YAY!

I heard some wonderful news today. Some news that kept me smiling like a jackass for the last hour I was at work (QUITE the feat, you should be proud). Some news that made me draw YAY! in big, red block letters across the note pad I was using.

Man Friend FINALLY has a job to bid on in Columbus! AHAHAHAHA! Let us thank God for small miracles.

Now, this doesn't mean he has the job or anything and I don't have the slightest clue how long it will take for everything to go through but this is one GIANT STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION. Seriously. That? Probably the best news I've had in THREE GOD DAMNED MONTHS!

I need to find a new job.

But! Back to the glee at hand!

Man Friend's job, should he be accepted (and who WOULDN'T want that fine hunk of man meat?) would have shitty hours (3.30 - midnight) so once I finally, actually, for totally real this time, made it to Columbus, we wouldn't be seeing a whole hell of a lot of one another. Mainly just on weekends. Sort of exactly like right now.

But my mind, always with the calculating and the conniving (because I AM a woman and I HAVE to keep up appearances, folks), IMMEDIATELY jumped to only one possible scenerio. PUPPY!

If he worked mid-afternoon and I got home early evening... plus 5, carry the 1... that would mean the puppy would only be caged for 2ish hours during the day... and I would have something warm and soft and cuddly to come home to... que even larger, more obscene, jackass grin with a side of gleeful fist pumping every now and again when it all just got to be too much.


"My boss said that shift would be perfect for a young shit like me. Getting off at midnight on Friday before the bars even close. He said I could pick up a drunk girl and bring her home with me without even needing to buy her a drink."

"Did he now?"

"That's when I told him my girlfriend probably wouldn't like that. He said you'd be asleep and didn't even need to know about it."

"For the record, I don't like him."

"He forgot I was dating you. Besides, I'm too ugly to pick up girls at a bar."


Okay, now. Woah. That, my dear, sweet Man Meat.. I mean Friend! My dear, sweet Man Friend, implies that I have poor taste. And I most certainly do NOT have poor taste. My taste, in fact, is quite exquisite. Which, along with my AMAZING SENSE OF HUMOR is one of the MANY, MANY reasons you started dating me. And because I let you touch my puppies. Woof.

GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN

I had a wonderful weekend with Man Friend.

I was calm.

I was relaxed.

I was wearing new shoes.

I had a meeting.

I hate the world.

FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE

Man Friend and I went to see two movies this weekend and I would like to tell you about them.

TMNT (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles): We went to this because we're lame. Oh! And we were both very big fans of the original live-action versions from the 90s (L-A-M-E).

Let me tell you what. This movie made me feel old. Not because I was probably old enough to see the original in theaters. Nor because Man Friend and I were the O-L-D-E-S-T people in the theater, save parents. But rather it was this group of annoying little shits who thought they were WAY too cool.

Before the movie even started, the one nearly fell down the stairs, which I was whole-heartedly rooting for, because he tripped while he was BOUNDING (LIKE A EFFING GAZELLE) down 3-4 steps at a time. I was begging for a face-splattering dismount. Why did I ALREADY dislike them before the movie even started? Because when they first walked into the threater, they felt the need to announce to everyone present that their friend was the ONLY black guy in the whole threater. Because it matters.

By the first preview I was threatening to beat them and then ground them. For a whole month. Take that you little snots.

I have to give them credit. Either they were taught not to talk much during a movie or they were far enough behind us that I just didn't hear them, but when we were leaving, two of them pushed their way past us to get down the steps. And I didn't really feel the need to be any resemblance of polite and let the other two past me before I started down the steps. Eff you high schoolers.

That's when the one who already couldn't shut up got lippy. He made this huge production about how they should really let these nice people (ie -Man Friend and me) go on ahead of them and generally pissing me off.

That was until Man Friend turned around to give him "stink eye". And he had to look down at the kid. While on the step lower than him.

Hell, yeah, Man Friend.

