confessions of one seeking friends with a pool

confession: “eat mor chikin.” it annoys me that the chik-fil-a ad campaign employs misspelling cows. why would i follow the directive of illiterate bovine?

confession: i eat more chicken anyway, but not from chik-fil-a and not because the silly cows advise it. i eat too much chicken. i wonder if i’d be happier and less skittish and spastic if i ate less chicken. i doubt it.

confession: i don’t quite believe that “you are what you eat.” i think it is truer that “you are what you think.”

confession: if there is a pool in the backyard at a party, i will *accidentally* fall or get pushed in. unless the party host is a friend of mine, in which case, i’ll jump in without pretense.

confession: i’m looking to make friends with more people with backyard pools. yes, i know that is a superficially trifling standard for friendship. so what? i’ll bring the booze if you have a pool. we’ll splash around for an hour and see if we have anything else in common. i’ve known of friendships based on less desirable characteristics and i’ve witnessed drunk hook-ups resulting from lower qualifications.

confession: i’ve been assigned to write something happy. i’ve done it, but i don’t like it. okay, i didn’t quite do it. i cheated. i wrote something peaceful and claimed that it was happy, but it isn’t any good and i have to rewrite it.

confession: i love borrowing books from friends’ bookshelves because then i read outside of genres i would borrow from the library. earlier this week i finished a crime novel that i never would have read if i hadn’t borrowed it from another reader i trust. i loved it. i didn’t want it to end. the ending surprised me. i love surprise endings. i love reading books better than ones i can write.

confession: i do many things well that i take for granted. you do, too. we could be more appreciative and grateful for the gifts, skills, and talents that come naturally and easily to us.

confession: i thought about leaving town again. i decided against it. i’m staying put. i have shit to do and things to deal with. enough running away for a while.

confession: i’ve always considered myself a west coast girl, but last week in florida i discovered beaches that exceed california’s in length, texture, color, and vibe. i fell in love with florida last week. i’m counting the months until i return.

confession: maybe i’m self-hating a little less since i gave it up for lent. i’m trying.

confession: there are several laps in town that i’m welcome to sit on. i’ve missed sitting on those laps while i was out of town.

confession: i have an overflowing dresser full of underwear that i don’t wear and i want more and more and more. march puts me in a fancy-panties mood. fuck yoga class, i’m going shopping.

 

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About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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One Response to confessions of one seeking friends with a pool

  1. Tamika says:

    Confession: What I’d love to say… “You are pathetic. I get it now. You like to use me and our platonic activities together to make her think there is more, which will get her jealous so that you two can reconnect, fuck passionately for a month, then realize you’re in the same quagmire that you were in before. You do this to ride the high of that tiny little passionate wave even though you know what is coming. She is your crack and you are a terrible junkie. If you think that I will involve myself in this nonsense you have another think coming. I don’t have time to get in the middle of fools’ games. Now go get someone else to be your pawn and lose my number.”

    Confession: What I have said… “No worries. Do your thing. We can hang out at another time.

    Confession: Catch me on the right mix of piss, vinegar and Jameson and what I really want to say is going to come out.

    Confession: Sick and snotty almost immediately snubs out hot, sexy and diva.

    Confession: I need new clients for my business like the aforementioned needs her crack.

    Confession: I’m really trying to be patient, be love (Corinthians-style), but I am having a damned hard time doing it. This is my worst lent on record.

    Confession: My stress level is through the roof. I don’t really DO stress, so I’m not used to this. I’m trying to remember to breathe, let go and let God, but I am finding it hard to do.

    Confession: Secretly I wish I had a Sugar Daddy. I think I’d be a good trophy-girlfriend. I guess I’ll have to lose a bit more weight to test this theory. This might be a motivating factor to lose that last 60 lbs.

    Confession: I’ve been seriously pondering the lap-band surgery. Part of me thinks this is giving up. The other part says I’m giving up with that bowl of ice cream I just ate. I don’t know… Thus the thinking… What I know for sure is that I’m tired of having this extra weight on me. It affects how I tango, what I want to wear and how much body paint I want to don. I am finding myself to be self-critiquing, and I don’t like it. Perhaps it’s time for the white-girl diet.

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