Golden Comedy

I was flipping through my Entertainment Weekly and came across the monitor for Rue McClanahan.  I read it, because  I adored the Golden Girls while it was on.  I'm fairly certain I've seen every episode, even though it's been so long I'm sure they'd all be new to me again if I watched them.

Or would they?

On the bottom of the page they had their favorite Blanche episodes, and one of them was when Blanche's father wanted her to come home because he was sick.  She refused, and he died, and she had to deal with the guilt at his funeral.  This struck a chord in me, because of my own father's death.

However, the next episode shocked the hell out of me.  Blanche has an elaborate dream in which she finds out her husband faked his death because he couldn't stand being married to her anymore.  Sound familiar?

I went onto YouTube and found the episode, and it was all there.  The emotions, the trama.  The only thing my dream had been missing was Sonny Bono.

My life is a fucking Golden Girl's episode.

If it wasn't so hilarious, I'd cry.

Dreams aren't always like this

It's not a sob-fest every night. For example, last night I had a dream I was going to some LA gym, and as I walked up I realized I forgot my lock.

I sat down at a table in front of the gym, which was completely made of glass. I could see the people upstairs running on the track, and swimming in the clear pool.

"Are you not going in" someone at the table next to me asked, and I looked over to see Garry Marshall. I am starstruck, but hold it together and tell him I'm "fixing" to go in. We have a laugh, then I look over and see Steven Speilberg talking to a little girl. He called her "Little Eddie" Barrymore, and was trying to make her feel better about a part she got.

I got up the courage to tell Steven that I was glad that he was not only a good filmmaker, but a humanitarian as well, and I was glad to meet him.

I turned around to talk again to Garry Marshall, who I really wanted to speak with, only to find he had left to go inside the gym. I was sad that I missed the chance to talk to my idol, and wasted my time with Steven Speilberg.

And I watched episodes of Lost last night, I have NO idea where that dream came from!

Tis the Season

Stolen by someone who in turn stole it from someone else:

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Gift Bags. I can't wrap with a darn, and you get to the presents sooner!

2. Real tree or Artificial? Artificial. I hate the thought of killing a tree every year. Plus, messy clean up.

3. When do you put up the tree? The better half usually puts it near the TV.

4. When do you take the tree down? Depends. Usually I'll let him leave it up a little bit longer, especially this year, since it wasn't up until yesterday.

5. Do you like eggnog? When he makes it, oh yeah. Sooooo good.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? My Princess of Power castle. We went to this fancy-smansy store uptown and picked it out of the window.

7. Do you have a nativity scene? No. We don't really put much religion into our holiday. But who does anymore?

8. Hardest person to buy for? My Mom. She's allergic to EVERYTHING.

9. Easiest person to buy for? My best friend. She never met a fabric/scent/bath product she didn't like.

10. Worst Christmas gift ever received? I honestly can't remember. Couldn't have been that bad, I guess!

11. Mail or e-mail Christmas card? I love getting stuff in the mail. There is something more special about someone taking the time to send something rather than just pressing send.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? Nutcracker.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? This year I started in the time of never because we just made a HUGE purchase and can't afford a thing.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Nope. Unless it was a office gift exchange.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Pumpkin Pie. I know it's more October-ish, but I love it SO much.

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? Don't care.

17. Favorite Christmas song? Well, this year it's that Wings song, but just because I know it pisses someone off :-)

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Don't care.

19. Can you name Santa’s reindeer? I'm sure if I thought about it long enough.

20. Do you have an Angel on top or a star? Star

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? During Hanukkah, 'cause it's usually sooner.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? People. So, pretty much like the rest of the year.

23. Ugliest Christmas Decoration ever invented? Fruitcake. It's a decoration because 9 times out of 10 you can't eat it.

25. Which looks best theme trees or homey trees? Wait, what?

26. Gingerbread or sugar cookies? Gingerbread.

27. Do you like Fruitcake? See 23.

Hungry

My whole life, I was a flirt. I teased, I tormented. It was all in fun. I made sure I never offended and it was always wanted. It was what fed me, what made me feel good about myself, even if it was all faked.

Then I found him. He was all I needed. I stopped flirting, because I didn’t want him to feel as if he wasn’t enough, because he was. It was like the old adage; Out of sight, out of mind. I never quite thought about it again.

Occasionally there would be that spark, and I couldn’t help but tease someone out of affection for them. Not love or lust, mind you, just fun. I swear it creates endorphins; flirting was my workout. I was out of shape.

