Speaking of...

Patrick and I were hanging out the other day and I suddenly noticed something weird about my feet. I held them up to him and said, "Look. I shaved the top of one of my feet but not the other." Yes, I'm a hobbit. But speaking of feet...

I went to rent a movie tonight and there was a really hot guy in line in front of me. But when he went up to pay for his selection I noticed something weird about his feet. He was wearing socks with sandals. But not any sandals. They were thongs. He was wearing socks with thongs and he had the material all bunched up between his toes. Poor, poor hot guy. Obviously he needs a woman to care for him. But speaking of woman and renting movies...

The assistant manager at the video store thinks I am a lesbian. It's either because I've rented all of the Queer as Folk out on DVD, or because I tend to run in there wearing what Patrick might refer to as my lesbian clothes. I think she hit on me tonight. She suggested that when the Queer as Folk series is over, we should watch them all over again from the beginning. I'm not sure if she meant together or not. But maybe she did. I wasn't wearing a bra. But speaking of girly things...

The men in my life don't like when I put bows in Buffy's hair. But I put up with two big male dogs for nine years, and I'm ready to have a little girly fun with my little puppy. Besides she looks stupid without bows.

See?

























Speaking of my dog looking like she stuck her paw in an electrical socket, I need to go give her a bath.

Get Your Sappy On

Hey guys. I took a day off from the world today. The only thing I managed to accomplish besides refilling the toilet paper roll was guest blogging at The Traveling Spotlight.

So if you want to read something sappy and sentimental, link on over here.

Weighty Issues

My husband called my best friend a prick yesterday.

It may be because said best friend was standing on the scale at the time.

Wearing all his clothes.

Holding a vitamin in his hand.

And he even had his wallet in his pocket.

And he's still lost weight.

Yeah.

Skinny little bitch.

Is skinny little bitch worse than prick?

I'm the Mother of a Six-Year-Old

Last year on my daughter's birthday I wrote about the day she was born.

This year, I was so busy and stressed that I barely had the time to think about her birthday. Until it suddenly hit me today that I am the mother of a six-year-old.

How the hell did that happen?

We went to play mini golf tonight and we had to pay two more dollars for her than for my son. She'll be starting first grade in less than a month. She'll be holding hands with boys in only six or so more years. She'll be driving a car in just ten years. And she'll be going to college in twelve more years!

I'd be sad, but, well, right now that sounds really great!

That's not to say that she isn't a joy. My kids really are very well behaved and generally they are lovely to be around. I wouldn't give them up for the world.

But I'm getting spoiled this summer. My parents keep asking to take the kids on trips and I keep letting them. After months of being all alone with them on a daily basis, I'm still in a place where I am enjoying the freedom.

But this past Wednesday my mother brought my kids back to the Cape to celebrate my daughter's birthday. And one of my mothers-in-law and one of my fathers-in-law (yes I have two sets) came to visit for a few days.

We took my daughter to dinner for her birthday and she ate the largest brownie sundae I've ever seen in my life.

In an effort to let my husband have time with his mother, and because I feel like I make my mother-in-law very uncomfortable, I spent the next day in Provincetown with Patrick.

Speaking of Patrick, he was an awesome friend this week. He made nice with my family, spent quality birthday time with my daughter, and took care of me above and beyond the call of duty.

On Friday my parents returned with my twin nephews in tow. And on Saturday my other set of in-laws (the not-so-nice ones) and my husband's step-sister and her husband showed up for my daughter's birthday party.

My stress level was through the roof for those few days. And so was my husband's. All that family in one place...it was...well...it went fine. But it was tough.

When the last of them took off and it was just me, my man, and my offspring left the quiet was absolutely wonderful. My husband's mood went from horrid to happy. And I felt like I could breathe for the first time in days.

Now I need to pick up the pieces. I need to face the fact that my little girl is growing up faster than I realized. And the summer is swiftly wrapping up.

On Tuesday my kids are going back with my parents for a couple of weeks. On Thursday my husband heads back to work. And on about August 7, the kids and I will be heading home for the start of school.

So far this summer has been quite an experience. I've been up and down. I've been stressed and relaxed. I've been a good wife and a bad one. And I've been a good friend and a burden.

But right now I'm going to remember just this one moment. I was walking back to the house from our beach-front birthday party and I put my arm around my daughter and asked her, "Did you have a good birthday."

And she replied, "I had the best birthday! I love you, Mom."

That's what it is all about.

I wish I had genital herpes.

I really do.

The people in those Valtrex ads look so damn happy. They seem to lead such exciting lives.

