The absolute terror of not locking a door, any door, before/after I close it – Dear ol’ Dad
An insurmountable need to cry like a baby anytime someone tells me my actions have upset any kind of cute corporate icon, a la the Snuggle Fabric Softener Bear -- MOMS! (Really, thanks for that one.)
Eyelashes that make acquaintances stalk me and put pictures of me making out with girls on the subway up on their blogs that they took while stalking me, like my friends would never know – That would be Grammie. Gram, you’re awesome.
My cousin used to call Grammie “The Gram-Rambo”. That was awesome. I still call her that. Thanks, Tommy.
My rabid, angry, unflinching desire to see the Boston Red Sox and UConn Huskies destroy all competition at all times because the other team and their gang of fans is out to get us, and it’s Us vs. Them, bitch, and you can’t be out because I BROUGHT YOU IN and THIS IS OUR ARMY! -- Dad. And I mean it with all of my heart when I tell you that I would love you for that reason and that reason alone.
This is probably also the same reason I have a recurring episodic dreams where my Dad and I are able to raise the dead for a short amount of time during special events (Pop comes back to life for weddings, etc., and currently in the saga my brother is dead and we have to raise him, too) but when we do this, our resurrective energy also raises a huge-ass army of zombies who are out to eat our brains. These inevitably end with my dad and I riding aloft in an inflatable raft down the polluted, shitty Quinnipac River, beating zombies’ brains with our giant-ass battle-axe oars.
The giant-ass battle-axe oars are just as awesome as you might imagine them to be.
My extreme love of Whiskey – That’s Pop. (grandfather) Gave it to me for colds, teething, baby-PMS. It’s the only thing that ever made me feel better, and the only thing that ever does.
My desire to punch that douchebag on the street who tried to steal the cigarette out my mouf – Stu.
My desire to punch you right now – Stu.
My sense of pretty much everything – Klutch.xls
The realization that, at best, even the worst decisions you make at least keep you regular – Dad
Answering a query with “If I were to answer that honestly, I'd crush all my enemies and become a porn star.” -- Tim got that out of me.
The realization that it’s okay to just make people wanna feel some rhythm – Bruce Springsteen
Quit??? Son, you don’t quit til they quit on you. And even when they do, fuck them. Because you’re better than that. – Dad