Recently I hit the flirting bottle hardcore, and when it was brought to my attention, it made me feel like shit. It felt like I had cheated, I felt like shit. I didn’t do anything that be construed as cheating, but I still felt terrible inside.

I was near tears driving home thinking about it, and then a song came on the radio (Human by The Killers). It’s rare that a song hits me at the right time and says the right thing. The main lyric is “Are we human/or are we dancer?” And it’s a good question. I’m only human, and it doesn’t matter where you get your appetite, just as long as you eat at home.

A Blog about Nothing

For the past week and a half, my check engine light has been on. It shines up at me like a dysfunctional doomsday clock; I have no idea when this emergency will actually occur. Every once and awhile it will take some sort of coffee break and turn off for a few hours or even days. But it always comes back.

I decided to get an oil change today in case that might be the problem, since I'd checked and the oil was pretty dirty. Inevitably that means meandering around Walmart like Novalee Nation in Where the Heart Is. It's not happy.

So I decided to hoof it in the nasty 117 degree heat across the parking lot to the comic book store to pick up the new Buffy, Angel, and Spike comics (shut. it.) and back so that I had something to keep me busy for an hour.

I got back and my car hadn't moved, so I settled into the waiting room where I was joined in minutes by two unattended children. Both were maybe 6 or 7 years old, one skinny and one sadly humongous. Skinny immediately went over to the TV and turned it up and started flipping channels. Soon he realized that the only channel he was going to get was PBS, so he left it and went to a chair next to his sibling and started in on the ice cream sandwich he had been given in lieu of parenting.

You know what comes next; one kid with an ice cream sandwich, and another with a Klondike bar. It was only a matter of time before the entire floor was covered in chocolate. Still no parent in sight. I got a phone call so I took it away from the little brats. When I was done I came back in to finish my comics (I said shut. it.) only to find the floor covered in smeared chocolate (nothing like walking in it after you've dropped everything.) and....wait for it....

covered in ants.

Now I can't even sit down and read. I have to go outside, stand, and read.

Thankfully my car was done a few minutes later, and I opened my car door to find they had set my parking brake.

Had this been my old car, no big, it doesn't even work. But this was my new, hard, obnoxious car. The doors close on you when you aren't looking, I have the bruises to prove it. I sighed and went to work on trying to get the parking brake off.

15 minutes later I was throwing things and yelling. I got out of the car to head inside to ask someone to help me when I saw this huge man, the size of a lightweight sumo wrestler, crossing the parking lot. I begged him to help me, and he obliged.

I've always relied on the kindness of strangers.

Karma at the DMV

Lover Boy and I went down to the DMV to re-register my car at one of those charming new kiosks, and then got back into the car. As I was about to pull out, the man parked next to us on the driver's side got back into his car as well.

Although he did it by swinging open his door and missing my car by centimeters, then started loading stuff in his car so that I couldn't pull out.

We waited, and I commented "Nice, guy. What a jerk." Before I even got to finish that sentence, he got into the car, banging his head on the top of the door opening. He turned red and quickly got back into his car.

I eyed the heavens and loudly stated "Thank you Karma, for being so prompt!"

Snap Judgements

My friend Melrose and I pulled up alongside an expensive silver bit of a car. I glanced over at the man driving it, and saw the slicked back hair and the matte black-rimmed glasses to match.

"So, this guy next to us? he's obsessed with Superman. He has the comics at home, the t-shirt that he wears under a suit at Halloween, and the cape, which he keeps in the back of his closet in a wooden box, so no one knows."

Melrose laughed and decided to play along too. "What's the girlfriend in the passengers seat look like?"

We let our car roll forward and not-so discreetly peeked into their car.

"Oh my god, his girlfriend is Asian! That means he's into the Smallville TV show, and she looks just like Lana Lang!" Momo said!

"He is so protective of her!" I said as he reached for her hand in her lap, "I bet you ANYTHING he has a huge hero complex! But he also feels like he can be a little bit dangerous...you know, like if some red Kryptonite was around"

The light turned, and SuperGuy sped off and cut in front of me.

His license plate read "GENTLMN"

Momo and I couldn't stop laughing for the next two lights.

Is it April 15th Yet?

Did you know the IRS hold music is The Nutcracker? I just found out now. I was doing pliés and arabesques all over my living room while worrying that the IRS was going to track me down and arrest me.