***

Shooter: Mark E. Mark. At least I think that is how it goes. He made another movie. And it totally DIDN'T SUCK. The plot was good. I was interested the entire movie. I got jumpy at the exciting parts. I was particularly fond of the fact they didn't show a rape scene, simply illuded to it. There were a few gruesome head shots, but nothing that I haven't already been desensitized to.

My only REAL problem with the movie was the added soundtrack the people right behind us INSISTED on adding the ENTIRE BLOODY EFFING MOVIE.

God damn.

I don't know who you think you are but I paid just as much money to come to this movie and I do not need to hear your BRILLIANT deduction that that bomb? It's going to go boom. Are you sure you actually passed the third grade? Really? I am so very impressed you pretentious bitch. SHUT UP, DUMBASS! How can you be THAT old and NOT KNOW how to shut your damn mouth during a movie?!

GAHHHH!

HELL TO THE NO

Have you ever noticed how, in the world of you, certain people you interact with take on a certain asexual quality? Now, I'm not assuming you actively think about these people HAVING sex, but rather think about these people THINKING about sex. It's more something that would NEVER cross your mind as actually within the rhelm of possibility. Right or wrong (usually wrong) this list generally includes grandparents, parents (unless they're mine), coworkers, generally everyone over the age where conception is a particularly good idea..

Until, that is, it gets smashed into your face with the force of a falling anvil. Say.. at a meeting. For a family-oriented event.

A GLIMPSE INTO THE MIND OF GUYS

"I'm bleeding and in pain and it's YOUR FAULT because you're a boy!"

"I know, honey. You're right and I'm sorry."


***


TV Commercial: "What are the three C's of diamond purchasing?"

Me: "Cut, clarity, and..."

Erik: "Carat?"

Me: "Yeah, carat."

Matt: "What about cost? Doesn't that factor in at all?"

Erik: "You know, I'm of the mindset of (some comedian that I can't remember) that if I'm going to buy a woman a ring then she's got to forge me a sword."

Matt: "That would be awesome."

WHERE THE PETS GO

Man Friend and I have a shared passion for dogs and, as a result, one of our favorite pasttimes involves going to the local Petland and gazing affectionately at all of the puppies.

Despite our shared affection for dogs as a whole, we have drastically different opinions as to which breeds are the cutest/smartest/bestest. His affections tend to lean towards breeds that slobber and tend to make ugly adults. I prefer... everything else (except poodles and anything that looks like a powder puff).

So it goes without saying that I'm not particularly fond of bulldogs because they fall in both the drool and the ugly adult catagories, so, obviously, Man Friend is smitten.

See, Mojo:


This image was taken (without permission) from Ballpoint Wren whose blog I like to read every now and again. And not that her dog is ugly per se but he IS a bulldog.

Well, today while hanging out in Columbus, we ventured the find the King of the Petland's, and we were not disappointed. Not only is it larger than all the other Petland's, they are FAR more encouraging of handling and playing with the puppies (something I am ALL for because it helps to socialize them and they aren't as likely to get bored).

After taking a general look at all the puppies and being handed one just for glancing at her, Man Friend managed to catch wind of a tiny, little, gray lump of a bulldog puppy. It took him several minutes to get ahold of her. A couple took her out to play with then passed her off to some children who finally handed her over to Man Friend. The poor thing looked terrified so I reached out to pet her and cooed at her a bit, to which she decided without any question that she would much rather I hold her than Man Friend (he took it much like a jilted lover would). She climbed her way over to me and started nestling into my chest. This little bundle tried to get as close to me as she could. She probably would have been extremely content if I would have wrapped her up in my coat and let her take a much needed nap.

And.. I totally fell for it. I've lost the war. I fell in love with an ugly bulldog (SHE was freaking cute but we all know that won't last).

I have named her Nugget.

No, I didn't buy her, but God damn did I want to. Man Friend had to force (FORCE!) me to give her back.

After all this, Man Friend again brought up his fear that all our future dogs are all going to like me better (jilted). This is partially because I am much more serious about training. And because I'm a girl and WAY cooler than his is. What dog WOULDN'T like me better? That is what I ask you. What dog?!

