Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Air Conditioner

Los Angeles suffered through a mini heat wave a few weeks ago. On average the temperatures reached highs of really fucking hot and lows of still really fucking hot. So, I snapped into action and began sweating like a fat Greek* guy breathing. After about a day of that I decided to internet myself some air conditioners, four seconds into my online journey I opted for a DIY project in lieu of buying one (okay, we also bought one but I still did all this shit.)

*I have no real inclination to believe that the Greeks sweat more than Englishmen, Frenchmen, or any other ___men, save for a friend growing up named John who later became addicted to heroin. He sweat a lot and told me that it was a Greek thing. I didn't believe him but still, it's easy to site.

My habit is to look up plans, pull out the Ikea directions, or stare at a picture and then just make it up as I go, with a loose idea of what I'm doing. Sort of like the first time one has sex. You sort of know what your doing except, unlike the instructional videos you stole from your parents, you don't have a mustache.

So this is what I did....

Unrolled copper tubing around a fan. And as you can see I had help. They were like my very own Al Borland and Pamela Anderson.



Then I attached them with zip-ties. When I was a child zip-ties were the reason we let grandpa come to Christmas, as he was the only one who carried a knife and could cut them off. He also brought alcohol.


Cut plastic tubing, the same size as the copper you bought, into 2 pieces about 6 feet in length. Note: you can literally cut them to any length you want I just said 6 so it sounded more official. Then connect a plastic piece to each end of the copper jobber.

picture missing
because honestly...you
need a fucking picture
for this?

You hook up this little jobber which you buy from a really sketchy aquarium shop in LA. You'll know you're at the right shop because they have puppies in the window, most of them invisible to shoppers - hidden away except for their barks. When you walk in the clerks will be a brother and a sister, the later being the older responsible one of...let's say 12. Anyway, you'll trust these people with your life because you'll later drop this (very much plugged in item) into a tank of water and hope for the best. Oh yeah, by hooking it up, you put one of the plastic ends into the outward pump-a-ma-job.


Drag this contraption where you want it and pull a cooler in next to it. Basically what you do know is drop the pump into the cooler of water and run the other plastic tube into the same cooler. The water will run through the coils, copper stays cool - as does water, and the fan will blow on those coils and cool the room down by like 10 degrees. You can put ice into the cooler (with water of course) and it works even better!!

It's pretty awesome!!! Or it would be if I had done it right. I mean, I did it right except it leaked where the plastic hit the copper. To fix this I used used a couple zip ties coiled down tightly at the joints but not before Mona gave me the look of disapproval.





"My Daddy is an idiot. He can't do anything right!!!"

Mona was embarrassed, I was sweating and Georgia hit me...I totally deserved it though, it was only done to teach me so I totally appreciated it then, and still do.

Anyway, after blowing out the water I hacked it with the zip-ties and plugged everything in for one more go-round.

Anxiously, Mona watched on...wanting badly to give her approval.


He's the smartest! Man! Ever!



And then my beautiful fiancee hit me again!


**Georgia never hit me (well..."never" is a funny word isn't it?)

Monday, July 26, 2010

News From The Field

I'll be the first to admit that I'm an expert in literally nothing, to the point where, if you quizzed me about my own stupid life I'd get most things wrong. However, I will not let that stop me from criticizing, chastising, and commenting on other people, be they nameless marketers, hookers, or professional football players.

These are notes from the field...


How hooker-ish do you have to be to justify going back and renaming things you've done in the past? For example, this album would be much more "real" if it were called "When I Was White," "Before I Turned Whore," or "Used To Be Less Scary (but you still knew I was a bitch.)" Maybe you have a better re-album idea.

Have you ever been Thousand Oaks, CA or Westlake Village, CA? These cities are about 12 minutes old and the only "ethnics" you see are rentals (bridge and tunnel if that sounds like a dickish statement.) I'm not saying these cities lack for culture, diversity, or anything interesting...I'm just saying, this is a reggae band. And where do they play? Why in an independent restaurant that models itself after TGIFridays, Applebees, or other tasteless houses of vomit.

