COMRADE

Hi kids.

Yes, I realize it's been a long time since I last updated. No, I really don't have an excuse. Nor would I probably give one if I did. This is a blog people. More specifically, it is MY blog and I do with it what I will.

That being said, I do have quite a lot to talk about:

* * *

There have been a few times in my relationship with Man Friend when I have felt the urge to make him cookies.

Such as this weekend. Because I'm awesome.

The first time I ever made Man Friend cookies was for naught because he butthead father who shall hence forth be known as Dirty Old Man (Yes, I call him this to his face. Shut up. He thinks it's funny), ATE EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM.

At least that is what we thought.

I brought Man Friend two containers of cookies with the intention of giving his dad the second container. I thought it best since they were Man Friend's cookies to let him decide if his dad was to get any (see: the first time I ever made him cookies). He was kind, much kinder than the Dirty Old Man and decided he would share... just not all of them. He took out the majority of the cookies leaving three behind and handed the container to his greedy father who hoarded his small stash like it was going out of style.

Munching upon his second cookie, I explained to Dirty Old Man how SAD it was that I could not simply do something nice for Man Friend without having to include his dad in the mix, siting the aforementioned reason above.

Talk about lame.

He then proceeded to tell me that he had NOT eaten all the cookies that night as we previously believed when we saw an empty container. Oh no.

HE. HID. THEM.

Again. He hid the cookies, Man Friend's cookies, and didn't even save him ONE.

Now.. it was ALMOST forgivable when he'd just eaten them all. You understand, weakness of will and all. But to maliciously and intentially hide cookies that were not his. That took a brass pair.

And I told him so.

"But I'm an old man. I deserve a few cookies."

"Yes, Dirty Old Man. A FEW. Which I offered you. BUT THEY WERE NOT YOUR COOKIES."

"Well, I have my faults."

"And they are GLARING."

He laughed and went along on his merry way, not convinced in the slightest that he was wrong as hell. Little does he realize he shall never taste another of my cookies again.

* * *

Man Friend went to the doctor yesterday (it should have been Thursday but his doctor cancelled, strike TWO for doctor (strike ONE was because they didn't fix it in the first place)) because his gut still hurts him. So much so that he isn't eating and his mood is not the sweetest, though, with constant pain, that is completely reasonable.

Strike THREE for the doctor is they STILL do not know what it is but he earned brownie points for giving Man Friend Vicodin. Boy is in the best mood of his life. I have never heard anyone so happy to have to take ethics training (and before you say anything, it was required, and not because he did something stupid).

Thursday, he gets to go back to the doctor for an ultrasound (because he's pregnant with Drew's (or his doctor friend's) lovechild) to find out if it isn't, in fact, his gall bladder causing him trouble WHICH THEY SUSPECTED IN THE FIRST PLACE. Why they couldn't have just gone with that is beyond my comprehension and why I am in great dislike of doctor man.

* * *

This weekend, Man Friend and I went to see two movies. The second of which was Hot Fuzz which got funnier as it went on.

But the first movie... The Condemned was H-O-R-R-I-B-L-E. I mean it sucked donkey toes and it sucked them hard. Like it enjoyed it.

Upon informing Drew of this later at the bar, he looked at me incredulously and demanded to know what I expected.

"Senseless violence."

Man Friend then piped up to inform him that I'm into that one thing, oh what was it again?

UFC. I am a fan of UFC.

Which, might I add, is NOT senseless violence? They're fighting for a reason! A shiny, fake gold belt. Not... unlike wrestling. Which I don't like at all because it is fake and UFC? They ACTUALLY kick on anothers asses. The last fight was AWESOME. Gonzaga or however you spell that kicked Cro Cop in the head knocking the poor bastard out cold.

Which was a shame.

I wanted Cro Cop to win. I've got a little thing for Russians (and by "Russia," I mean any country previously a part of the USSR because Cro Cop is actually from Croatia which, is that even near Russia?). Nor do I find him at all attractive.

I just want him to call me comrade.