Sorry this is late, folks! I've been having some issues at home (I'm pretending you're interested in why this is less than punctual). Here's what you've been waiting for!
Very often I find myself staring at the people I see during the normal course of my day. I’m not staring at them with lust, I stare at these people and just contemplate everything about them. Would we be friends? Do they like to sing when they’re alone? Do they pick their nose and wipe it under their chairs? Silly shit like that.
Mostly, though, I wonder how like me they are. I know in the grand scheme of things, we are pretty much the same. But there are times when I Watch the people that pass in front of my office, or the people in line in front of me at the grocery store, or at the bank, or wherever I am and think about how sad and tired they look. I think that they can’t possibly have happy memories or anything in their life that brings them joy, because they just look…well, GREY. Like their lives have drained them of every single pleasant color and they are all automatons swarming together to keep the collective going. Right now, I’m wondering if that was some sort of awesome nerd reference that I have no idea about.
I get tired, too. And I feel drained most of the time. Between all of my recent issues, and my break up, and my job and my bills and everything else, I think I probably look pretty grey to everyone else. I barely smile when I’m in public by myself (though I do think that’s more for appearances sake than lack of anything to smile about; I look at people who are by themselves who smile for a little bit of time and I think to myself “That person is clearly losing their motivation to stay in touch with reality”), and I am always hurrying. Today, this seemed like perfect fodder for STMLTYOLB Wednesday, and here’s why.
I have so much joy it’s unbelievable. For anyone to picture me as anything but a radiant mix of delightful color splashes makes me so very sad. I keep every single happy piece of my life tucked away for rainy days when I need a huge pick me up, and boy do my memories deliver. In the hopes of restoring some of YOUR color (perhaps you are having a very grey day), here is today’s pick.
MEMORIES THAT MAKE YOU INCREDIBLY JOYFUL NO MATTER HOW BLEAK YOUR SHIT LOOKS
Song : Beating Hearts Baby
Oh my gosh, you guys. This song sticks to me like an obnoxious piece of pre-chewed gum on the bottom of my shoe. But in a good way. I have so many memories attached to this song, and not one of them is depressing or disappointing. Here is my favorite.
The first time the main squeeze came to stay with me for an extended period of time, I lived in Boca Raton in a very large apartment that was heinously overpriced (but I was recruiting for the DoD at that time, and money wasn’t something I needed to give a fuck about) and did I mention it was incredibly large? The balcony alone was about as big as my apartment now. Not that you can use that as any kind of valid measuring stick….moving on.
My roommate’s girlfriend was out of town, leaving just the main squeeze, the other roomie and myself. As the main squeeze and I were stuck together like aforementioned shoe and gum, I can only imagine that John (the other roommate) was uncomfortable and therefore, the main squeeze and I found ourselves alone pretty much constantly.
On one night in particular, being the fantastic cook I am, I decided that I wanted to make the main squeeze my seriously fucking bad ass manicotti (Yes. I’m Italian…knowing how to make manicotti is practically inherent. But mine is seriously better than everyone else’s) and just relax and have a good time with him. He had made me a CD that I had yet to listen to, so I decided an evening of cooking in my radical kitchen was as good a time as any to take an aural gander. The first 4 songs were pretty decent, and we were bopping along, the main squeeze was singing (he has a tremendous singing voice but he rarely uses it if he knows you’re listening. And by you I mean me) and then, on comes song five. Beating Hearts Baby. And I was so fucking tickled by it that I put it on repeat, knew it by heart in the span of ten minutes, and the main squeeze and I spent the rest of the night listening to that song, cooking, eating, dancing, and singing before exhausting ourselves to my room and going to bed, completely spent and divinely happy. Are there better memories than that? Of course! But for whatever reason, that is one of my prized possessions in my memory bank.
This song is completely the stuff that good times are made of. It’s infectious and toe-tap worthy and upbeat and wonderful. I hope that this can be another song that you listen to and attach a new memory to it…one that will make you glow on days when the grey seems unstoppable.
*As a sidenote, I believe I’ve mentioned that my fiancé and I have been together for four years. It will be five years this November. Over the last five years, he’s made a very consistent “joke” about why he’s stayed with me so long. It has never offended me, and I hope that it’s partially true. The joke is “I came because she was hot, I stayed for the manicotti”. Neither of us were the relationship type, we were both reckless whores that slept with almost everyone we came into contact with. So, there you have it. My manicotti is so fucking good, I can keep the main squeeze attracted for life. You can’t have the recipe. Well….unless your relationship is in jeopardy. Then you can have it and take all the credit for it. Claim it as “so and so’s manicotti” and you will have a happy, bloated life partner that is too stuffed to think of anything else but your divine cooking hands. You’re welcome!!