After a rousing romp through the apartment, I got the nicest lady at the IRS. No, seriously. I know it sounds sarcastic, but she helped me through some trauma. I had only gotten the $7.95 charge on my credit card, but not the amount that I owed. She told me what to do, and I felt so much better.

"So, that means you aren't going to send thugs to my door to beat me up tomorrow?" I asked her jokingly.

"Oh Honey," she replied, "We have bigger fish to fry. Have a nice day!"

Note to Self: Netflix the Nutcracker.

A Catharic Bit of Fiction

I’m torn up about our breakup last night. Not the fact that we broke up, of course, but just about your complete ass-hattery. Not only are you not who I thought you were, but I had no idea that one human could hold so many contradictions. Your asinine use of circular logic had me all but rolling on the floor. The way you can twist existence so that the earth revolves around you at twice it’s normal speed is amazing.

In the last few weeks of our relationship I’ve seen you go from normal to fear of commitment, and it’s been an exciting ride. From the ‘wow, sleeping with a hot blonde everyday is fun’ to ‘wait, you want me to support you in a decision?’

The greatest part was the way you projected all your mental issues on me. You had a problem with food, so I had to stock my own apartment with low-fat soymilk because it was ‘better for ME.’ Not you, but me. Suddenly my health was a huge concern, because I asked you once to stop me before I over-ate. And then I got the wrong brand of soy milk, and it was like the sky had fallen.

Near the end your behavior became what psychologists call the “Anxious/Ambivalent Attachment style.” I know you like to spout all your existentialist crap, but you rarely know what any of it means, so I’ll explain. An Anxious/Ambivalent attachment style is when someone has an expectation about social relationships characterized by a concern that others will not return affection. Now, as much as you’d like to say the same thing about me, I’ve got another one for you; the Arousal: Cost-reward model. What, you say? Well, that’s a theory that helping or not helping is a function of emotional arousal and analysis of the cost and rewards of helping.

Long story short, you’ve got a LOT of issues kid. And I’m giving you a complex by using all these big words, so I’ll let you take a break. Plus, I only got through the “A”s in my psych book, and we’d just be here all day.

But I’ll end on a note that is sort of close to the end of the alphabet:

You are a Complete Tool.

I can quit anytime...

Lover Boy and I are looking to save some money, so we've been discussing what we spend the most money on. Lover Boy thinks our problem is how many trips I like to take.

I can't help it. I love to travel. I love being in a new place, doing new things. Even old things. The grass is always greener and all that.

This January we went home for a week to spend time with family and college friends. This, to me, is necessary. We are also going away for a few days next month for my birthday. This isn't necessary, but I love taking a trip for my birthday. When I'm doing something during my birthday, I can forget that I'm getting older. This has worked for the last 3 years.

In May I'm doing a girl's weekend with my mom, as we are going to my cousin's wedding. This is semi-necessary. I really don't like my cousin, but watching her disaster of a wedding will give us fodder to mock her for years. Or until the divorce.

Lover Boy just got offered a trip through his work to go the opposite coast to visit a place I've always wanted to go. It's only going to be $650.00. If we planned the trip on our own, we'd be getting into the thousands for the cost. We have to go.

It's only February and I've used up all my vacation time already. I have two floating holidays, and three places to be.

I might have a problem.

But, I counted to Lover Boy, we go out to eat far to much. And that, surely, is more costly in the long run then a few trips over the year.

He agreed. Then he asked our waiter for the take-out menu.

I've decided to give back to the community!

I'm doing it the only way I know how; through blogging. And I'm totally not talking about "Ask Two Drink Girl Anything." Oh no....although you can still ask me anything you want. I'm talking to you, Rod.

Anyway, I've submitted an entry of this blog to this charity. Read the entry over again, and see if I made the right choice of what to send in.

And please, this is for posterity, so be honest. :-)

Happy Singles Awareness Day!

I stayed up last night to wait for Lover Boy to come home, so I could wish him a Happy Valentines Day. He wanted to watch yet another episode of good eats, and I fell asleep on him. He woke me around 1:30AM and we went to bed, with a set plan of what to do in the morning.

8:30 AM, there is a knock at the door. The repairman for the apartment complex thought right then would be the perfect time to fix the lock on our porch door. The same lock that hasn't worked since we moved in, over 3 years ago. Since he was there I told him he needed to fix our leaky sink too, and he had to come in and out a million times, and I had to wrangle the cats every time he walked in the door.

