All posts in Friday Conclusions & Explanations

Friday Conclusion

redskyListen up lovers. You may be lonely or happy or ragged or depressed. You may think you should have done the one thing right that would have kept your one-and-only from getting away. You may be crying or laughing or wishing your solitary wishes while everyone else on the planet is buying roses. You may be sick of chocolate or you may be wary of red roses. You may be content to be at home in your bathrobe or you may be furious that the restaurant he or she chose doesn’t require you to wear pearls.

Either way or regardless of, you love something. You love the way the light comes through the blinds in the morning. You love the way your hair falls across your forehead when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You love the sound of the radio on in the background when you scurry around the house, tending to all that’s out of place. You love going to the movies in the afternoon, alone. You love the way you let the person with one item go in front of you at the grocery store. You love the smell of lilacs. You love that whirring feeling you have in your brain as you drift from awake to asleep. You love your dog. You love your elderly neighbor. You love balancing your checkbook. Admit it, there are a million things you love, which brings me to my point and my conclusion:

VALENTINE’S DAY IS ANY DAY THAT REMINDS YOU THAT YOU LOVE THE WORLD AND THE ABSOLUTE MICROSCOPIC, DAILY INGREDIENTS THAT ARE CONTAINED WITHIN IT.

Keep On Keepin’ On,
Amelia Amore

listIt starts with a list. A list that outlines everything under the sun that needs to get done by next Whatever-day. And it propels itself from there, changing and morphing —- checked off, crossed out, question marks that depict the course I have charted for myself on this Battle Ship of Christmas.

At first, the list is pristine and perfect. But as times goes on, it becomes more of a puzzle that needs to be whittled down in order for me to comprehend it. I need to keep on my toes so that it is not the master of me but I am the master of it, this list. But I know I’m fooling myself because my entire life is invested in the items that are detailed on this list, similar to how an engineer must feel when he is creating the blueprint for a high-rise.

Regardless, I edit and review and highlight and cling to my list as if it is the map that will reveal to me my schedule. But there comes a moment, no matter what I do there comes a fucking moment when I feel that the list has gotten away from me and I just have to trust in Santa that all will get purchased and done. Which brings me to my point and my conclusion:

IT REALLY ISN’T CHRISTMAS UNTIL YOU’RE DROWNING IN HEART-PALPATATING I’LL-NEVER-GET-THIS-DONE-NESS AND OVERWHELMING CONFUSION.

Yours In 13x9x2 Casserole Pans,
Loretta the Lost Elf

Friday Conclusion

ZionFor all of our differences and snitty points and persnickety goo-gahs, one thing that I can say about Mister Cupcake and I is that we know how to travel together. We know how to have a blast on the road, armed with our gear: our coolers, our chairs, our blankets, our pillows, our wash basins, our Fresh Wipes, our tarps, our bikes, our helmets, our step ladders that attach to the back tire of our Pop-Top Honda Element, our headlamps with various useful settings depending on what activity we’re doing, our stove, our french press coffee maker, our prairie town color bowls, our REI coffee mugs that keep things hot for half a week, our cozy sleeping bags that would keep us warm on Mount Everest, our hats, our sunscreen, our plates that match our bowls and mugs, our kitchen satchel that includes garlic as well as kosher salt, our cutting board, our italian restaurant tablecloth, our books, our miniature chess set, our cards, our music, our wine, our sleeping pads that conjure up the feeling of sleeping on a Sleep Number bed, our maps, our journal, our snacks, our portable Cooper bowls, our fleece clothing, our travel sunglasses, our colander for draining freshly boiled pasta, our toilet paper and shovel if needed, our super sonic dishwashing liquid along with the most moisture absorbent towel known to man and the teamwork and wear-with-all to pack all of these items perfectly into the exactly proportioned containers to hold them snugly like a Rubik’s cube.

But there’s one thing we don’t have. And that’s sanity.

You see, prior to each and every glorious road trip, we have a glorious ongoing argument that is based on the ratio of camping vs. hotel time we will put in. Mister Cupcake would camp every night if he had his druthers and I would camp slightly less than half of the time if I had mine. We both present our arguments, that the other has heard for the last 11 years and we cha-cha back and forth until we hammer out an itinerary that both of us are mostly happy with. But I have to say, along the conversation railroad, the train gets quite close to derailing because we both want what we both want and that is a dynamic that has been present in our relationship since the millisecond that we became coupled. Which brings me to my point and my conclusion:

WHEN IT COMES TO MATTERS OF THE HEART, IT’D BE BEST ADVISED MY DEARS, IF YOU CARRY A CONCEALED MUSKET.

Compromise My Ass,
Margarita My Way

Friday Conclusion

dislikeThe ironic thing about marriage is that sometimes your bizzaro world spouse does things or says things or sits a certain way or talks to strangers in a way that makes you want to run full-speed in the other direction or argues in a way that makes you ponder if he even has a brain or acts weirder than you’ve seen chimps act at the zoo or bugs you or shames you or shows you how petty you are or reveals to you a certain part of you you never knew existed or incites you to change for the better or sometimes worse or interferes with your definition of I AM PERFECT or draws attention to the fact that you can’t be happy until the dishes are done or sees you in a way you never imagined or loves in spite of your lean, mean heart or simply refuses to agree or is a big bad obstacle to all that your weary spirit dreams of on one afternoon or tells it like it is when you’re not really ready to hear it or just acts like a goof when what you want is James Bond…which brings me to my point and my conclusion:

IF YOU WANT LOVE YOU GOTTA WORK AT LOVE BECAUSE THE ONLY WAY TO HAVE LOVE IS TO WORK AT THE LOVE OVER AND OVER BEFORE IT WILL ENDURE.

Or Something Along Those Lines,
Graspy Grasperson
Asshat, USA

Friday Conclusion

IMG_0537The large majority of my time walking Cooper involves preventing him from rolling in worms or rubbing up against trash or humping an elderly pekingese or charging a squirrel or licking year old gum off the sidewalk or acting a fool in the presence of unusually violent wind gusts or stealing sticks out of the gutter or growling unexpectedly at men with goatees.  Now, don’t get me wrong—when we stroll, we stroll as if we are in heaven.  We glide along the sidewalk and we converse back and forth about the beauty of our surroundings but all in all — if you boil it down — it is ME walking HIM and we both know that if he had his druthers he’d run wild like a banshee, so long as he knew I was within reach behind him.  Which brings me to my point and my conclusion:

SOMETIMES AND MOST TIMES, THE BEST TIME TO LET YOUR FREAK FLAG FLY IS ALL THE TIME.

Give Me Lunacy Or Give Me Death,
Rick the Really Really Happy Roller