Nothing like my life.

First of all, look at how attractive the couple is at their web page.

Now I'm no dog, but that girl probably weighs half as much as I do. I could break her skinny little arms in two with one hand shake. And that guy has some serious eye crinkle going on. But look at his hair. My husband is a beautiful man, but he gave up on the thick and wavy hair dream years ago.

Second of all, look at the things these genital herpes sufferers do.

I can make my life sound exciting if I try. For example, my husband and I went to New York City last weekend.

Now, if we had herpes we would have driven there in a classic convertible with the top down and the wind blowing through our thick hair. Instead, we drove a mini van.

If we had herpes, we would have sipped expensive wine with dinner after our arrival at a posh hotel. In reality, we had a hotel room next to an elevator shaft that must have been converted from a janitor closet. We did eat a wonderful dinner at the Blue Fin on Broadway, (I couldn't resist thanks to the tuna reference) but we drank tap water with our sushi and salmon.

If we had herpes we would have met our fellow herpes sufferers for a fun drink out at a kicky little lounge.

Well, we did meet some cohorts, whether or not they have herpes remains to be seen. We met MAK, Aaron, Rob, Greg, Crash, Jase, Tin Man, Mike, Patch, and Michael for this man's birthday at the X Avenue Lounge. (Which I couldn't find because I was actually looking for a number 10.)

We had a blast. A Jim Bean soaked blast. But if we had genital herpes we would have all been throwing our heads back in wide-mouthed merriment while our perfect teeth shined and sparkled in the perfect cold sore camouflaging light.

If we had herpes we would have been up bright and early enjoying the rain-soaked city. Instead we slept past noon.

If we had herpes we would have run through the pouring rain, spinning and laughing and throwing our heads back with glee. Instead we sprinted, heads down against the rain, to buy umbrellas from a camera shop, only to proceed to the largest Applebee's on earth.

Yes, we ate at Applebee's while we were in the cultural food capital of the world. Don't blame us. It was raining really hard and the Applebee's was right there looking all warm and dry. If we had genital herpes, I'm sure we would have found some cute little cafe to cuddle in. Damn those genital herpes sufferers, setting the dining bar so high for the rest of us.

If we had only had a herpes outbreak or two, we would have braved the rain to shop on 5th Avenue. Instead, my rain-hating husband bought me a cup of coffee and took me back to our janitorial closet for a nap.

I wonder if the herpes couple would have had sex then.

We didn't. We hung out and slept and were total sloths. When we finally got our shit together we dragged our asses over to X & 44 on MAK's recommendation. MAK told us, "That's my favorite restaurant over here. And not just because of the hot waiters."

The food and service were excellent and the waiters were quite hot. They were lively and beaming too. Hmmm. Maybe they have genital herpes.

We proceeded to the theater after dinner. If we had genital herpes we would have been decked out in ass-hugging and cleavage-baring formal wear. We would have jumped from a cab looking perfect and swept right into the theater to our front row seats.

Instead, we dressed nicely, but wore hooded sweatshirts over our clothes because it was still pouring out and we hadn't brought nice coats. We were also soaked form the knees down from walking through the rain and puddles. We had to wait in line to get to our seats. But since we have orchestra tastes, we ignored our mezzanine budget and sprung for some excellent seats.

I'm sure our herpes-crusted friends would have seen something like Les Miserable or Phantom of the Opera, but we saw Avenue Q.

I love that show. But I don't think the cast had herpes. They seemed a little flat. Maybe I'm just spoiled from seeing the original cast last December and listening to the cast recording way too many times.

On second thought, maybe Barrett Foa has herpes, because he was just beaming. What a beautiful, beautiful man. Yes, yes. I'm sure of it. Barrett would fit right in with the herpes folks in the television commercials.

If we had herpes we would have swept out of the theater and into a waiting limo to whisk us to some exotic place for post-show dinner and drinks. But no. We headed back to our kennel for the night where I proceeded to toss and turn and grow more and more cranky until dawn.

In the morning, we decided that our herpes-free hides had experienced enough NYC glamour and we got our mini van out of hock and headed home.

We stopped at IKEA on the way. There were no herpes outbreaks there. Just hordes and hordes of suburban parents with their little monsters. Oh. And a few hundred gay men. If I were gay, male, and single, I know where I'd be hanging out to cruise.

I've decided that I need to catch some herpes right now. I'm tired of my mundane life. I want to go on long romantic hikes. I want to be skinny and beautiful. I want to laugh with my head thrown back like I haven't a care in the world.