Small picture, I know. This is up on a billboard on La Cienega and Santa Monica in West Hollywood, logic would tell me that this ad runs about 100k a minute and this company (I didn't place the tree there to block their name, I just didn't feel like walking for another angle) decides to use this ad. You can't really tell from this picture but it looks like a couple of corpses, on spit rods with cherries in their mouth. They look beyond dead. For the record, ladies, those big fake lips that a lot of (super fucking creepy) ladies (in Beverly Hills) get, are not attractive. In fact, when given the choice, I'd much rather eat all of my remaining meals at an Applebee's.
I didn't get around to opening this card because it looks stupid but I'm pretty sure the inside says something like:

"Ben Roethlisberger wishes you a Rapey Birthday!" Which, I find offensive...but as you can tell I'm very sensitive.

SPECIAL, NOTES FROM THE HOME:


I have recently become the (new) father of two lovely kitties. I've found myself actually telling people "I love cats," with the ease that may leave them believing that this was always the case, it wasn't, but it's very true now. I love the smell of cats, I love messing with them, and I love the feeling of them purring on your chest...I think it's called 'purring.'

Anyway, as a new cat father I don't know all the ins and outs just yet. Do I feed them or do I just hope there are mice in the house? Should I put water out or is the ramp I built going to the toilet ample? Where the fuck is Paddy's Pub so I can buy me some of them Kitten Mittens?? And are they really OneSizeFitsAll??

This here is Elvis. I was teaching him to fetch the football and he was relaxing afterwards. I went into the living room and drank a few (12) beers. What happened next was an absolute tragedy, luckily it sobered me up and I saved the day.


You may think that only dolphins are stupid enough to get caught in those plastic six-pack holders because the picture below is real fucking life people....this shit really happened! Look at how tangled up he got himself.


You can see the fear in his eyes and the fear in my hand (could be a cat treat, remember...12 fucking beers!) But luckily I was able to free him.

I'm learning a lot about cats and teaching a lot of other people about life as I go. How are you contributing to society, life, your neighborhood, your local recycling plant, or you friend's health??

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Acceptable Pets

I found a book on leaving the state of bachelorhood buried underneath my toilet a few years back. Here is a sample of the poetic and wonderful words of wisdom that it held. Right, I know it sounds as if I have written this myself but trust me, I didn't...although I had a very nice buzz on last night and there is no way of telling what I did or didn't do.


How many times must I tell everyone that I'm engaged...for the first time ever. Which means I'm better than anyone whose every been divorced, broken an engagement, or anyone who is in a "long term relationship." Basically I'm fucking winning at life, the aforementioned are...well surviving at best. I have a huge heart though! Literally. Doctors are fearful. So I'm here to help in my continuing series on Bachelordome: A Made Up Word But Real Words Of Wisdom (a working title.)

Today's installment: Pets.

The kind of animal you choose, as a single man, says a lot about you. Do not think for a minute that it is a decision that should be based on your own inward desires. So far your desires have left you single, lonely, nearly broke, and slightly rounded at every possible edge and corner of your body...basically, your desires, wants, and opinions of yourself are broken. You might think snakes are cool, read on to hear why your wrong...about almost everything.

Firstly, there are 3 acceptable pets; dogs, cats and fish. Out of those three you can refer to only two of them as pets - dogs and cats. On the other hand fish are simply decorations that cost consistent money to keep alive. Any other sort of animal is unacceptable and often overtly pathetic.

Ferrets, chinchillas, mice, hamsters and other furry animals are ways to tell the world that you are desperate to be considered creative or wacky or out-of-the-norm but really all they say is "I'm a guy who both tries to hard and doesn't try at all." Do you have a crazy single Aunt who you thought was cool until you turned 14, only to realize that a fridge with only mustard and A1 sauce isn't "cool" but lonely and sad? If you don't have this Aunt do you know a spinster like this? Good! She is exactly who you are attracting.

If a woman comes over and says "oh my god, you have xyz as a pet! How adorable are you?!?" She's honestly asking that question, it is not rhetorical. She is wondering aloud if you're cute or a boring loser who only wears the same khakis to work and to the bar only switching form shoes to sandals.

Note: we'll get to guys wearing sandals at a later date, just know this know...don't fucking do it.

