reap what you sow

Garden items the man wants to plant:
  • 100-pound pumpkins (who the hell knows what we'll do with these, but I've been informed that "they look cool" and that that is reason enough)
  • popcorn (I don't know how to make popcorn that isn't prepackaged with buttery goodness in a microwave-safe bag)
  • tomatoes (which the man will not eat)
  • peas (another vegetable that the man will not eat)
  • green beans

I've been told that the tomatoes and peas are "for me." I'm all about having a garden, but all I can see is a butt load of vegetables that the man won't eat and 100-pound pumpkins with their guts smashed out lying all over the yard after Halloween. Because, come on, what do you do with 100-pound pumpkins if you don't smash them?

downtown boots

The man's mom and stepdad stayed with us for the past week. They left yesterday. As much as I like them and it was nice to spend time with them, I was not accustomed to having to share my living space with anyone but the man and the two quadrupeds. Our "refuge"/den/space away from the remaining roommate was set up as a guest room so that they could take advantage of all the amenities we usually take advantage of (the TV w/ HBO, and the space away from the remaining roommate). I am oh-so-gleefully-ecstatic that we have the second floor to ourselves again that I spent much of the afternoon walking around the upstairs sans clothing. I think the cat was also taking a cue from my behavior as he was taking the opportunity to share in the exhibitionism. Cat Named Jack was extremely content to run around the open rooms again and lie flat on his back to expose where his balls would be if they hadn't been removed. Oh yes, he's a gentleman. He only assumes that position when he is comfortable with his surroundings, which means that he only does that when the man and/or I am around to make sure no beings get all up in his shit.

I am sad to see the man's parents go because the man is always more at ease when they are around. Unfortunately, they live in Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain, so we don't get to see them more than twice each year. While the family dynamic is drastically different than my own, I enjoy seeing where the man "came from" and his mom and stepdad are really cool people. It's always a pleasure to be around people who won't get up in arms over a few scattered obscenities. When you can call out your boyfriend ,in front of his mom, for being a dick, you know you are around good people. Oh, and they try to win Jack's affection by buying him gifts. This has yet to work, but at least they try. Jack only hissed at them three times during their stay.

Oh, I neglected to mention that they bought the man a pair of cowboy boots. I am not overly-excited about this as I have always had a certain distaste for boots of the cowboy variety. The man is not a cowboy boot type of person, or so I thought. I also neglected to mention that the man wanted a pair of cowboy boots. Nice boots, he said. Downtown boots, he said. What the hell are downtown boots? For those of you who do not know (among whose ranks I also fell until yesterday), anything with the adjective downtown means "nice" or "to be worn for going out." Cowboy boots to be worn for going out...I am not entirely enthused or convinced that this is a desirable turn of events. I will be interested to see how long it takes for me to get the man to join me in walking around upstairs in nothing but underwear - but he will have to wear his downtown boots. Fancy.



For some reason I've had marriage on the brain lately. I am still on the fence when it comes to whether or not I see the merit in it. I think I would like the idea of it being an end to any concern of infidelity, but that is not necessarily a guarantee (obviously), and I am not very concerned with that anyway.

I may be thinking about matrimony more because of my trip to Detroit for my nephew's baptism last weekend. My grandma is not too keen on me living in sin with the man. I had decided before I left for the trip that I would not limit my speaking of the man or our house to ward off any discomfort. Instead, I spoke of him no more or less than I ever do. And since I don't have much of a social life outside of work and the man, I had a healthy dose of man tidbits to share. Oh yes, I just said "man tidbits" in a non-dirty way. I was not sitting around revealing any jungle gym sex comments to my grandma. She seems to have resolved herself to silence in regard to her disapproval. I'm okay with the festering judgment as long as it stays festering.

In recounting stories of the man and myself I came to the conclusion that there should be a term between boyfriend and husband. As I have indicated that marriage may not be an option for me, fiance is not a suitable alternative. I wish there was some other term than "partner" that applied to happily unmarrieds. I think partner sounds too cowboy-ish. But wait, I think I may take the Western theme even further and go with sidekick. Of course, this should only be applied to the man, as I am obviously the alpha of the relationship (or so I like to believe).

I wonder how the man will like it the first time I introduce him as "my sidekick"? He dropped the girlfriend label as an introduction...it is only fair that I retaliate with his new title of sidekick in the same way. Oh yes, it will be done.


happy birthday, baby

Cat Named Jack is officially one year old this week. Next Mother's Day will mark the one year anniversary of the fateful day the man spied a tiny, dirty wad of kitten on the side of the road and the day that we added a ferocious dingo bobcat to the family.

Jack is no longer quite as vicious, but this side of him still manifests itself on occasion. Since the departure of the dickbag and his girlfriend (aka our former roommates), Jack has been freewheeling around the second floor of our house and has now adopted their old room (our den/refuge) as his room. Their departure and the addition of two rooms to his kingdom have made Jack a very content being.

The last few months have marked an increased appreciation of "nice" attention and he's become more of a cuddle ball and less of a bastard asshole intending to rip my flesh from my bones. I do believe in miracles.