Around 9:30 AM he finishes his work and says goodbye. I climb back into bed with Lover Boy, tired beyond tired, and am *thisclose* to finding sleep, when there is yet another knock on the door.

I answer the door at 9:55 AM, only to find the repairman has forgotten his radio. I lock the door behind him, then realize in order to make it to work on time, I have to get ready now. As in, no sex, no cute lunch with Lover Boy, and no going to the post office to pick up my package from my mom.

Happy Freakin' Valentines Day. I swear I feel more single when I'm married.

Dear Rod: Why do questions always come in threes?

1. How much of my hard earned money would it take to get you to run naked through a crowded mall?

Funny, I had a dream about that the other night...Although I wasn't running, I was more cowering and needing badly to pee. More on that later.

Okay, not really. There is no amount of money that could get me to re-live my nightmares.

2. How can I increase my bad-assedness quotient?

There are a few easy steps, such as wearing more black and buying a motorcycle. But in order to really be a bad ass, you have to believe in you. This always works with women experiencing PMS. :-)

3. What makes the women swoon?

When a man shows that he thought about something. Women want desperately to feel like their man pays attention like they pay attention; with immense detail. Women remember what kind of dog food the dog digs the most, because she actually feeds the dog and measures the amount of time in which it is eating.

So just pay attention, and when you get her a "lemon lip gloss" and mention that you had remembered she said she needed some, and you saw it and thought of her, she'll swoon.

At least on the inside. :-)

Hmmmmm....

I was in heaven.

My city had finally seen it fit to outfit us with an H & M. That wonderful place where things fit and don't cost that much. Those wonderful Swedish designers keep me clothed. I've already spent $60 there and they haven't even been open for two weeks.

During my third visit I was rounding the corner into the dressing rooms when a woman caught my attention. She was wearing one of those tiny vests and jeans, sort of like this:
Only she was busting out of everything. It was not pretty. She strode past me with an air of insolence, so that make me think that she worked there. Still, I couldn't hide my disgust of her choice of outfit. Not only was it not fitting well, but it looks like she was missing the cute white shirt that should have gone under the vest. Thankfully, she didn't see me.

However, I did see the same look I was wearing on the salesgirl ahead. Obviously vest girl didn't work there if she was looking on with such disdain. I couldn't help but to smile at her.

Her eyes traveled to me and immediately her features changed to embarrassment. I handed her the outfits I wanted to try on and she said "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to stare it at her, it's just that..." I whispered to her; "Well, I didn't want to say anything."

Again, she started to apologized, but I stopped her. "Please, everyone in this room was thinking the same thing you were, don't worry about it."

Yeah, We Work Out

"You two have exxxxcellent form." The overweight foreign man leered to Mischa and I.

I smiled wanly and we continued our workout in the pool. As per usual, we spent some time in the steam room after the work out. Creepy Fat Man (CFM) Followed us inside and commented again, "You two are in great shape. Amazing form. I'm not just being nice. When someone has good form like that, you have to admire it, to acknowledge it." After being thoroughly creeped out, we decided to haul it over to the shower (because rinsing off is something we've learned we have to do.) before going to sit in the hot tub.

Yeah, he followed us in there. He continued to tell us how great our form was, and then came out with this whopper.

"You two didn't train in the states. You two were trained in Europe."

Except for swim lessons as a kid, and swim team for me, we've had no 'professional training' nor is our form anything but mediocre. Which is what I tell this guy, and then we promptly leave.

Why do the weirdos come after us?

There is no P in OOL.

After swimming laps, Mischa and I always sit in the sauna and then rinse off and warm our muscles in the hot tub. Usually the sauna is reserved for complaining about our flaky friends, and the hot tub conversation is usually comparing injuries.

"Body Pump totally kicked my ass! My triceps hurt so bad, try to stretch yours!"

"Oh, that hurts!"

"See??"

"You know what really hurts on me? My shoulders, trying to stretch them out. Do this!"

"Holy Crap, that hurts!"

"I know, isn't it awesome?"

"Oh Yeah!"

We are just getting the ball rolling on our list of "hurts so good" when the other people in the hot tub start to complain. Loudly.

Not about us, but about another man who has just climbed in the hot tub. A woman complained loudly that he “always does this,” and it's disgusting and rude, and she's going to talk to the gym about it and get them to put up a sign. We have no idea what she's talking about, but her voice is so filled with venom that it shocks our conversation into silence.

