I wasn’t happy with my last confessions post. It felt half-assed and lame. The problem is that I think of things to write about when I’m not at a computer and then later forget them. I write entire blog posts in my mind and then can’t remember what I had to say. So this is attempt 2.
— My favorite movie is Fight Club. Love it. The book was good too, but it is by far my favorite Brad Pitt film. Actually, other than Seven and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Babel, not really a huge BP fan. But Fight Club. Yummm. And the storyline is just awesome. And Helena Bonham Carter makes for an amazing crazy woman.
— I actually like playing Call of Duty. I’m not all that good, but I like to play. I actually like video games, and I really like another one but I refuse to completely out my nerd-dom. I don’t like all games and I don’t play all the time and I’m really not all that good at any of them, other than Mario Kart, but I like them.
— I have baby fever. Blergh. I guess it’s not too bad because I do have my head on straight and sense we can’t afford our rent without student loans, we sure as hell aren’t intentionally adding a baby to the mix. But I made a comment tonight at dinner with a good friend that our house will be the one with the dogs and the toddler running around. Friend made a joke and Mr. A said, “Yeah, but I’m so ready for that.” How freaking adorable is my husband? He will be a great dad. After law school. But I do wish law school was over already. (Remind me of this in a couple years when I’m 9 months pregnant and saying, “You know, I was just kidding. Can I undo this? Or can I magically snap my fingers and it appears in my arms without all that pain and screaming?)
— As much as I love my husband and all his adorable dorkiness, I DO wish I had my own apartment sometimes. Not to spend the night or try to do things without him knowing, but just four walls that are all mine. A place I can go when I’m stressed and upset and just need alone time. When I get overwhelmed I kind of shut down. No amount of joking is going to make me smile or cheer up. I completely need alone time. Mr. A and I have talked that when we build our dream house, we will each have a room that is just ours. I won’t go to his and he won’t come to mine. Some may think this is dumb or judge, but we both are fairly independent when it comes to stress management and we would only need to escape for a couple hours. Also, a quiet place when either of us have to work to do. Mine will have lots of pillows and soft and fluffy surfaces.
— I’m kind of a slob. Not in a trash and old food kind of way. But in a clothes and shoes left all over the place way. I moved between my mom and dad’s houses every week, so I lived out of a duffel bag between the ages of 7 and 18. And since I thought it was stupid to unpack and put clothes in a closet for 6 days before undoing it all, I never used closets or dressers. Just my GIANT bag. Which of course resulted in a pile of clothes in the corner of my room. Well this habit has remained a major problem. I get better, then I do laundry, and if I don’t force myself to put the clothes away the second I walk back in the house with my laundry, it isn’t going to get put away. At least not until the next time I do laundry and the process repeats itself. Also, have I mentioned my husband is a neat freak? Yeah…sometimes this is a major source of our fights. But I’m working on it and he tries to be understanding. At least to a point. But I’m working on it.
— There are days, like today, when my diet is failing and I haven’t been working out, where I think “How bad would it really be to stay fat?” Yes. I think this. But then I remember all those photos I hate and the fact that I can’t wear clothes that I want to and I try to keep those thoughts away and tell myself that tomorrow is a new day and I get another chance. That new Nine West dress at work is also a great motivator. As is the Tiffany’s reward I will get once I hit my goal…
— While I’m definitely not a New York or Chicago type, I know I definitely would not fit in in the South. I went to school in the northernmost southern state, and even that was too much for me at times. And hearing about somethings that were expected or common practice made me gag or want to run away. Not all things in the South are bad. I’m not saying that at all. I’m currently in love with a seersucker dress and I like sweet tea and warm weather, but it’s not for me. I think I’m definitely a Midwest mentality. Too bad Midwest means no beach front. Darn.
— I really wish i lived closer to some of you. To grab coffee. A margarita. A pizza. A movie. Something. Love that the internet connects us, but then makes me sad it doesn’t make the globe smaller.
— When someone gets on to me about how young I am and I’m married, I want to scream. I’m not 16. We didn’t get married because I got knocked up. We’ve known each other longer than many adults did before they got married. We’re both pretty mature 24 year olds. We have our heads on straight. AND, not ONE person in either family thought we were too young. And they saw us together all the time. They knew we were ready and meant for one another. So when complete strangers try to tell me I made a mistake or imply that I was dumb, I want to shank them. Leave me be.
— I will NEVER take a bet if I think I might lose. You see, if I take or make a bet, or even if I just continue with an argument, it’s because I am 200% sure I am right. If we’re debating something (something fact based, not opinion or emotion), and I KNOW I’m right, I won’t back down. But, if I’m even the slightest bit hesitant, I will back down and check my facts before continuing. My husband is VERY slowly learning this. But I have won some pretty sweet bets this way. Poor guy just doesn’t know when to let it go. I won’t say I’m always right, but if I’m not backing down, you can be pretty sure that I know the answer. Unless it’s a sports bet and then it’s all chance anyways.
— Also, I’m fairly stubborn. And if you tell me I’m wrong when I am 200% sure I’m not, my brain explodes and I turn into the Hulk. It infuriates me. As does when people tell me I’m wrong about things that are subjective. If I think it’s hot and you say I’m wrong because you think it’s cold, I’m going to get mad. I’m okay with you thinking it’s cold, but don’t tell me I’m wrong. You have no idea what temperature I’m feeling. Just like I think tomatoes are gross. You may love them. Awesome. I won’t tell you you’re wrong because it’s subjective. End rant.