I Miss Sean

No, this is not a soppy, “I miss my soon-to-be-married ex-roommate(s)” post. This is more along the lines of, “Now that I don’t have a boy over at my house all the time I have to clean out my own damn storm drain” post. I’m not the type to call up the Elder’s Quorum every time I need a little favor (I’ve moved five people in the last six months without male assistance, thank you very much), but standing in stagnant water scooping out leaves, dirt, sand (?) and Lord knows what else from the drain in front of my garage with a slotted spoon that I’ll NEVER be able to use in my kitchen again (while being attacked by the largest wolf spider I’ve seen in recent memory) is NOT my idea of a good night.

But, I did it. By myself.


Dear Designers of Aforementioned Storm Drain,

I am beginning to hate you with a fiery passion I had previously reserved only for dictators and bratty Mormon girls from Idaho or Utah (you know the ones I mean).

Regards,

Leah

p.s. Remember that time Sean flung storm drain gunk onto the windshield of the neighbor that ALWAYS blocked Sarah and me in? Yeah, that was a good time.

Keeping It Funky

My favorite performance last night...



I love this one (absent from last night, unfortunately)...



And this just makes me laugh...

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Someone said something to me recently that made me enormously grateful for my family and especially my parents. My parents raised me right; politeness, kindness, charity, intelligence and respect were always praised in our house. I know that I deserve the respect of others, and generally I receive it. Why? I earn respect. I demand respect. I demand that people (and by “people” I mostly mean men) treat me well; I don’t let people talk to me disrespectfully, dismissively, arrogantly…at least for very long. ;) Why? I respect myself! I am proud of who I am (generally speaking; everyone has their moments) and the experiences that have helped form my character. My parents instilled in me a love for myself; a confidence that is not easily shaped or built. I do not expect that everyone will like or be friends with me, but I expect them to treat me well. If they don’t, well that’s their problem.

Most women don’t learn these things, apparently. And I feel so sad for them.

From my mom I have learned faith, openness, friendliness, hope (I admit I struggle with that one) and to always trust my instincts. She has taught me that I have more strength than I realize and more power than I know. From my dad I have learned kindness, patience, wit, trust and the importance of hard work. Both of them have taught me how important a sense of humor is (especially during hard times), that my intelligence is one of the most valuable possessions I own, the importance of knowledge and constant learning, that I should stand up for myself (within reason), forgiveness and (most importantly) love.

Thanks (in most part) to them, I have a healthy body image, a non-destructive relationship with men (thank you, thank you, thank you), an appreciation for art, music, literature and British television/film, and the strength to never settle for a man who is less than what I deserve. I also have a filthy temper, a stubborn head, and a penchant for Italian meats, cheeses and olives that I’m trying to curb…slightly.

Dear Mom and Dad,

You’re the best! (I really mean that.)

Love,

Leah (your favorite child)

p.s. Oh! And thanks for giving me my good looks. Those help too! :D



I'm cute, aren't it?! ;)

Roll Over Beethoven

Favorite Coworker Quote of the Day:

Jenni: She’s rolling over in her grave! (pauses) Actually she was cremated, so…

Man Scent

Somewhere at a Ross near you…on Monday night…

Leah picks up a graphically pleasing tube of lotion simply called “Chill”.

Leah: I like this; is it for sunburns? (searches container for signs of its usage)
Bridge: I think it’s for after you shave.
Leah: Oh. Okay.

Sometime later (two days) at a townhome near you (mine)

Sarah: Did you buy this?
Leah: Yeah. It’s for after you shave.
Sarah: You know this is for men, right?
Leah: What? (picks up bottle) Do you think I could still use it?
Sarah: I don’t know; does it smell musky? (smells lotion) Uh, no you can’t use it.
Leah: (smells lotion) It smells nice. Are you sure?
Sarah: Do you want to smell like a man?
Leah: I bought man’s lotion!
Sarah: Um, I’m pretty sure that’s “men’s lotion”.
Leah: (pauses) I BOUGHT MAN’S LOTION!
Sarah: That sounds like a disease.
Leah: I asked Bridgette what it was for. If she knew it was an aftershave lotion, WHY DIDN’T SHE TELL ME IT WAS FOR MEN?!
Sarah: Heh heh…I don’t know.

Um…What?

Sarah: You don’t think it’s because I’m not spiritual enough, right?
Leah: I’m sorry; I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Sarah: The reason it never works out. Do you think it’s because I’m evil or something?
Leah: (pauses to think)
Leah: (pauses a little longer)
Leah: You know, you get really weird when guys diss you.
Leah: (pauses again)
Leah: Some boys wear really tiny pants.

On a side note, Sarah and Bridgette won second place in a talent show this weekend. Videos are on their way…

Watch Your Back or You Might Find A Knife In It

I’m a nice person. I am not bragging; really, I’m not!! I am constantly telling Sarah that I am just as mean as her, but that’s probably not true. Or rather, I’m mean in an entirely different way. Sarah usually likes everyone…until you do something or say something that offends her, and then you are on her shit list for life. My tip to you: don’t get on Sarah’s shit list. Because faster than you can say, “Holy shit, where did that knife come from?” she’ll have it lodged between your shoulder blades.

Most reading this have probably never seen me really angry. Even if you think you have; trust me, you haven’t. I have a quick, vicious temper, but ferocious Leah does not come out to play very often. Why, you may ask? Well, I’ll tell you (or, I’ll tell you what Sarah and I have decided): I don’t care enough about most people to get mad. That’s right. Sarah has this big trusting heart, and she only fights back when you’ve hurt her. Me? I generally think so poorly of everyone, that it frankly doesn’t matter to me what you say or do. You matter that little to me. I’m very much like my Sicilian father: either I like you, or I want to kill you. If you fly under my radar you’re lucky.
There are, however, a few exceptions to this rule.

• I get mad at those I care about.

• I am furious at people who offend/insult/hurt people I care about.

• You are a repulsive human being, and I feel compelled to inform you of this fact.

The moral of this story?

1. Don’t piss Sarah off because she’ll flip a lid. Don’t make Sarah cry, or I’ll go Medea on your ass. (If you don’t get the Medea reference, we can’t be friends.) I won’t bother to stab you in the back. I’ll look you right in the eyes when I thrust that knife in.

2. If I get mad at you (and I like you), chances are good that I’ll forgive you. Even if you were in the wrong (because you probably were).

3. You know what they say about Sicilian girls, right? (Text removed due to copyright issues.)