that zing

10am, already 75 degrees, sweating on my deck with freckles on my knees. reliving last night. grinning. it was one of those shrieking-YAY!-in-my-car-afterward, happily-banging-out-'try a little tenderness'-on-the-steering-wheel, hope-it-happens-again kind of moments. spawner of joy. I am so fucking easy to please. and so, so idealistic.
work was horrid- I covered someone's 12-10 and stayed until past 11. I could have stayed longer- relentlessly shitting animals and filth and surly clients. the doctors were all in good moods, which helped immesurably. then I met m for blues dancing. grind, grind, grind. I am not attracted to him but he's a very nice guy and he moves well. he dipped me so that my hair touched the floor. 'arch your back!' he'd whisper. 'very good.' this is the same guy that I do aerials with in Lindy hop. (I start level 3 in 2 weeks.) blues dancing is more tango-based- slow as fuck, bodies pressed together, every move passionately deliberate. watching other people was a collosal turn-on- especially the woman with the amazing legs and tiny skirt with the partner who kept trying to lower her hemline. I, by contrast, was off an 11+ hour shift and wearing ratty jeans and a tshirt with a fucking octopus on it, laughing every time I managed to defy gravity. it is crucial and far more fun to not give a fuck... I dare say, it probably makes one a better dancer... eventually.
everything is on the giddy precipice of being everything I could possibly ever want- and even if a, b, or possibly c don't work out (options, not initials) I am so fucking happy that it doesn't matter.
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I am so fucking incoherent on my iPhone. cannot edit. this is my daft 3-hrs-of-sleep brain. I haven't had the patience or inclination to hunker down in a place with wifi and download photos or scribe lucidly. when it's ass-cold, I surely shall.
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dead possum in the middle of my street. totally disemboweled, tongue hanging out. I deal with unspeakably vile shit all the time at work, but outside of that context I'm weirdly squeamish. I don't even like pulling hair from the shower drain. I went over to the possum earlier with the intention of moving it but was too grossed out. two guys just shoveled it up and hauled it off. my neighbor is also suntanning- out of eyesight- and called "thank you" to them.
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salted pita chips and mike and ikes. together. fucking AMAZING.
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i have eaten balsalmic strawberries every day for over a week. $1/pound, food-porn quality berries and cheap-ass vinegar. transcendent. i love how cheap fruit is here. granted, when I was a kid we picked strawberries out of the front yard- but I'm an inept city lass who cannot even grow fucking radishes. (I forgot to water them.)
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Stella Artois in 70 degree darkness under the fairy lights of the Capitol club deck.
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everyone I meet is from Texas!
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walking around with Sinatra in my headphones makes me fucking happy no matter what my prior mindset. I feel like I'm sharing a saucy secret with myself.
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sometimes you get all the vowels, sometimes you get the q, j, x, g, f, p, and some fucking useless letter like u. I mean sure, you've got a q, but you can't fucking do anything with it. so you use the u because it's your only fucking vowel, making some stupid piddly word like "up." and you want to remind the person you're playing with that you really are better than that.
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I heard today about the "butter burger"- hamburger with a pat of butter on top. it's a wisconsin thing. I don't need to try it.
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my phone-holding hand is sweaty and I'm nattering vapidly, so shall cease now. smiling. sending out the good vibes. fiddle-dee.