not realizing they were MOM MEMORIES?
I put some on my hands and asked him to smell them. The rest of the conversation went like this:
Me: “Does it remind you of anything?”
Him: “Uh. No?”
Me: “ARE YOU SURE?”
Him: “…? Hawaii?” [pulling stuff out of his ass, there]
Me: “It doesn’t remind you of YOUR MOM?”
Him: “God! No! No! I mean. I, uh, don’t think so? No! But. Well. Maybe subconsciously?”
Me: “You know you can’t do that, right? That if your mom or I ever comment on liking a scent the other is wearing, you cannot buy it for the other, right?”
Him: “YES. Jeez.”
Me: “Ok, well. I just needed to check.”
Him: “Yeah, what I thought to myself was ‘I really want Lara to smell like my mom’s bathroom.’”
I am addicted to the Wire. I powered through seasons one and two and am now more slowly going through season three because I’ve reached the point where I’m not sure I can live without Jimmy McNulty and Stringer Bell in my life each and every day.
I mean, really. I have to update my List. Idris Elba is just whoa. Could you even design a more perfect looking man? I submit you could not. Having said that, if you did set out to design the most perfect looking man and I was helping you, you would most likely come out with a guy whose face looked exactly like Dominic West’s. He’s just so My Type, it’s not even funny. I love him in inappropriate ways.
I watch the Wire in bed before I go to sleep, because Andrew isn’t watching it with me (works for me – more rewinding, why hellllllo, Stringer Bell, you look real nice in a sweater, indeed you do). Last night my many hours of hard work watching finally paid off and I had a Sex Dream about Dominic West. It was AWESOME. Dream Dominic is very good in bed. And we were IN LOVE. As you are, in dreams.I woke up though, dammit. I got up and went to the bathroom and came back and did that thing where you try to pick up where you left off in dreamland and you know what? This time it worked. Except this:
In part 2 of my dream, I was sitting in a church (huh?) and was feeling all mushy whooo whooo in love and sooo looking forward to seeing my lovely in love with me Dream Dominic again and a friend came up and was all “Yeah, he’s not that into you. Like he said you’re fun to have around but he’s not really into anything serious sooooooo.”
YOU GUYS. I’ve been walking around feeling devastated and heartbroken all day. Why Dream Dominic, why? Why did you lead me on like that? I really thought I felt a connection, you know? Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it too.
Huh. I thought of more than two things to write about here, but this is too long and I’ve run out of steam. Maybe there will be a Part II. Or perhaps I’ll see you again in a year.