| The Incredible Shrinking Woman | |||
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Thursday, May 15, 2003 ( 10:43 AM ) Melody Gather ye cucumbers while ye may I was going to save this for tomorrow, but, aw shucks, I just can't. Belinda and I had been working our asses off on some home project. It was probably painting. I just remember being exhausted and in need of some relaxation. Our air conditioner was off-- probably because that was when it was triggering our carbon monoxide detector and we were afraid to turn it on. The back windows were open for the cats. Like most people, Belinda and I reserve the right to walk around half naked in our own home. I was wearing a t-shirt and panties. Belinda was, as usual, topless with shorts. We settled onto the couch with a rental video-- O Brother Where Art Thou if I remember correctly. At some point halfway through the movie, I glanced up and into the saucer-wide eyes of a very shocked little old black man. When I screeched, "Chester's on our back porch!" Belinda lost all reason, dropped the blanket that she had been covered with, stood for half a moment bare-chested, and then sprinted down the hallway to her bedroom. By the time she returned with her t-shirt, Chester had scurried away, leaving in his place three freshly picked cucumbers. We debated for some time about what to do with the produce. We knew what Chester had seen, but we weren't sure he knew we knew what he'd seen. We decided that if we left the cucumbers on the porch, he might think that we weren't aware they were there and perhaps didn't know he'd been lurking in our backyard. Two days later we came home from work, and they'd been removed. Belinda took this as an insult to the quality of her goods, but I took it as a tacit agreement between Chester and us never to acknowledge what had passed. Now Chester tells us that we are free to gather our own cucumbers any time we wish. # ( 10:22 AM ) Melody Nothing sucks like a Hoover I'm so sick of all this rain.We've got bad gutters and need a new roof, and I lie awake worrying that the basement is going to be flooded again the next time I go down there. It has been raining heavily on and off for about a week, and there doesn't seem to be any sign of a significant let-up. Today is clear so far, which means it will be a mowing day for Chester. I don't think I've blogged about Chester before. For those who don't know, Chester is our ex-pharmacist, lottery-hitting, gun-toting, critter-hatin', gardening extraordinaire next door neighbor. He is probably 80, but he's out checking out the neighbors for any funny business and obsessively tending his yard every day. He plows our driveway in the Winter, and in the summer he brings us fresh veggies. He's particularly generous with the cucumbers ever since he saw Belinda's boobs, but I'll save that for another entry. Maybe the next one! Belinda's and my yard care habits are likely to give poor old Chester a coronary. We don't pay for lawn treatments, so there's a blanket of dandelions on our property threatening to encroach on his perfectly tweezered lawn. We don't mow every weekend, and we're constantly cutting something down or tearing something out. Undoubtedly, if Chester is out today, he's wet-vacuuming his lawn. Yes, you read right. After a rain, water seems to collect around Chester's fence. Can't have that, so he sucks it up and empties the water into the storm drain (which he has painted forrest green to match the lawn, I might add). Many's the Saturday morning that Belinda and I have woken to the sweet sound of Chester vacuuming his yard. Ah, the music of Spring. # Wednesday, May 14, 2003 ( 10:04 AM ) Melody Talk about talking out of both sides of your mouth! A little freaked out by this article on Salon this morning about the practice of tongue splitting. When does body art cross over into self-mutilation? I think tongue piecings are kind of sexy, and there are obvious benefits. Of course, I could never handle the pain, but if Belinda decided she wanted one I wouldn't balk. If she came home with a forked tongue, though, I think I'd just figure she was possessed and start annointing the windows and doorframes with oil to ward off the bad spirits. # Tuesday, May 13, 2003 ( 10:08 AM ) Melody I'm fat, pissed, and not gonna take it anymore! You know who pisses me off lately? Hardee's. All of these stupid testimonials about the bigger burger. Who needs a bigger fast food burger? Isn't America fat enough?! I know there's a lot of debate lately about people taking responsibility for their own health and not suing the fast food chains just because they don't have the self control to skip the drive-thru, and I agree. If I put myself at greater risk for a heart attack, it's ultimately my responsibility. Personally, though, I'm glad to see the