If The Shoe Fits

Recently I rediscovered stick-ups. Thank god. You remember these things right? The little round things that you twist? Made infamous in the pantyliner commercial starring the cat with the crazy feet? You may have missed that one, it was by invitation only.

Anyway, back to my stinky closet. Not too long ago dad and I made this amazingly cool closet that I thought I might get to use. It had shelves on the outside of the closet where I thought I might stash my stinky shoes.

I was wrong of course. The closet was created because I got married. Even though that's one of the perks of a same sex relationship...doubling your wardrobe...it's still nice to have your own space. Hence, the new closet. But you did understand I have a wife now? Yeah, so she got the closet. I got the boot, so to speak.

So back in my cramped closet, I have my jeans on a book shelf, my oxfords on a hanger, and my shoes shoved in a milk crate. I'm almost positive there's a warning on the side threatening prosecution if it isn't used properly, which clearly, it is not.

Just so we are on the same page, this is her closet. See, isn't it cool? But this post is really about stinky shoes. Scratch and sniff above.

Let's skip to the chase. So this is her closet and when I go in there it smells like her. When I go in my own closet it smells like warehouse feet. Maybe I smell like warehouse feet, I don't know.

So I've tried Lysol and dryer sheets and now I have a 44 cent stick up that smells like a Hallmark store.It's only slightly better.

But let's be honest, my wife loves me. And she wants me to be happy. I'm sure she doesn't want my nice clean clothes to smell like warehouse feet. Or me for that matter.

 So she decided to share the shoe rack. And not to call the girl out on anything but you see how she has cleared off the entire top shelf of the rack above right? It's the shot in the upper left corner. The other six shots show various areas of the downstairs floor space that has ironically, all of a sudden, been taken over by randomly placed shoes! Go figure.

Glass Houses? What About BRICK Houses??

I told her. You can't just come up in the city and act any old way you want without consequences. I mean maybe that's something you could do in the country, but up here you need walk the line. Mind your p's (Ripley). Tend your q's (Girl).

But the girl does what she wants. You can try to tell her, but she's always going to do what she wants. And now look. Look what's happened.

That is a brick. A brick from my own house. A brick from her chimney (I also told her we needed repairs). A brick relocated to the driveway, centimeters from my car...with a brand new windshield.

Oh, that's just surface brick she says. It just chipped off the edge of the chimney, she says. Oh really? Really, really? And I suppose you think this has nothing to do with the fact that you are feeding the wild animals in the yard that I told you not to humor. No, of course not.

Yes, that's exactly what I think happened. Those darned squirrels are up on our roof plotting against us for our bird feeding preferences. "Look biotch, I told you we want peanuts. Peanuts, not sunflowers!"

"And what's with this tiny feed," the other one chimes in. "I want me some ears of corn. Do you have any idea how much seed we'll need to shove in our cheeks before we're ready for the winter cold? Ain't nobody got time for that!"

That's when it happens. Them squirrely squirrels chip away at that fireplace chimney with their squirrely-squirrel-claws until a piece breaks loose. Then they laugh and sneer as Cheeks McGee draws his tiny squirrel paws back and hurls his fuzzy-tailed-rat-rage at my Civic. I bet they turn back around and fist bump those tiny fur paws of theirs too. And say, "WHAT!?"

Up a Really Big Creek Without a Paddle

Okay, so the move to meld the mouses, both country and city, is a bit like shopping for a sofa. Seems like it should be a fun activity; turns out it's not. And I feel a bit like I'm up shit creek.

Doesn't help that the girl is right there with me....in the creek we'll call, de Nile.

So it's no secret I'm thrilled with the situation. Although she might be surprised to learn I'm sad about leaving the country. I'm going to miss it. But I try to keep it all to myself.

See, I'm not sure she is thrilled. And I don't want to rub it in her face. I'm sure she feels like she is giving up a lot to come to me. I, on the other hand, can't wait for her to see what she's gonna gain. I think she's keeping a secret calendar marking off the time until she can return to paradise.

In the meantime, we don't talk about it. And if we do, we fight. I'm told this is normal. I don't love it. She says I act like I'm not excited about it. --the move, not the fighting. Yes, that is kinda what I was going for. On the inside I'm pink with delight.

I say, you also don't seem excited about it. She says she is. But you see how she packs right? Keeps saying she's not moving anything. I'm like, you realize you are MOVING to the city. It's where you live now little mouse. Yeah, but all I need is some pants. Some pants, 'that's all I need... And these matches. - The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control, and the paddle ball... And this lamp. And I don't need one other thing, except my dog.' Jerk.

