When the dog bites, when the bee stings

When the bough breaks…err…when I’m feeling sad. I just remember my favorite things and then I don’t feel like I have to punch someone in the mother F-ing face. Although in reality, if I feel like punching someone in the face, remembering my favorite things is hardly compelling enough to talk me off of that ledge. But anyway, here they are:

Accomplishment. I am an accomplishment junkie. I am positive that my reward circuitry is flooded with dopamine when I cross something off my “to do” list;
Boozing in the afternoon when I should be doing something more productive like accomplishing things;
Celebreality, chihuahuas, and Coach;
Delicious meals that also happen to be healthy and heart smart and all that other hoo-ha;
Exercise. I need those endorphins. Plus it’s pretty empowering to know that I can drop and give you 20 without exerting myself. I am woman!
Funding decisions in the affirmative;
Goatees. The meaner looking the man, the better;
Husband, not to be confused with husbandry, because that shit stinks;
Ice cube-size diamonds;
Jewels, if they are ice cube-size diamonds;
Karats, if we are referring to ice cube-size diamonds;
Lunch comprised of champagne, cheese, chocolate, oysters, and pate;
Mocking small penises with girlfriends;
Never having to mind boundaries with those girlfriends;
Organizing events-whether at work or in my personal life. Julie McCoy has nothing on me;
Pumpkin pie and the entire harvest season minus the stress that accompanies the holidays;
Quickies;
Running. Not from the police or someone yielding an axe, just for exercise and stress relief. And because I can;
Stoli, sushi, and sarcasm. Not necessarily in that order;
Thumbing my nose at anyone who has underestimated me, when I inevitably succeed, overcome, triumph, conquer, etc. Ok, in reality thumbing my nose doesn’t give me half the satisfaction as flipping a double bird, but it’s an expression, people;
Urban living. I realize 8 miles from downtown is most likely suburban, but throw me a bone here. This city girl maintains her vehement opposition to mini-vans and “mom jeans” at all costs;
Vacations to Europe or anywhere that does not require me to exercise or do laundry. If I can get away without shaving my legs all the better, but it’s not a must;
Westmalle, a Belgian beer that surely is ambrosia;
XXX. These were place holders after my initials as a screen name on Match, and now we are a success story;
You’re not going to believe me when I say that for Valentine’s Day I love, love, love receiving a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Not good chocolates, which is probably obvious since no self-respecting chocolatier is going to package up their yummy goodness in such a hideous manner, but the kind that may or may not have an offensive filling. You just don’t know until you bite into it and subsequently have to spit it out or eat around it. If the box has a plastic flower or plastic lace, or pretty much plastic anything, even better. Velvet is also a nice touch;
Zany-ness. Just plain silliness and tomfoolery. Love it.