know what i mean?

i'd love to say something about how i'm not allowed to light my aromatherapy candles at work (where i could argue they are most needed) b/c people who don't have an office with a door also don't have any right to share anything smelly. (better hurry to the bathroom. and think twice before bringing that god-awful indian food around these here parts.)

i'd love to complain about a bunch of junk, but instead i turn the corner on that bitch hate to offer you a list of some of the things i love.

i love

.crazy big-ass unruly hair, especially on bums and kids
.unabashed public displays of in-love - gay, old, fraternal, whatever
.soccer - the curl of the ball through space, the sneak of lean muscle
.my brother steve, maybe not more than my other sibs, but softer
.freudian slips. they mean something even if you have to stretch to find it
.being shown up. being pissed off makes me remember what it is to work my ass off
.e - if you're paying attention nothing is ever the same again. heck, nothing is ever the same again anyway, duh
.secrets. what's yours?
.crying. seeing it, doing it. central as orgasm
.meeting people's eyes. love, baby, love
.rotary dial telephones. sometimes modern suuuuuuuuuuuucks
.dirty old men. they were somebody else's problem
.skipping the small talk. let's get to the important stuff

know what i mean?