Jen Lemen has written a list of twenty-five things she never gets tired of, and I thought to myself Self, you should really steal that idea, and then I did. Thanks, Jen!
25 Things Of Which I Never Grow Tired
- Hot coffee, ground at home and made in our insulated french press, with thick cream and brown sugar.
- Office supplies. Once inside an office supplies store, I can barely maintain my end of a conversation. I fondle paper like it's foreplay. The last time I was in one of those places, I walked out carrying five colours of bristle board like they were my new baby.
- Chocolate-dipped doughnuts filled with venetian creme.
- Taking photographs.
- Watching people on public transit. Some people retreat into a private space that makes them feel like they can pick their noses or investigate the gunk under their fingernails with impunity. They can't, but there they are rubbing phlegm into their jeans anyway. My favourites are the old ladies who still
wherewear their Sunday hats from 1974.
- White mini Christmas lights.
- Brown paper bags.
- Writing poetry in the bathtub. The ink runs and the paper warps, but there is something about sitting in a steaming hot tub for two hours that lets my brain ease up and do its thing.
- A good brassiere. It is hard to think straight when you have got a wire poking into your sensitive breast meat or part of the strap across the back is sandpapering its way through your back.
- The smell of fresh snow.
- Bright red lipstick on people. I never wear the stuff, but I love the glamour that the right shade of red lipstick can add to a person.
- Socks so thick that it feels like there is padding between your feet and the floor.
- Plucking out offending facial hair.
- Minnows nibbling on my feet and ankles, although, usually, I can only handle the tickling for a minute or two.
- A pen with a lid that makes a really satisfying click.
- The smell of new books. I used to stand around in the back of a bookstore at a mall near my house and smell the paperback novels. Luckily, being big-C Creepy was only a phase.
- Disgusting physical issues. I have a truly disgusting plantar wart on the second-to-last toe on my left foot. I am treating it with salicylic acid, and the little black dots that appear to be slowly rising up in a small sea of dying, whitened skin is too repulsive to look away. It is like a car accident that I can poke around in.
- White porcelain.
- Rag rugs.
- A good pair of butt jeans. They are surprisingly hard to find. The pockets have to be positioned properly (not halfway off the ass like so many are made now), the colour has to be flattering (lighter for enhancement, darker for minimization), and a good slim fit around the thighs is essential. The last pair I was truly happy with fell apart sometime in the mid-1990s.
- Found photographs, personal notes, and other bric-a-brac. I have been carrying a little brass oval around in my jacket pocket that I found near the dumpster behind our apartment building. It is moulded in the shape of a landscape scene with the Leaning Tower Of Pisa in it.
- Big, genuine gut-laughter.
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