This Week's Episode: The Time Tit

Life is tough - unreasonably so. Everyday we hear tragic stories. Well, here's mine:

Somewhere in the process of moving our alarm clock broke. It still goes off right on time but it won't shut off.  That is no way to start your day.

So i ordered a new one. i got it off Amazon where we still have tax credit left. It was cheap and had the time projection i wanted and it even changes colors! i was very excited until i saw the estimated delivery date some 38 days later. It was being mailed to me ... from China.

Well many frantic mornings later while someone rowed across the Pacific, the alarm clock arrived. Upon pulling it from the box i promptly nicknamed it the Time Tit. (While obvious from the photo, some things only really become clear when you hold it in your hand.) The clock was shaped just like a small B cup with a little plastic nipple where the time shoots out.

Cute, huh? i was worried that the time projection would be too bright. Not to worry. You have to tap its nipple to get the time to show. Exceeeept i don't have a bedside table. (i figured it was better that i had to actually get up to turn off the alarm.)

Only now, in order to find out what time it is, i have to extract myself from the embrace of my husband, roll up and over the sleeping dog, unwind myself from the covers, unlatch my cpap mask, then avoid knocking the fan off the stool by the bed to go over to the clock and tap the nipple. (Did i mention that the time display on the face is the size of a digital watch?)

And let me tell you! That is not as easy as it sounds. Just the other night Russ rolled over while i was mid-process, pulling the covers toward him and away from me. You just don't alter the trajectory of nearly 300 pound me suddenly. i hit with an impact that could have devastated a small trailer park.

i guess, some nights it's just not worth getting out of bed.

What You See Is What You Get

Ladies, Ladies! if you are engaged, living together, seriously dating -- whatever! please take a hard look at that man you are planning on spending the rest of your life with. that man, in all his imperfect glory, is all that you can ever hope for. no amount of love or dedication or patience or nagging or time is going to change him, his attitudes, his habits, or his friends. do you hear what i'm telling you?

let me tell you a little story. when Russ and i first started dating, i bowled every week in a gay bowling league. of course, i invited him to come bowl with us. well, he did and there was an open spot for him to bowl with us; but, of course, he did not have a pair of socks with him. so i suggested he take my credit card (wtf?? i know right?) and go across the parking lot to buy some socks.

what i meant was go across the parking lot to the K-Mart and buy a cheap pack of socks for bowling. is that what the bitch did? oh no. he came back with two pair of Polo socks from Parisian's.

hello? this instant was a microcosm of our entire life together. everything i needed to know about our financial life together was encapsulated in that one moment.

Russ and i have now been together for almost 15 years. today he wrote a $20 bad check to the grocery store. let me clarify - he wrote a $20 bad check on an account that is currently $200 overdrawn to buy cigarettes and wine. yet, i have absolutely no right to bitch.

the man i fell in love with, so many years ago, is still the same. he is wonderful, caring, loving, affectionate, and spoils me like no other man ever would. he would also pawn a $250 gold ring to buy a $20 bottle of gin.

so? almost two decades wiser, what's my advice? simply this: love and cherish that man with all your heart. embrace his weaknesses and appreciate his strengths. he has both.

realize that NO relationship (absolutely NO relationship) is perfect. now ask yourself; honestly, would you be better without him? if not then pray, Pray, PRAY that he does the same for you.

smooches all! here's hoping that the worst that ever happens only serves to open your eyes to all the blessings you take for granted every day.

SJ

No One Wins All Time

i have always been bossy, even as a little kid, and i've only gotten bossier as i've gotten older. but then, everyone in my family is bossy. i mean it -- everyone. i suppose everyone can be at times, i just come from a family where intelligent, opinionated, outspoken, and frequently self-righteous is more common than brown hair.

this only serves to make me love Russ that much more. Russ is not bossy. he is whatever the exact opposite of bossy is. and living in the same household with me, my grandmother, my father, and my mother, it is not just a characteristic -- it's an evolutionary trait.

however, it frequently leads to widespread misconception. everyone seems to think i "rule" the household and that Russ does whatever i ask. to this i reply, "HA!" That would be the farthest thing from the truth.

we do what i want, eat what i want, go where i want only when it also pleases Russ -- or if he doesn't care either way. i am just very good at know which is which. i have also learned to pick my battles which, i am quite certain, is one of the main lessons to learn if you want a happy marriage.

for example, Russ LOVES to go. he's always on the go. he's cleaning the house or cooking Grannie dinner or going to the store for something or running out to pick up something. but if i ask him to go somewhere, you can hear tires screeching in space.

i have had to explain that a trip only counts as travel when it requires fresh underwear. and considering the amount of cajoling required for a night out, you would think it required the logistics of a Madonna tour; yet he suggests going to Hayden to see his mom (a 16 hour drive) at least once a week.

all you lonely single people, the next time you see a couple and feel pangs of jealousy, comfort yourself that neither of them has seen the movie of their choice without discussion, bargaining, compensation, guilt, or abandonment since they were ... well, you.

