Posts Tagged ‘heartbreak’
by hannah
May 16th, 2011
photo: http://innumerablegoods.typepad.com/innumerable_goods/
Saturday night, hubbie and me watched Julie & Julia. The movie where a 30-year-old woman—with not much going on in the career department—decides to start a blog chronicling her quest to finish 500-some Julia Child recipes in 365 days. Meltdowns ensue. Meanwhile, 50 years prior, we watch Julia Child battling similar career-lacking issues and her quest to get her love for food published into a book back when the world thought housewives wouldn’t want to read a voluminous account of how to make high-end French recipes. The notions are simple, but in the end, so inspiring and uplifting, especially when a few hours prior you are having a conversation with your hubbie that goes something like this:
by hannah
October 15th, 2010
We are nostalgic creatures, yearning for those perfect memories of the past: the first glance, passionate kiss, emotional fuck, that private chartered tour around Nassau he took me on…
But we also have selective memory, and seem to conveniently forget the jealous, immature, off-kilter remarks, when we got our heart ripped out, or when he didn’t just get a boner the moment my hand landed on his crotch…
And so, when we hit a dry spell that lasts longer than a season of Weeds, and our vibrator batteries simultaneously peeter out, and we get a call from a number we recognize all too well, we start to believe it’s a “sign”. Yes a sign from, oh, I don’t know, God, maybe, like stigmata, and we start making statements like this to our BFF: “He says he’s changed, and wants to work things out. That things will be different now. And the sex was AMAZING”.
by hannah
September 22nd, 2010
From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season (CHAPTER 15: DOCTOR BIG LOVE)
My shoes are off, and I’m lying on my couch nursing my third glass of the cab. I am in pain, but I have to make a decision—based on the only backup plan that seems right, right now.
I call Cain. “I’m going to have to cancel. I pulled something in my back, and—”
“You know, I am a doctor,” he interjects lightheartedly.
“I can barely walk. And I have all this laundry…” I must sound so completely pathetic right now that he’ll be happy I canceled on him.
“Then you should definitely not drive. I’ll come over and take care of everything.” He doesn’t seem phased. “Even your laundry.”
Was this guy for real? Was I making a mistake? “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I don’t have to do anything for you darlin’, but I want to.”