Snakes, lizards, reptiles, any fucking animal that requires a heating lamp to keep alive: all of these "animals" are worse ideas than sleeping in line for Twilight because these animals are a dead give away that you either did sleep in line for Twilight or (perhaps worse) for the Metallica movie that came out...whenever that movie came out.

Living in LA I see dudes with pony tails walking down Hollywood Blvd. with snakes and I think; "wow, there goes a guy who screams 'fuck yeah Mama' during sex and then cries immediately after shooting his abnormally small load onto the third fat roll of his, still sweaty from her leather pants, partner. You think my assessment is bleak? Ask a girl who is above a 4 what she thinks of dudes with this "animals," you'll soon see how kind I'm being.

Fish. Fine, but don't be all weird about it and name them. If you own fish it should be for the challenge that is keeping them alive. It's the science, not the 'companionship' which doesn't exist. Unless you have a goldfish, then you best be a complete pot head seeking the same.

Dear Craigslist: Complete pot-head seeks same. Enjoys smoking weed looking at fish while listing to Phish. Makes a great grilled cheese and would love to make grilled cheese. Also loves Phish.

Cat's are a bit trickier than dogs for a single guy. For reasons that I don't care to go into right now (read: I'm drunk) I cannot go further into this, but there will be an entire page devoted to proper bachelor ownership of a cat, at a later date. Here are a few things to remember when owning a cat, sans significant woman in your life.
  1. Pick a funny name. Something creative would help or something about the way they look. ie: Love-Box 9,000. Mister Cheesington. (note: switching the sex for the name makes it creative, Mister Cheesington should be a female.)
  2. If you're not creative, funny, or interesting at all pick a name with a story. ie: I named her Lola after the Kinks song, which was the first song I heard after I learned my father was being returned to the US after spending 12 years as a POW.
  3. Have a girl cat. I'm not sure why, it just helps if your a dude. It's way less creepy when you call her "sweety," or "poo-poo," or "peanut-butter-champion."
  4. Love animals but recognize that a dog requires too much time.
Dogs. Oh fuck, again, this could go on forever. Let me break it down real quick for you, by category.
  1. Little dogs. Don't do it!!! There are a few exceptions; it's your 2nd dog, it was willed to you, or it's a working dog. By no means should you have a toy breed and be single at the same time...unless you're a pussy and you want everyone to know that right up front.
  2. Mutts. Yes! Yes! Yes! Women love nothing more than a slightly scraggled dog with a jagged tooth that you rescued from the pound when (s)he was 5 because it had been there for 2 years already and nobody was going to take it home. Honestly, this will also be the best dog you'll ever own. It'll love and appreciate you in ways that will make your mother realize what a failure she is as a parent.
  3. "Mean Breeds." Personally, I think it's all about how you raise a dog but nothing says "I'm really insecure and I used to get beat up a lot," like having a big mean dog. If you own one of these just resign yourself to being single until the dog has gone the way of the...of, let's see...I guess, gone the way of a dead fucking dog.

Whatever you decide remember to spend good time naming your new pet, or at least coming up with a fun and creative back-story that will tickle the girl (or woman for you lucky few out there who feel you're up to that challenge) you will one day try win over.

I wish you, as always, luck...we all know you need it.

Improvements For The World

Here are some slight tweaks, inventions, or innovations that would really advance mankind...probably womankind too.