The Greatest Lesson I've Never Learned

one Christmas when i was little -- i guess about eight or nine years old -- my great-grandmother gave me a toy xylophone. it was white with multi-color keys and little wheels. it came with a little wooden mallet or you could pull it along and hidden mallets would strike the keys as it rolled.  i was DISGUSTED! to my oh-so-grown-up eight year old self, this was a baby's toy.

of course i did not say that! by eight i was fully aware that saying anything ungrateful at Christmas, much less to my great-grandmother, would result in something other than those keys getting hit. i just muttered "Thank You" and set it aside to be ignored. dutifully my mother packed it up and brought it home.

but, the thing is -- i played with that little xylophone for yeeeeeaaars. i loved the colors of the metal keys even as they wore away over the years. i loved the sound it made when i drug the mallet (or a rock or a key or whatever was nearby) across the tiny keys or pulled it along. even today, should i stumble across one i can't resist the simple joy of tapping out little tunes on it.

the lesson here is that i thought i knew what i wanted and nothing about that little toy fit my expectations. it was simple, colorful, required creativity and imagination, and could hold my attention without the very first electronic blip or blink. but, of course, it took years for me to learn to appreciate all those things. i still don't know that i've completely learned the lesson.

we all think we know what we want. we have long lists of wants and needs stored in our heads lying in wait just to be asked. we look at things.. at places.. at people.. and make quick judgments about their worth. in Our Infinite Arrogance, we think we know what we want.

if we're very lucky, we're afforded the chance to learn how wrong we are.

years later my mother intended to sell my xylophone in a garage sale. horrified i pulled it from the To Be Sold box. she gave me that look of tired disdain (do they teach that look?) and said, "you never even wanted that thing." it was then i realized  that she was right! (i didn't say that of course.) while it now seemed in-con-ceivable to me to lose it, i clearly remembered wanting nothing to do with it just a few Christmas Eve's ago.

look, i could quote example after example, but think about it: how many times have you received something that was nothing like what you "wanted" only to discover how wrong you had been all along? Life's greatest surprises are the ones we experience at our own expense.

you know i still have to learn this everyday. i still think i want the white chocolate mocha latte until i get the salted caramel espresso by mistake. but i've learned to smile whenever Life gives me the nudge and the wink. *sigh* i'll probably never learn. i kinda hope not! i've learned to really love the learning process.

The "Bell Beefer" Experiment

so, apparently Taco Bell served something called the "Bell Beefer" back in the 80s and it was delicious and i totally missed out. (hell, not the first time.) to make that up to me (and to satisfy a craving almost 30 yrs in the making) Russ decided to recreate the "Bell Beefer" at home.

The Original (sadly, none of ours lasted long enough for a photo)

it's all very exciting! (tho' truthfully Russ could tell me he was making gravel & rice cuz it is always good.) we went to The Dix and bought the ingredients together; him from memory and myself from imagination. although somewhere in our discussions of the recipe i missed the part about Hot Rotel, Hot Sauce, and Ground Chipolte Peppers. (say it with me children, SPICCCCCCCCCY! -- but you gotta say it "spi - SSAAAAAAYY")

even so, it did turn out delicious. (lol - and there you have the high point of my day. wow, being gay sure is glamorous.) and because i want to share our fabulous with the world, here's the recipe:

• 1 lb of ground beef
• 1 cup of chopped onion
• 1 cup of chopped green peppers
• 1 can of Rotel (tomatoes & chilis)
• 1/2 block of Velveeta cheese, cubed
• shredded lettuce
• sliced tomatoes
• hamburger buns

brown the ground beef. add the onions and green peppers and saute. season as desired.* Add Rotel and Velveeta and simmer until cheese is melted. Serve loose meat style on hamburger buns topped with lettuce and tomatoes.

* i omitted the hot sauce, etc. because it really was extremely spicy. you could add sliced jalapenos or cumin or taco seasoning. oh, go play people.

note - there was no Velveeta or veggies in the meat mixture of the original i understand. those were my ideas. you could just add shredded cheese i guess. also i spread some Taco Bell sauce on my bun - mostly to keep the damn lettuce from falling out (which it did anyway.)

join us next time as we recreate my favorite Taco Bell discontinued item: the Chili Cheese Burrito!

