Puke, Vomit

So this is a term coined by my friend Ann, to be used when confronted with a person or couple or situation that is so ridiculously cute or perfect or sugary sweet or blissfully happy that it's disgusting. This is not to be confused with "Pukey McVomit", which is a nickname for the guy who drinks too much and throws up all over himself. For example, one might say, "Did you see that enormous bouquet of flowers So-and-So's husband sent her for no reason at all? Puke, vomit." Granted, this term might be uttered in envy, wishing your own husband would do something like that every once in a while. Hmph! Or it could simply be an adjective used to describe your friend's new relationship that is still in the early stages of infatuation. Or their old relationship that is amazingly still exhibiting some signs of infatuation.

Why am I sharing this unusual descriptor? Because yesterday, I turned to Jill (who sits less than 2 feet from me in our miniscule office) with a big goofy grin on my face and said, after a {long dreamy sigh}, of course, "We are SOOOOOOOO puke, vomit. Listen to this . . ." And I proceeded to read her an excerpt from one of Jeff's many emails. He is mushy-gushy to the extreme, and somehow he manages to say the sweetest, cheesiest things and still be funny. For example, today he said something about me being special, "But not Short Bus special. More like Dream Girl special." Aw, c'mon! That is so puke, vomit, and I love it!

My Baby is TWO!

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Idiosyncrasies, Part Deux

So after reading Juli's and Regi's weird things, I was inspired to jot down a few more of my own. (I don't know how to make their names into links to their blogs like they, being the super-cool and technology-savvy girls that they are, do, but they're the only ones who read my blog regularly and comment.)

~ I absolutely cannot fall asleep without reading. This one goes as far as using something akin to a coal-miner's lamp when I'm camping or reading with one eye closed when I've had a few too many drinks. How long I read depends on how good the book is. I can recall one instance when I was finishing up the 6th Harry Potter with a headlamp in a tent in the middle of Palo Duro Canyon, and my boyfriend (at the time) finally sighed really loudly and said, "Are you almost DONE?" I said, "Yeah, why?" He said, "You've been reading for over an hour & a half! And that light is making bugs dive-bomb the tent."

~ When I am crocheting something (a scarf, blanket, hat, etc . . .), I attach a very specific significance to that item and cannot give it to someone other than for whom it was originally intended. I have a baby blanket that I crocheted in 2005 for a close friend who was trying to get pregnant. She is finally, after years of surgeries, Clomid, IUI's, and in vitro, pregnant! So I have a baby blanket for her that is stashed away in a box in my closet, having moved from Texarkana to Dallas to both houses in Frisco. I can't wait to give it to her!

~ I absolutely, positively cannot stand rumpled sheets. I sleep with my sheets tucked in military-style, and I do not mess them up when I sleep. In the morning, I fold back a corner, get out of bed, fold that corner back into its proper spot, and Voila! Bed is made. Supposing a certain situation should arise, I can imagine that mid-make-out, I'd have to stop and rearrange the bedcovers. How romantic . . .

~ I am a rule-follower. I read the instructions on everything. Even a can of spray-starch for ironing. When I got my new cell phone (a wonderful, but slightly complicated Palm Centro), I carried the user manual around in my purse for the first week. And I'm definitely taking the manual for my new camera with us to Maine. Nerd alert!

Baked Into the Brownies

We're all weird, right? No one is perfectly "normal". It's just that some people are weirder than others. And if you're with someone for a very long time, or simply by yourself for a very long time, you tend to forget about some of these weird things (I prefer the term idiosyncrasies) that may cause new people, upon learning of them, to look at you with a furrowed brow and say, "What?!? You are f$%^ing wacked in the head." No, my new sweet, wonderful boyfriend would never say anything like that, but I was told that once, by another Yankee, of course. They throw around the F-word like they throw snowballs, neither of which I, as a southern girl, am accustomed to. Anyway, so there are all these weird things about me, to which I had not paid much heed, until now, when someone is getting to know me. Some of these idiosyncrasies are probably just habits I've formed over the years, while some others are "baked into the brownies", my new favorite saying from Jeff meaning instilled in me at such a young age or for such a long time that they're here for good.