Actually, I simply explained to him that you go to daddy for play time and come to mommy for comfort.

See? Nugget already knows who her mommy is. She is the SMARTEST DOG IN THE WORLD.

PHOOEY

I'm feeling all nostalgic and I miss my friends. LOVE ME, DAMNIT!!!

HOLE-Y, HOLE-Y, HOLE-Y

"Can I borrow your stethoscope?"

"Why?"

"To see if I can hear where the air is leaking out of my bed."

"... It's in my bookbag."


That's right. My air mattress sprang a leak. Well, actually it sprang two. And no, the stethoscope didn't help.

Friday during the day, at some point, for some reason, my mattress started to deflate. And it wasn't very quick. Man Friend and I thought we'd take care of it later. And after waking up in a V-shape three times Friday night, two of those times with our butts pressed against the floor, I decided it was a imperative we find some sort of something to fix the leak.

At our SECOND Dick's (because the first was too small - ie. worthless), we found a repair kit for inflatable mattresses, granted not MY brand of mattress but our next best option was gorilla tape, which, rumor says, is stronger than boring old duct tape.

So at 2 in the morning I started attempting to patch my hole. Hehe. Get it? My hole as in MY hole. I'm not immature AT ALL.

Man Friend's version of helping involved staying out of the way, much the same method of helping I use with cars.

So now hopefully both my holes are closed for good (or at least dramatically slowed), because I had to get up last night at 2 to blow up my bed. And not blow in a good way.

BOYS ARE GROSS

"Is this yours?"

"No, but it looks delicious."

"Uhh. I wouldn't eat that."

"Why not?"

"That's been in there since I got back from Honduras." (roughly translated to about 5 weeks)

"And you WOULDN'T eat it?"

SPEAKING OF PUSSY

I'm not really a fan of cats. I am what you would call a "dog person." And you know why? Because dogs think you are the coolest thing since Beggin' Strips and cats are only friends with you so they can copy your homework.

I don't really DISLIKE cats. It's generally more of a mutual tolerance. And I've had boyfriends before with a fondness for the feline persuasion. The most notable of which was a cat I (not so) fondly called Fatso.

But Man Friend. He's a dog lover. His favorite breeds rival draft horses in height. This is one of his many qualities that has him placed firmly in the "keeper" catagory.

But Man Friend has a cat.

To be fair it's his mother's cat. And it's a nice enough cat but there is also a dog in the house who I shamelessly placed into my deepest affections immediately.

Initially, I wanted nothing to do with this cat. But then, slowly, he managed to catch my attention. I realized this cat. He likes to wrestle. With the dog. Then he got caught in a number of questionable kitty yoga poses, one paw stuck back behind his head, tongue sticking out as he paused to contemplate me.

I think, however, our relationship began the night he darted his fuzzy little butt into the bathroom and stood there beside the toilet, awe struck as I evacuated the contents of my stomach. Repeatedly. He even took it good naturedly when I shoved his head out of the way when he got too close. And then, when I thought (wrongly) that I had finished, he kept me company while I munched on a cracker at 3:30 in the morning.

He has a fondness for wrapping himself around my feet, particularly on the way down the steps and I've more than once kicked him in the head "unintentially." This weekend he even curled up in my lap while I read on the couch. Until someone showed up. Then he pretended what we had never happened. Bastard.

He also puts up with Man Friend, which is a testament to anyones patience. (HEART!) As I was getting ready to leave yesterday, I took a small detour to the bathroom. When I emerged Man Friend had an enormous bulge protruding from his sweater.

"I'm pregnant," he announced cheerfully.

Slightly put off, I pressed the mass thinking it was my coat.

It felt too warm to be my coat.

Then it moved.

He had shoved the cat up into his sweatshirt and had a real fear the cat was going to bite his nipple.



"He probably WANTED the cat to bite him. That's the kinky stuff he does when you're not around."

"Hey, a little well placed peanut butter goes a long way."

"Brings a whole new meaning to the term 'pet lover.'"