Sorry, You Have Expired

Russ's driver license has expired and, due to the new strenuous requirements of the Florida DMV which require multiple documents to establish identity and residency, he has not renewed them. (has it not occurred to anyone that it is probably easier for an illegal immigrant - or God knows a terrorist - to obtain proof of residency than someone who has been licensed to drive for over 30 years with no question?) it sucks.

what's more is that people (ok, specifically banks) with no obvious connection to the department of transportation want to deny you certain privileges just because your government issued ID is no longer valid. (i've had this conversation! "look that's me in the picture. see? here's my birthdate. i've been me for YEARS now. are you saying i'm no longer me because i don't have the money to renew my driver's license? will you cash my check if i promise to walk home?")

is there some cachet to driving one's self around i just don't get? why, just in the very recent past i was the only member of a 5 person household with a valid driver's license. i don't remember any feelings of empowerment or privilege. no, i remember having to get dressed because i had to drive. 

you know what amazes me most about the Lindsay Lohan/Amanda Bynes debacles, why are they driving?? i hate to drive. (ok. honestly, i don't like leaving the house so i'm sure there's a certain amount of spill over.) if i was rich, even semi-/somewhat/more or less rich, i would not be driving. i can't imagine why they are.

can you imagine what their lawyers must be saying? "dammit Lindsay. haven't you been in enough trouble? if you're going to drink or do drugs -- and you are -- do NOT get behind the wheel of a car. seriously! hire a chauffeur, take a cab, ride with a friend, hell! take the damn bus but JUST DON'T DRIVE!" (i get all red and puffy faced just thinking about it.) 

sheesh! my next blog i will go off on Bureaucratic Bullshit and the Title to my Car. see you then!

The Dog Urine Rebellion & The Day I Ran

once upon a time in my life, urine was not even a subject of consideration. now my life seems semi-obsessed with it. not only do i spend much of my days wondering if Grannie needs to go to the bathroom or if she's gone and i need to change her undergarment -- i'm now on Puddle Patrol.

The rare photo of Rico (distracted i believe by the promise of cheese)

we have two little dogs, Coco & Rico. Rico has always been the special child. he's high-strung, skittish, timid and yet overly aggressive if he feels threatened. fine, fine. but lately, he insists on peeing in the house. perhaps it's the weather (he's scared of storms and the wind) or perhaps its a bladder problem (trip to the vet: on the list.), but whatever the case, it's a problem.

AND he's a freaking ninja. just this morning Russ took both dogs out and, dutifully, Coco immediately handled her business. Rico instead ate some grass. Russ came in the bedroom and updated me -- so far, no "accidents" -- while Coco tried her best to cojoin herself to me. then Rico ran in and tried to lick off my nose.

as we headed to the kitchen i discovered that, during our brief two-minute interval, Rico had peed on the leg of the dining room table. i had noticed he was late to join us. the tip off should've been him yelling "be right with you" from the other room.

to make matters worse, now Coco is going in the house. i mean, i guess i see her side of things. when i caught her the other day she looked at me like, "what? so i have to hold it and go outside in the rain and he can just piss in the floor anytime he feels like it??" at which point i just shrugged and went to get the paper towels.

in other news, i ran the other day. if you know me, you understand how this would be newsworthy. i have often said, "if you see me run past you, you should drop whatever you're doing and try to outrun me. trust me, either you don't want to face whatever is after me or you damn well want to beat me to whatever i'm running towards."

truth is, i wondered if i still could. even as a child i thought adults looked funny running. now i understand. when you're five foot ten and 250 plus pounds, once you start to run you start to wonder how you're going to stop.

i decided i would attempt a short sprint. the first issue was when and where could i do this. i approached it much as i would streaking -- short distance, quickly back inside, and with as few spectators as possible. i settled on mid-afternoon. (one thing about summer in the South is in the afternoons outside is more desolate than the middle of the night.)

so i sauntered casually down to the mailbox, checked left and right to make sure there was no one around, and took off running down the street. i must have run 20 feet! i stopped to consider the experience.

as you can probably imagine, the first thing i did was to collapse in the front yard. i lay there, attempting to recapture the years of my life i had just lost, breathing hard, and listening as my rational brain tried to explain to my angry heart and lungs why i felt the need to do this.

let's just say this, if fight or flight are my only options, i better whup ass like a mother fucker.