• I am vehemently opposed to tanning beds and motorcycles, aka skin cancer and death traps. I have two phrases that pop into my mind at the mention of these two, which must have been drilled into my head at a young age, and could explain my aversion. "There's a reason those things are shaped like coffins." and "For your son's last birthday, buy him a motorcycle."
• I have a very strict sense of propriety, thanks to my Momma and a drug problem in my youth (I was drug to church every time the doors were open), that transcends the social norms for this day and age, has my friends asking me, "What is wrong with you?", and causes me to suffer a large dose of good ol' Southern Baptist guilt at the occasional slip-up (or even the thought of a slip-up) that would be considered even remotely "tacky" in my Momma's eyes. Oh, the fear that word incites. I'd rather be fat & ugly than tacky.
• [Aside] Don't get me wrong. I am VERY thankful that my mother worked so hard to instill these ethics and morals into me at such a young age. I would not want to be any other way. And my Momma is awesome. She is very kind and loving; she just wants her girls to be sweet, classy and properly attired at all times. "For goodness sakes, Lara Leigh, put on some lipstick. You need a little color." Sorry, Mom. Juli doesn't even own any, and I have no idea where the one tube I bought 3 years ago is hiding. (Insert Momma's long exasperated sigh here)
• I absolutely, positively will NOT look at the clock before I go to sleep. I don't want to know what time it is before I get in bed, especially if it's late. And I'll actually get angry at someone for telling me, "Oh, my gosh! I have to get going, it's 11:30!" What happens in my brain upon hearing this: "AAAAGH! DON'T TELL ME! Now I'll be exhausted tomorrow because I'll know I only got 6 hrs of sleep or less." I actually close my eyes when walking by a clock near bedtime. I know, I know. This one is particularly crazy. I realize that not knowing what time it is does NOT make the hours any longer, but I can convince myself that I got a certain amount of sleep and am well-rested if I really don't know exactly what time I crawled in bed. The power of the mind . . .
• I get unreasonably irritated by spelling and grammatical errors. It's not too bad in a chat or text, but in an email or written correspondence, it really gets on my nerves. But in anything published, it drives me NUTS. There are 3 different and distinct spellings: there, they're, and their, and they're NOT interchangeable. And there is no "a" in definitely. Why don't people use their spellcheck? See! I've used all 3 forms in their distinct and proper context. Don't even get me started on the misuse of punctuation. Since when did a sentence fragment become okay in writing?

Wow. There are so many more of these idiosyncrasies, but my fingers (and my brain) are tired, so I'll stop for now. Maybe later I'll do an "Idiosyncrasies, Part Deux: 5 Reasons Lara is Still Single".

{Long Dreamy Sigh}

I don't know how to type out a long dreamy sigh, so I'll just call it that. I think I have walked into work every single day this week and answered Jill, who asks "What are you smiling about?", with a "He's so wonderful . . ." accompanied by a long dreamy sigh. Don't worry. I haven't chipped away all of this tough shell I've spent the last 18 months putting on. I can clearly remember saying those exact words in November of 2002 about a different boy, who, 4 years later, ripped my heart from my chest and ran over it with an F-150 on Christmas Day. I could go on about all the ways this one is different, but that's just stupid, and I know it. But I'm not too jaded to really, really enjoy it for now.

So my boyfriend Jeff (Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, yes, I said the word boyfriend! Based on the Seinfeld girlfriend determination, there's no denying it. We're on an almost daily phone call frequency and the implied date several times a week. Yep. I got myself a boyfriend.) . . . Sorry, I digress. So my boyfriend Jeff (eeeeee!) is hilarious. I have had a relatively rough week at work with several very stressful situations, about which he has patiently listened to me complain and adamantly reassured me that I'm the best dentist he knows, despite the fact that he's never even seen me with a pair of gloves on, much less have the slightest idea about the quality of care I am capable of providing. But he insists. Anyway, back to the hilarity. I was all worried about a case I had yesterday afternoon that was not going as planned due to some mishaps at the lab. SO frustrating! And this is the email that I got:

"Don’t worry about this afternoon, sweetheart. I’m sure it will go great. You’re the queen of crowns, you’re the leader of Lumineers, you’re the finest for fillings, you’re the princess of prosthodontics, you’re the expert of exodontia… And I think you’re just the person to make these new teeth!"

My reactions to this email:
1. Laughing so hard I spit out most of my Starbucks Caffe Mocha Truffle
2. Reading it aloud to Jill, who almost spit out whatever she was munching on
3. Awwwwwww, this is the sweetest thing ever.
4. I really appreciate his use of alliteration for effect.
5. I'm super-impressed that he knows the word "exodontia"

And after a fun evening of pizza, beer and "Little Miss Sunshine" and already two very sweet emails this morning, all I have to say is {Long Dreamy Sigh}.

Meet the Friends Week

This was a big week in my journey to the "B" word (boyfriend). We had lots of group activities that involved him meeting my friends (including Jill, Pat, & Jacob, who are pretty much family), showing him my office, introducing him to Bob (yes, Bob #5, Mmmmmmmmm), a speakerphone conversation with Ann at about 1am Saturday morning, and him asking me to go to Maine for his cousin's wedding at the end of July. Yeah, I know. Maine. Yikes. I am really excited, but also pretty much scared out of my mind. I can't even count the number of times Ann has said or texted or typed in a chat, "Don't freak out!" For the record, I think I am no longer a flight risk. All of my friends really liked him, and he is by far the sweetest guy I have ever dated. Eugene is not absolutely crazy about him, but I think he just doesn't want to share his mommy. We're making progress, though. Eugene no longer tries to eat his face and only barks maniacally for about 15 minutes when he gets here. Baby steps, baby steps . . .

He's on my list . . .

For a long time, I felt pretty certain about my list. I always agreed with Ross on Friends about carrying around a laminated copy (which didn't work out so well for him in the end with Isabella Rossellini, who is actually Ingrid Bergman's daughter; did you know that? Sorry, tangent), but after many years of holding strong with the same top 5, I have decided to revise my list. Sorry, McDreamy. You're out, and Bob's in. While compiling this easy-on-the-eyes picture list, I noticed a trend. Apparently, I like skinny guys with a scruffy face and lots of tattoos.

1. David Beckham - bend it, baby


2. Adam Levine - he can sing me to sleep any time



3. Johnny Depp - savvy?



4. Matthew Fox - I'd like to be lost with him.



5. Bob Schneider - all I wanna do is rock this _______ (fill in the blank, Leslie!)