Another man joins in and begins to complain about this offending man, but they don't state exactly what he's done, so we are confused, and feeling a little awkward in the middle of all this hostility. Thankfully they die down, and we try to jump start our conversation and forget about it. After all, we need to get in more hot tub time.

The offending man sits across from the angry man. Not more than 30 seconds later, the angry man looks at offending man and says, "Why don't we all just pee in here?"

That stops our conversation cold yet again, and we stare at each other in shock while listening. The angry man continues; "Yeah, come on everyone, let's just start peeing in here...it's the same as you coming out of the sauna and not rinsing off before you get into the tub. We are all just sitting here in your filth, so why don't we all just pee in here?"

Mischa and I looked at each other, not believing where this conversation had turned. The offending man didn't say a word, he just sat there and took it...I think he was actually ignoring him completely.

"Time to go?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, we are out of here!" She replied, and we were out and on our way to the locker room, with plenty of sideways glances back.

Body Pumped

So, it's been a few months now. The Gym Mafia has me firmly in their grasp.


And I haven't lost one single pound. I'm still as fat as ever...more even. I've gained three pounds. Three.



And the first person who comments that it's muscle is going to get stabbed in their eye; I don't care what it is, it's extra and it's on me. It needs to get off.

Occasionally we'll bite off more than we can chew, like tonight. Tonight was the newest edition of Body Pump, (complete with new crappy music, I don't like it to much.) and then we decided to do Yoga to stretch out our muscles.

Big Mistake.

Body Pump has been transformed into an aerobics style class, instead of a weight lifting class. I wasn't expecting that. It's really, really tiring. We were late today, so I didn't get my usual spot in the back of the T-zone (Center back of the room, so I can still see the instructor, but no one can see me!) so I felt like I needed to try harder. I still didn't really make it. My back hurts so much I just got up to get answer the phone, and I *almost* fell.

And because we are suckers for punishment, we hobbled over to Yoga afterwards. I expected it to be old people Yoga, which is what I needed after Body Pump. My muscles yearned to be stretched.

What we got was Emo Boy who wanted us to "hop" and pull and kill ourselves and call it Yoga. I'm sure it wouldn't have been that bad if we weren't already fatigued from Pump, but we were, and it was. Mischa and I had even forgotten our Propel (no product placement, it's just that I'm addicted to Mandarin Orange Propel. Seriously, it's almost taken Starbucks place in terms of addiction.) so we were dying of thirst.

Next week, we've decided, we are going to do the first 9 days of the Fat Smash Diet. Basically it's just fruits and veggies, but we are hoping it cures us of our "let's share a dessert" every time we go out.

Of course we aren't starting now, now is to soon!

Attracting the Wrong Kind

Like an episode of Sex and the City, my girlfriends and I were all sitting around the table of a trendy restaurant discussing men.

Melrose noted how she really liked the clean, professional types…but the artistic soul is what draws her in sexually.

Mischa falls hard for the emo-types, but has a hard time attracting them with her all-American good looks.

My physical type was the surfer look, but Lover Boy is far from it, and I love him anyway. He’s my ideal emotional type, which I find is what keeps relationships once the initial attraction wears off.

“I think it’s great that we all have different types, because we’ll never have to be competing for the same guy!” I said, trying to look on the bright side of things.

“Well, we are very different types of girls too, so I think different guys would be attracted to us.” Melrose said.

Mischa and I borrow clothes all the time, and I noticed that all of us prefer pastels and have blonde hair. I thought we were the exact same kind of girl.

I never thought of myself as having a “personal style,” I just threw on whatever fit. Sure, I have a tiny bit of love for the 60’s Mod and slightly wacky hairstyles…but I didn’t think it set me apart from anyone. I don’t think I go overboard with it…although I think Melrose, with her design degree, would beg to differ.

Nevertheless, the past couple of days I’ve noticed some…attention…I’ve been getting. From the wrong set of guys. Not that there is/are anything wrong with these guys…they just are totally not for me. Like the guy behind the counter of Hot Topic who burned me that pile of mix tapes just because I was interested in the song playing at the time (What can I say, I’m a sucker for punk covers of 80’s songs), or the spiky-haired eyeliner wearing guy walking around Urban Outfitters.

Then when I was pumping my gas today, a smile came from the guy using the pump on the other side. His face was nice, and his car was really nice…and he had a medium sized Mohawk.

Why do I attract those guys? Is Mischa’s type really attracted to slightly overweight blonde girls with their hair in goofy pigtails? Really?