  1. COUNTING CASH REGISTERS. Everybody has gotten into the express lane at the grocery store, thinking to themselves that it'll be just a few minutes in line and then back home to drink their beers and eat their pretzels buuuuuttt nooooooooo...some asshole has decided to use the 15 items or less line as their own whipping post. There there are, two carts ahead, with 37 items. These people should be shot but this may be illegal so instead I propose cash registers that will not scan after a certain amount of items. For example, at item 15 it literally stops scanning. The moron can continue but they must start at the back of the line with whatever items they have.
  2. FITTED SHEET BOXES. Show me one fucking person who knows how to fold these things without eventually just rolling it up and shoving them into the corner of some drawer. FUCKING SHOW ME A PERSON!?!?! You can't! Martha Stewart literally dribbles little spots of urine at the site of these sheets. All we need is a decorative box that fits them perfectly. That way I can still stack them in a drawer, only without the Catholic guilt (note: I'm an atheist but the guilt lives strongly on.)
  3. ADJUSTED PARKING TICKETS. Having recently received a ticket of my own I'm quick to point out the flaw here. I literally could have left my car in it's spot for another hour and my ticket would have been the same. Doesn't it make sense to pay per minute you are past due? Two additional notes, if you're a "shopping street" and the meters max out at an hour you're losing money, you should complain. Secondly, is; "it's already started, I can't stop it now," the only thing they teach you at Meter Bitch School?
  4. PICTURE PLACEMENT ON BLOGSPOT. You either know what I'm talking about or you don't, thus this will end number four.
  5. USA JOBS. I don't want more jobs added, like most people, in fact I care very little about this, I feel like if you're unemployed and looking it'll eventually turn out in your favor. Good luck, I certainly hope the best for you but that isn't what I'm talking about right now. I've gone 3 years without a raise or added vacation time yet I'm asked to work harder with more responsibility. I am not alone in this, I know many people who have very similar stories. I ran into someone today who works in the same industry and he has double the vacation time that I get, despite his title being several steps below mine. My responsibilities are triple his yet his pay is just behind mine. It made me really sad to think of the fucking untold hours I've put my personal life on hold for my company only to be told that my personal stock is not going up. Maybe this is a personal battle but I do feel the US is expected to work hard and the only pay of is more hard work. No furthered mental stimulation, no benefit increase, pay increases perhaps but they will be small, and certainly no increased vacation because we want everyone to know that work comes first, life comes when you retire...you know, just before you die.
Those are just a few little ideas I have, do you have any that I overlooked? I'm interested to hear them!!

Monday, July 19, 2010

Some Idea

When I was about 10 or so years old I started my first company with my best friend Emily Sniezyk (pronounced Snee-zack for those following along at home.) We called it CHES for our initials and we did yard work. We raked my grandmother's lawn for about 3 hours and our business sort of dissolved. But not for lack of trying, at least for 10 year olds.

We put up signs around town - which meant the corner store, being that the only store in town. And we told our mother's to tell people - which is the best small town billboard money can buy. Still, the phone wasn't exactly ringing off the hook.

Several years later my friend Brett and I, after becoming obsessed with the show Cheers decided to start our own bar. Being that we were in 7th grade we found the procurement of alcohol to be a difficult if not impossible task. We were young and didn't yet own that mental filter that causes people to readily give up, thus the lack of alcohol didn't stop us. We rode our bikes to the candy store and loaded the fuck up.

A week or so later and our locker based candy business was flourishing. We were charging double or triple what we paid and since we were the only source of jawbreakers, warheads, and the like, we were constantly busy. So busy that the principal soon found out and shut us down. Looking back now I'm disappointed that he never once told us that we were innovative, forward thinking, or anything like that, he basically just called us turds and gave us detention.

While the ideas kept popping; board games, t-shirt company, black top resealing, etc. the likeliness of my keeping on top of the idea faded with each failed launch. Until finally, it seems, I choose safety first.

I'd like to blame my principal but I really can't. Fuck, I'd like to blame anyone other than myself but the truth is, I need to stop listening to the failures of yesterday and look forward to the many failures yet to come because in the long run I look back on all of these memories as happy ones, despite my eventual shortcomings.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The Dark Year - Part 2

With basically no money I had no option but to live without cable, it was the first time in my life that I had done so and while I’ve since come to love the lacking, at the time it only served to further my depression. Not knowing what to do with my over abundance of free time I eventually bought an antenna (Hulu and the like did not yet exist…remember 2003 kids?)

Telling people that I lived without television was a source of pride for me at that time. It made me feel cultured in ways that I never had before. I told people that I read a lot – it never felt like a lie because I did read a lot of bullshit on the internet. When Justin came over once he did note how few books I owned, with no library card to diffuse his argument I probably just said something along the lines of; “weird huh?” Meanwhile I was thinking, “you know internet books right? They look a lot like naked people playing WWE wrestling in 30 second clips,” 30 seconds porn clips were like full movies at that point in my life.