I feel like she doesn't expect to stay long. Like she is uprooting her life for the next 6 months and that's all. Then we move back. You see my trunk right? Just some random pieces from her life packed piece by piece in the Civic. This picture, my mug, chapstick, and some pants, that's all I need.  Baby, I don't love boxes stored in the attic, but I'm not opposed to them whilst physically moving. And you're not The Jerk. Maybe we could try actually packing something next time?

Define Normal

My whole life I've either been a step ahead or a staircase behind. I had short hair before it was cool. Rode a bike before it was green. Kissed a girl before it was on the Top 40.

What I did right on time was find my wife at exactly the right moment. We were planning our marriage just as our state was planning to legalize it. We were expecting our certified license in the mail the day the nation recognized our melded life.

Most couples are worried about colors and flowers and where to have the reception. We were concerned with rights and taxes and health care. Who would come and who would scorn, not where to seat them. As we became one, which companies would accept us and which would give us hurdles. There are plenty of hurdles...we continue to find. And yet plenty of people who won't bat an eye when a woman says my wife.

Some see our choices as unconventional. Okay, if you must. I've been different my whole life. But saying my wife feels as natural as my own skin. I don't care about your policies or loopholes. Falling asleep in my wife's arms erases any struggles in our day.

The heteroes bucked society by living together before getting married. And here we are married, living apart. Now I'm hearing the key to a successful marriage is not living together at all. Here we go again. A step ahead about to fall behind. Different as the day is long. C'est la vie. Haven't you read the new YouTube comments, she keeps me warm.

I'm not sure if I should be excited or not, the whole process has been such a stressful journey. I want to live with my wife. I want dinner at the table with conversations of our day. Dog walks, evening jogs, rides to the city, nights on the couch with the remote. Many many more blog posts about life with the girl.

She makes breakfast. I cook dinner. She kills poison ivy. I do dishes and laundry. We love each other, support each other, depend on each other. We are married. And soon we will live in the same house. Yeah, I'm excited. Normal or not.



Hey Bud

This is exactly what I'm saying. Guess what I found today, finally? It's stringy, pink, and heard all over. Welcome back ipod, I can finally hear you now.

Ear buds. Yes, ear buds. Where were they? Is that what you asked? I just want to make sure I heard you correctly. Where? In the office.

NO, I am NOT saying the girl was right. In fact, what I am saying is I was right. This is why we don't throw items willy nilly around the office. In the black bin would be one thing, but these were clearly not there. I looked 104 times. Every time the girl said, they are in the office.

Yes, I understand how that last statement makes it seem like the wife was right. But clearly you are not listening to me. Typical. See I know she didn't put them in that white bag. That's not what she meant when she kept saying, "in the office." I have no earthly idea how they ended up in the white bag. PARKER?!! Hmmm? Well, yes, maybe.

But let me distract you from this post a second since you seem to be taking her side...

Today I was at the market and I sent a text to my wife.
It said, "Honey do we need bread?"
She replied, "No it's in freezer."
I snicker, "Really, there's bread in the freezer?"
She doesn't miss a beat, "3 loaves in freezer."
I said, "Clearly you haven't read the latest blog."
Fresh, fresh, exciting...

Really I'm just procrastinating because now that I found my ear buds I have no excuse not to go out and run. It's not like I need to stay in and make bread or anything.

Keepin' It Fresh

Good lord woman! Did they discontinue sliced bread? I mean even after the rush on Twinkies they ended up bringing them back. I don't think bread will ever go out of fashion. It's not a fad.

Haven't you ever heard the expression, the best thing since sliced bread? It's here to stay, mark my words. There's no need to hoard it. It's much better fresh.

Meanwhile she has got every chilled crevasse stuffed with the floured yeast product. And here's the thing, wait for it...she doesn't even hardly eat it!

I'm not exactly sure what the plan is but we are covered. Covered in bread. If the apocalypse comes maybe she is planning on lining the house walls in it to protect us from inevitable doom. Floods, good there too. Just open the fridge and all the water will be aborbed in no time flat!

Maybe it's the drama king across the street. He can be quite loud. Bread would most definitely deafen the sound of his whining rants that last hours and hours on end. Just ball up the bread and stuff it in your ears. I mean if your ear buds are missing and all. I know, they're in the office!

I can only assume she gets it at half price. The bread not the sarcasm. She was born that way. By the looks of things I won't be having fresh bread for the next year and a half. It might be different if we had a toaster. Or space to buy lunch meat or cheese. Good grief.