You Say It's Your Birthday

"Gunns!" I smiled and looked into his deep blue eyes. All 6 foot 4 of him engulfed me in a hug, and suddenly all was forgiven. I’d missed his school-boyish charm and charisma, and I was eager to catch up. He’d been seeing a girl for about a year; though they weren’t living together he described them as “comfortable.” I seemed to think that spelled trouble, but I kept it to myself.

Gunns had gotten himself a new gig, protecting the entrance of the newest club in town. The last time I’d seen him was at a place he wasn’t too thrilled with. I said goodbye to him, and saw the defeated look in his eyes; he was no longer doing the thing he loved.

That spark was back in his eyes, and he was in his element. He loved to take care of people, and seeing as how it was my “uber-late” birthday party, he invited us in and sat us at the interactive VIP table.

That’s right, I said interactive. Beneath the glass bounced all sorts of psychedelic objects. Gunns gave us all drink tokens, and threw one of them on the center of the table. All the objects went toward it like a vortex and cleared the table. By dragging our fingers around the table, we could make shapes and words out of all kinds of things; little people, hearts, flowers that bloomed with each touch. My favorite was writing in bubbles, then an octopus appeared and swam along the stream of bubbles.

After a few hours, someone wanted bottle service, so we were unceremoniously dumped out onto the dance floor with the unwashed masses. My friends took it in stride, and we stayed out dancing for awhile.

Suddenly I found all my friends and 4 or 5 guys staring at me. “What?” I yelled above the music. MoMo’s voice faded in and out of the music, but I gathered that she had just told them that this was my bachelorette party. Before I had a chance to deny the claim, the guys were surrounding me, and one went so far as to start grinding with me. “We are doing a bachelor party too!” The guy screamed in my ear, then motioned to the nerdliest one of the group. I finally broke free of his grip and said “Are you making sure he’s having a good time?”

“Oh yeah, I’m the best man baby!” He moved closer to me again. I put up my hand and said “then you have a mission; get off me and make sure he has a good time…not you…but him.” And I tried to walk away, but within a few steps the groom stopped me.

“You too, huh?” He motioned to me, then said “It’s my funeral too.”

I looked up at him, astounded. Anyone who would make that statement clearly wasn’t ready to be married. It seemed like an extremely unfunny thing to say. It made me a little sad, and I decided to take the bathroom escape.

We danced for a little longer, took many silly pictures, and ended the evening on a high note. I gave Gunns a hug and a kiss goodbye, and he smiled and said to me "Hey, we'll always have Fiji."

I smiled, socked him in the arm, and sashayed away.

Green Eyed Monster of Asses

"I'm cutting this a little close!" I thought as I rounded the corner to get up the stairs. A group of people were going straight and were a little ahead of me. I sped up to make the cutoff a little less mean of me and made it. I was up one step when I felt the hand collide with my my butt.
Now, before you get bent out of shape, I could tell by how the hand didn't grab me that it was an accident. In fact, the guy had said "Oh my god, I'm so sorry" before I could even turn around. I had to giggle a little...after all, it's not often that I get accidentally goosed. "Don't worry about it," I said and smiled at him, redding slightly. I was up on the third step by this point.

As I started to turn back around I saw his girlfriend push him from behind. Hard. He actually almost fell. I must have a twisted sense of humor, because I found this funnier than the butt "brush."

Why is it that girls get jealous over the tiniest thing? I'll be the first to admit that if someone is chatting up my significant other, and she isn't observing the three feet away rule, my hackles go up. I shake my finger up in the air and bob my head and say "oh no you didn't!" (Not really, 'cause I'd get beat down...not to mention made fun of...but I do it in my head!)

It's not a matter of trusting him, because I know he'd never cheat on me. But it's like when someone tells you to put on your seat belt. When you say that you drive safely, they say "It's not you I'm worried about, it's everyone else on the road!"

Girls' are sly and before you know it you are kissing them, and even you are surprised that it has happened. Some guys get thrown against a wall and kissed before they have time to think about saying "no." (I won't reveal your identity, but you know who you are! Three times...for shame! You'd think you'd keep to the middle of the room!)

Sometimes I feel like I'm an animal and someone has just crossed over into my territory and is going about sniffing in my trees like they are going to pee on them. It's like the Discovery Channel as I run over to Lover Boy and ask him to introduce me to the bit-uh, young lady to whom he is speaking. Yes, he IS my mine. NO, you may not pee on him. Who let you off your leash anyway???