Sunday, June 18, 2006

I want to be a mug.

Fragility is a new state for me. I feel as though I'm affected (effected?) by the littlest things these days...a change in temperature, an off-hand comment, the fluttering of a butterfly wing (minus Ashton Kutcher), the slightest breeze. I hate admitting that I'm in a fragile state, not because being this way is hard to handle (in fact, it's kind of good for me...I'm much more emotionally in tune these days) but because of the pressure it puts on other people...which is why I haven't admitted it before.

Yes, that's right, I'm a closet people pleaser.

Anyway, take for instance, the difference in how you handle a china teacup versus that plastic cup you got at the dollar store. The teacup is pretty and all, with it's thin porcelain lip, handpainted flowers, and smoothly curving bottom (maybe I am describing myself here! Right...) but you treat it differently than an ordinary cup. So I don't want to be a teacup, with people handling me with nervousness or unsure hands because they don't normally deal with china and they feel like they might break me at any moment.

I also don't want to be the dollar store cup...the one you forget about in your bedroom for two months and now smells permanently of rotten milk and old socks...the one you just throw away because you can get a new one. The one that still has a permanent kool-aid stain in the bottom from your brief obssession with Vodka and cherry flavored water. The one you put in the dog food bag to scoop out the brown canine goodness. The one you...okay, I'm done.

No, I want to be an "I Heart Grandpa" mug. It's the mug you don't mind throwing in the dishwasher, but you still have your coffee out of it every morning, because no other mug fits your hand the way this one does, or has that chip in the corner from the time you accidentally banged it into the sink, or because hell, your coffee just doesn't taste right unless it's in this particular vessel.

So yeah, I want to be a mug.

And speaking of mugs, I've been informed I need to change mine on here (ha! You had to know I wouldn't let that one go...yeah, you know who you are.:)) Anybody have any decent shots of me they want to forward on? KL? I'm sure you have some interesting ones from last night...(anytime a pirate walks into a bar is a good time.) I am currently digitally defunct, with no camera, scanner, or otherwise technologically forward thing to help me on my quest. OOoo, maybe someone could give me any one of those things as a present. I loves me some presents.

I've decided "presents" is my "love language".

And now I'm officially rambling. Okay, back to Chuck and his Diary.

3 comments:

Jillian Frank said...

It worries me that you're reading Chuck.

I mean, *I'm* reading Chuck right now, and that's okay. But it worries me that you are too.

Sarah said...

Which Chuck are you reading? And why does it worry you that I'M reading it?

Jillian Frank said...

I'm reading Lullaby. It's one of his least... uhm... dirty books... or so I'm told.

It worries me because Chuck (and his writing) is effed up. Really. Effed. Up.

You shouldn't be reading effed up things. Burn the book, Sar... burn the book.*







*Sarcasm, for those who didn't catch it.