This was the first time in my life where I felt a clean break from the past, becoming ‘cultured’ was important to me in some way. Every fiber of my being wanted to change and escape aspects of my life before that year. My musical preferences had recently changed and I wanted to reflect that in action, style, sophistication, and everything else in my life. The music didn’t really matter much, it seemed important at the time, looking back though it was little more than a catalyst.

What I really wanted was Late Night With Conan O’Brien. Yes, there were things worth running from but Conan was a constant I hoped to keep. I had been sneaking his shows since I was about 15 years old (1995,) I watched it through college when nobody was around to advice (read: force) me to sleep, and I wanted to keep on watching. My work schedule was 4pm-9pm on the weekdays and 4pm-10pm on weekends, at the time it felt too long, I only wanted to return to my silent and depressing home. A splash of Midnight Red would, I felt, have helped.

My schedule otherwise was sort of crazy, wake up at about 3pm and go to sleep at about 6am. Sadly though, I kept this schedule without Conan, as NBC wouldn’t come in on my TV. Fox was really the only channel I got, so it was late night syndication for me – this is why I know every episode of “3rd Rock From the Sun,” “Just Shoot Me,” and the Michael J. Fox episodes of “Spin City.”

Fox did 103 episodes of “Spin City” before Parkinson’s forced him to leave the show, Charlie Sheen amazingly lasted 45 in his stead. I’m not a television buff but I can think of no other show where the main character was replaced and the show continued to be a success, even if only a minor success. While you could argue this with Cheers, Diane was a highly important character but not the focus. Sheen has had some moderately good movies (and yes, some great as well but those movies were great in spite of him and in no part great because of him) but he is a well known asshole, who has done just about everything wrong and yet he remains on the number 1 show on television. Regardless of whom you were to put in the Sheen role on “Three and a Half Men” the show would remain offensively bad and just offensive to entertainment as a whole – yet America fucking loves this guy. It blows my mind. I guess there are just a lot more people out there who appreciate a good wife-beating than I know about. Needless to say, I only watched the M.J. Fox episodes.

I wrote down a line, from “3rd Rock” that I will never forget, it’s the exact kind of misdirection humor which I so appreciate (see my affinity for Allen Woody,) I don’t remember the characters but it went like this:

- Character 1: “somebody wants you in the other room.”

- Character 2: “oh? Who?”

- Character 1: “everybody in this room.”

So that is how I spent part of my nights; watching 3 TV shows while my days were spent telling people that I didn’t have a TV. Again, I somehow never really felt like any of it was a lie. I didn’t watch a lot of TV, by most standards, an hour and a half was basically like no TV at all, except it isn’t no TV, it’s an hour an a half of TV. Part of me believed that the more I told people I didn’t have a set the more likely I would be to actually stop watching those shows. In a way though, my “programs,” were the one time in my apartment when I felt just slightly less than suicidal and lonely.

Of course there was also (teaser) MySpace, Ash In Concrete, LiveJournal/MySpace Blog, the 2004 elections, and god knows what else…but those come later.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Swear-A-Thon 1987

On the first day of second grade, 1987, I extended my hand out from my side, slightly restricted from the suspenders I had selected as proper 'dress to impress' attire; "Hello, I'm Colin."

"Hi I'm Rodney."

"Ronnie," I obliviously asked.

"No, Rodney," he responded as though he had heard this just over a million times.

"Ronnie?" apparently I never heard Rodney Dangerfield before but I had heard Ronnie the Limo Driver...or something.

"Rod, like a fishing pole and knee," pointing.

"Oh Rod-Knee, I get it." The name remained more two thoughts than two syllables for a long time - much more quickly he became the coolest mother fucker I'd ever met.

He was from Denver, or Colorado, he was willing to fight for no apparent reason and he knew all of these wonderful words that I had never before heard but wanted so badly to know, understand and hopefully use properly at some point. Bitch was for women, bastard for men. Who knew?!

Kids were joining into the act, suddenly Jarrod brought a boom box to school, we listened to The Fat Boys rap about their respective pussy's getting fatter. By that point (about a month into school) I had learned the word cunt even though I thought it was a contraction - the one time I wrote it out, I spelled it "cun't." I wasn't sure what that word meant, it seemed to mean weakling or wimp, it seemed interchangeable with 'pussy.' It was all too much for me, but I was so loving it.

