I love you, but I hate YOU

Assignment #4 for Blogstalking is “Three things you love, and three things you hate.” This was a hard one to narrow down, as there are so many things that I really love, and probably more things that I absolutely hate (and the drama queen in me doesn’t think it’s too strong a word—it’s all about context). So, I decided to just pick some things at random.

First, The Hates.



The vacuum. No, that’s not true. It’s not really the vacuum that I hate, but the task that it performs. I hate vacuuming with a white-hot passion. It hurts my lower back, it makes me sweat, and it never cleans as thoroughly as I wish. Bad thing is that The Evil One sheds like there’s no tomorrow. Her shedding is so bad that we call the clumps that fall of her “gremlins” because they are large enough to mutate into completely new kitties. Thankfully, Shane doesn’t mind vacuuming. Not long after we moved in together, I declared that I was not vacuuming anymore, and that I expected him to do it on a regular basis. Hey, I do all the other housecleaning; he can handle this one thing.



My house. I say “my” house instead of “our” house because I bought this beauty when I was still single. At the time, it was a smart investment, and I was quite proud of myself for being able to buy a house all by myself. Two years later the 6’4” wonder moved in and brought his child with him. My cute little house suddenly because WAY too small for my new family. I want to get rid of it so badly I can taste it. Unfortunately, the thing that was such a good investment has been neglected the whole time I’ve owned it and now needs quite a few repairs before we can think about putting it on the market. I’ve told Shane that we are not having kids until the house is gone. He’s so baby crazy that I think this may actually motivate him to get it ready by next spring. We’ll see.



Yes, this is a picture of my bra (stylized so as not to creep y’all out too much). You see, I hate my bazooms. And here’s why: I spent most of my life very thin. And I had a perfectly sized rack to go with my perfectly sized body. Actually, I never thought my body was perfect (bad self-image, low self-esteem, blah, blah, blah) but I always liked the girls. They were the part of my anatomy that I was actually proud of. Then, 4 years ago, I experienced a life change that resulted in me gaining weight. About 50 lbs. Of course, as anyone who has gained weight can tell you, the breasties are one of the first things to get bigger, and bigger they got. And unruly. They don’t really feel like they’re a part of me—they’re just some baggage that happens to be attached to the upper portion of my torso. I have never been able to find a bra that fits right. They are either too large or too small, and are never comfortable. Such was never the case with my tinier self. So everyday when I get dressed, I curse the bazooms. Someday I’ll lose a shitload of weight and maybe they’ll go too.

Now that I’ve rambled on about the hates, let’s look at the loves, shall we?



This is my favorite beer glass. Pete “nicked” it for me from a pub in London when we went there for vacation 2 years ago. He nicked a few other ones while we were there (it became a challenge at some point and kept him amused), but this one is my favorite. Something I noticed in the multitude of pubs that we patronized while in London is that many of them will serve your beer in a glass that reflects the name of the brew you’re drinking. I love that! And I love Stella Atrois, so I love my glass.

I don’t have pictures of my other two loves. The first is french fries. I love all french fries. Doesn’t matter if they are too crisp or too mushy, or cold. I am not discriminating. I love them all. They are the perfect accompaniment to every meal (not that I really eat them at every meal, but I would!). And I don’t like stuff on them. Just plain. Salt or no salt, I don’t care. Give me a plate of fries and I’m a happy camper.

The last of my loves is one of my simple pleasures. I love to sit in my recliner on Sunday mornings, drinking coffee and poring over the retail fliers in the Sunday paper. If I’m up early enough, you can add watching CBS’s “Sunday Morning” to that list. It’s the perfect beginning to the last day of the week.