chains getting a little heat. Fat is as big (no pun intended) or an even bigger health threat than tobacco is, and people don't realize that. Every day I'm more and more amazed by the brain washing in the television commercials. Food manufacturers are deliberately sabotaging our health in the interests of monetary gain, and I for one am sick of it. You know what this is? A terrorist plot by Al Quaida to fatten Americans to death. Where's John Ashcroft when you really need him? # ( 9:36 AM ) Melody Simon/Simone Belinda's mother is 59 or 60 or 62 (depending on which day you ask her-- the exact number is debatable, since her step-father messed with her birth certificate and got her a fake license so that she could drive a truck for him when she was not yet of legal driving age), and she still plays with dolls. We're not sure why, but my best guess is that it's at least in part a response to her complete absence of a childhood. Like many Hispanics in this country in the 1940s and 50s, she was practically born working in the fields with her family. Anyway, when Belinda was still pretty young, her mother caught sight of this doll in the window of a store that was going out of business, and she just had to have it. The doll itself resembles an oversized version of a kewpie doll that might have served as a prize at a fair in the 1950s. It is plastic with painted hair and movable joints. It probably stands about 2 1/2 feet and is of indeterminate gender. Since I have known Belinda, this doll has been on display in different parts of Mary's home-- always in a different outfit, always in a different position. Sometimes it is dressed as a boy, sometimes as a girl-- poor transgendered thing. Belinda calls it her she-brother. Sometimes it sits in a stroller. Sometimes it reclines in a little painted wagon. It dresses fashionably-- in the latest Nike high-tops, patent leather shoes, or tiny baby Keds. Mary shops for its clothes as frequently as she shops for her own. Sometimes it carries a purse. It even has its own Mickey Mouse diaper bag. For quite a while, it "slept" in the room that Belinda and I occupy when we visit. There's nothing creepier than being greeted by its cold undead stare as you drowsily feel your way back to bed after using the bathroom at 2AM. Recently, it acquired a pen mark on its forehead. In attempt to remove the ink, Mary inadvertently also removed some of the "hair." She tells us that she has finally decided to make the gender call-- it's a boy, and its name is Simon, in honor of American Idol judge Simon Cowell. Personally, I won't be surprised at all when she tells us that she's giving it testosterone and signing it up for "bottom" surgery. # Monday, May 12, 2003 ( 10:15 AM ) Melody Sweet meh-widge Once again I pronounce myself an uber-bitch (Sorry. Don't know how to make the umlauts appear over the u in uber.) The wedding was lovely. Melissa (little Miss) was lovely, and the whole thing seemed heart-felt, even if Big Miss didn't seem to take it as seriously as she should have. I think that's just her nature-- to laugh at things. Still, if she was my girlfriend, I would have been pissed that she could barely make it through the vows at the rehearsal without giggling or telling one of her groomswomen to hush up. She did fine during the actual ceremony. There were definitely some not-to-be-missed moments-- most involving the other usher (Big Miss's sister), the one I referred to in an earlier post as the "tagger," who showed up to the wedding rehearsal at the church in a black tank top that said "I just did your girlfriend." She also entered the reception hall later in the evening wearing only her trousers and vest, pronouncing to all that she had been undressed in the parking lot. Finally, on our way out of the reception hall, she had the courtesy and grace to tell a bridesmaid that she had "missed her chance" for a little of the coveted tagging action. Geez! Cocky bitch is an understatement. The whole experience made me feel a lot closer to Belinda. It was wonderful to be able to sit holding her hand as we heard those vows spoken, to think about how much we've been through in our 8+ years together. It just re-affirmed for me how much I really love her and how lucky we are to have found one another. It made me see the value of the commitment ceremony. I think perhaps I do want to stand up with her in front of our families and friends and announce my feelings for her to the world. Plus, my girl was smokin' in her tux, and unlike some others, she remained clothed until we got home. Don't get me wrong. I think Belinda's beautiful all of the time, but she never looks better than when she's standing next to a bunch of drunk-ass, loud-mouthed, generally unkempt bar-mongers. # |
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