Every other word became a cuss, the entire class would openly, and jokingly, call each other dicks, pricks, assholes, and worse. I even got into a fight for calling a kid 'leatherneck' which in retrospect doesn't seem all that bad. He was the class bully, until I punched him in the nose and basically laid him out, after that he was knocked down a peg. I mean shit, the kid with suspenders just knocked you out.

I wasn't allowed to wear jeans, shorts, or shirts without collars because my mother found all three to be a sign of disrespect, yet, when she wasn't around I would regularly say things like; "did you see In Living Color last night? Fucking funny as shit wasn't it?"

Rodney was funny, charismatic, and handsome...all through school. He was always a decent friend, we peaked in 2nd grade but we remained buddies throughout school. He's now a NYC police officer now, married to his high school sweetheart, a very pretty girl who was also a friend of mine. I think she's a buyer for some large department store, or something like that.

What's really important is that I can now use almost any swear word in context but I'm a little sad that I never got the chance to thank him.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Radio Days

My job can be pretty fun at times. I'm in sales so the highs and the lows are not, in any way, stable, they're all over the map. The driving required is never ending, although it is comprised of 10 minute jaunts from one location to another. Either way my radio time is fierce. My love for the talk radio format knows no ends.

Television is fine, sports can be interesting, movies I can usually do without, but fucking talk radio is perfect, when done right of course. Very few do it right and even those who even tire me out after 4 years of listening to them. So now I play several different Sirius games.

Recently I've started at Hit's 1 and run through the dial through 90's on 9. The channels, best I can tell, go like this.
  1. Today's awful hits.
  2. Basically the songs you hear while grocery shopping, mostly the ones you don't recognize.
  3. Love. Think classic love songs here, more dentist waiting room variety than Bright Eyes.
  4. 40's on 4. Amazing jazz from the swinging 40's, great stuff. Duke Ellington was on today.
  5. 50's on 5. The pop music that eventually turned into Chuck Berry and the Beatles.
  6. 60's on 6. The same as 50's only 10 years older. Add to the mix some Woodstock bands.
  7. 70's on 7. Mix of tight leather pants rock and Disco, either way nearly un-listenable.
  8. 80's on 8. Pretty good, a lot of soundtrack bull shit that makes it harder to love.
  9. 90's on 9. This is like riding the bus in middle/high school. It makes me sick but I know all the fucking words.
I start on 1 and only change the station when I come across a song whose lyrics are completely unfamiliar to me. This game goes rather quickly.
  1. I don't last a song. Fuck, I don't last a chorus and I'm better for it.
  2. Last week I knew a song.
  3. I could snag up here for about 1-4 songs. Today I had 3 in a row (Endless Love was in there somewhere.)
  4. Wish I knew these lyrics, this is (other than Howard 100) my favorite channel on Sirius.
  5. I could spend a really long time here, but usually there is one thrown in that is new to me. I'd say about 10 songs is my record.
  6. This station could keep me all day if I'm not lucky. A lot of the songs are annoying but I know them regardless.
  7. Please let it be disco!!! If it is, I won't know it and off I go. It's wonderful. If it's rock I'm stuck for a while thanks to a job I had painting houses with a bunch of old school rocker-types.
  8. Surprisingly difficult. This station can throw real curve balls at you via pop music that sucks as much now as it did then.
  9. The bane of my life. I can never get away from this station. I know every fucking song from Creed to Snoop Dee-oh-double-gee.
Why is 90's music so fucking awful? Why didn't radio stations play the Pixies, Pavement, and other relevant bands who survived the test of time? Literally nobody who really blew up in the 90's is still alive today save for Pearl Jam and Phish. Do you know what else those bands have in common??? If you said "They're unbelievably boring," congratulations!!! You're not an idiot! (sorry Jay.)

If you could go back in time and tell your 12 year old self to listen to any band who would it be?

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Everything Is Wonderful, Let's Go To Therapy!!!

I repeat very few things in life, there was 2nd grade, 3rd grade, 5th grade, 8th grade, and 12th grade, but other than that I try to repeat very little, at least on this blog, regardless I know that I've said these two things many times; (a) I have the best fucking girl ever invented as my fiancé and (b) I subscribe to Psychology Today. This magazine is, in fact, the resource that led me to my therapist. Now, it's led us both there.

If you've not been following along to my blog or you don't follow my wonderful twitter than perhaps you don't know that I'm fucking way engaged right now!!! (She makes sense of it all in ways that I cannot, so read this.) This relationship, we together as a couple, I mean...shit, we'd make you puke. Honestly, we are stupidly perfect for each other, we make each other laugh like tomorrow is nothing more than a welcome surprise. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that we are a million times happier than you are...so we decided to go to couple's therapy.

In the latest Psychology Today there is an article (written by some girl from Santa Monica who you hate because she writes like she's super fucking annoying) about a couple who went to therapy waaaay early on. Maybe this spurred the idea to go discuss a few things or maybe we just thought it would be fun, either way that's where we were yesterday.

Running down the street, laughing and joking (read: walking slowly while I made stupid jokes and she humored me) we made it a few minutes late to my normal therapist. We spent the next 50 minutes talking about little thing. Our entire reasoning was this relationship is it. It's fucking it!!! There is no other relationship, so let's get the oil changed rather than letting the engine blow up and having to later replace it (which is my small-town way of saying let's keep everything wonderful and gay! (gay is my non-small-town way of saying happy.))

I'm not going to go into the things we talked about because it's both personal and small I'm just so excited that my life has turned into this wonderful little story. I feel like Duke Ellington is playing as I'm walking around Echo Park Lake in some Woody Allen (dark match) comedy about how relationships can actually work out. So, go get help while things are good! I think it'll keep them that way.

We walked into therapy smiling, laughing, and reassuring one another, we walked out, bought cupcakes and laughed about how small things can become serious when you're paying $100 an hour. In the end though, it seems right...at least Woody would be proud...we hope.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

You and Me Now Buddy

A few minutes ago I was matching socks in the office, it seemed an important step even if I had no idea where I was going to put them, once the job was complete. Things are still a bit hectic in our new home, each cupboard as mysterious as the buildings in a Sarah McLachlan song. Different boxes await Georgia and my approval, each item - it's new home.

Elvis and Mama (cats) have learned to sleep on the same bed as Mona (dog.) My family loves to nap, it will eventually be the bind that brings all the animals together, I think.

Elvis is her Siamese, he's much more hesitant towards anyone who isn't Georgia. It's as if he found her and said to himself; "how could I ask for anything more?" I know the feeling. He was weary of me at the start and now he's a bit afraid of Mona.

Oh right. Socks. Well, Elvis came in to see what the deal was while Georgia and Mona napped in the bed. Mama was on the couch, where she's set up base camp since about Tuesday. Yes, all of these names make this seem a bit more like Dickens than blogspot but I figure you're best just to get used to the names, they are my family after all.

I matched and set up a shirt, that is between my closet and Goodwill, for Elvis. He chilled and watched what I was doing (I think...he's very cross-eyed and it's impossible to tell where he's looking. Between socks I was scratching him, we chatted, I did most of the talking. He was purring.

"It's just you and me now buddy," I said, eluding to the fact that everyone else was sleeping but it struck me how many times those words fell from my lips to Mona's ears and I'm sure how many times Elvis has heard those words from Georgia. And while the two will remain with us, hopefully for many many years to come, it's not just them anymore.

I wish I could tell you all how amazing Georgia is, how much I love her, how much better my life has become since I met her, but I simply could never find the words. We met at the perfect time, it has been the perfect storm.

Tomorrow will be a week, I woke up more nervous than ever before in my life. I went through the day as normally as possible. We went on a wonderful date. Later that night I asked her to marry me, she said yes and suddenly I know why people say "I feel like the luckiest man in the world." Because I do. I am.

Since I started typing this out she has come out and sat at the table with me and right now she has no idea I'm looking over at her, thinking about the amazing luck that I have had...look at her...she's perfect for me in every way.

Oh right, you can't see her, sorry. I'm going to go enjoy the view.