So, any offers? I've been told I'm pretty talented. I'll make it worth your while. But you have to wear a condom. House rules.

Wait. Will that work?

Ah hell. I guess I'll just have to hang out with my friends and get my husband drunk more often. Who knew he'd be so much fun?

Crash! Boom! Bang!

Did you all hear that noise? That tremendous crashing sound?

No. It wasn't the sound of Forth of July fireworks being launched from Boston to L.A.

It was the sound of my world's colliding together like so many cars in a demolition derby.

My husband met Patrick.

That sounds pretty dramatic, but it wasn't. Well, it wasn't to them anyway. To me it was one of the most stressful things that has ever happened to me.

Neither one of them can understand why, but I hope some of you can understand. It wasn't that I didn't think they would get along.

Well, okay. I did have some doubts. They come from two very different worlds, after all. But I did trust them both to try their best to get along.

It wasn't that I thought they would get along too well and leave me out.

Well, okay. They did gang up on me a little bit. Something about me never answering my phone. But neither one of them has a leg to stand on there so...

It was only that it isn't everyday that you introduce the man you've been living with to your husband.

Usually, when you have a best friend, you bring them into your relationship. You know. Like if I had met Patrick in high school...

Okay, I can't continue there. I would have RUN AWAY from Patrick and his crowd in high school.

But still. If Patrick was my friend and then I started dating my husband, it would have been different.

Or even if my husband and I met Patrick together and he became friends with both of us.

But I cannot change the fact that I met Patrick through the Internet. I can't change the fact that I had met up with Patrick in New York. I can't change the fact that Patrick visited while my husband was away. I can't change the fact that I spent almost a week at Patrick's house in Cleveland. And I certainly can't change the fact that Patrick and I have been living together since June.

But what I haven't mentioned, and what makes a huge difference, is that my husband suggested all of those meetings. He's the one who invited Patrick to stay at our house this summer.

The plain truth of the matter is that my husband has been treating Patrick like family without ever having met him.

That is an amazing testament to how much my husband loves and trusts me.

But it doesn't help ease my tension about my two favorite men meeting for the first time even one tiny iota.

Patrick works so much that they've barely even spent time together, but they are getting along fine.

It's me who they're driving crazy. Here's the thing:

Living with a man is hard. Living with TWO men is even harder.

But they have it easy. Because living with me is a piece of fucking cake.

Right boys?

Whoring Nicky's Ass

Go here and vote for Nicky (a.k.a. Ajax) in a best ass contest. You'll get to see some hot ones. But Nicky is #4. And clearly the hottest. Trust me.

He's my blog daddy so I feel a little dirty looking at his ass. But you might enjoy it.

Spread the...um...word.

UPDATE: Nicky won. Of course. I think it's because he had the girls on his side.

Marry Me, Bill!

Bill of Bilboard left this comment on Patrick's blog:

Fix your BLOG by changing a setting in your Blogger Dashboard - click,Change Settings, select Formatting, Scoll down to - Enable Float Alignment and select NO, save settings and you're done....Bill

Yay. I love Bill. And Patrick had met him in person and gives him mad props. (Yeah. I can't get away with using language like that, can I?) So I feel comfortable proposing marriage to him.

Yes, I'm already married. And yes, Bill is gay. But I'm sure I could do quite well in divorce proceedings and then I could support Bill in a manner to which he has become accustomed.

Have I mentioned how much I hate it when things aren't right? I hope that helps some of you too.

"Debra Messing Says Hi"

This is what my life has been reduced to.

My best friend called me after midnight to tell me, "Debra Messing says 'Hi.'"

I have to admit that I'm just a tiny bit bitter. Once I picked the kids up from my parent's last week, I slid right back into my single mom/prisoner in my own home routine.

So while I was sitting at home, listening to my kids snore and watching television, Patrick was in P-Town hanging out with Debra Messing.

Now I have to admit that it wasn't his meeting a celebrity that made me bitter. I've never been one to be awestruck by celebrities. I figure they are just people, like all of us, who happen to have jobs that cause many people to recognize them.

If I could meet anyone I wanted, I'd rather meet someone like Ryan, or Jeff, or Scott and Jay. Or Pua, or Nicky, or Knottyboy. You know. Cool people who I can relate to.

It was Patrick's being out and having fun and talking to other adults and not being alone, alone, alone that made me jealous.

But my husband is on his way here right now. The kids go back to my parents next week. And my husband and I will be in NYC July 7-10. (We're shy, you New York guys. Don't let us flounder in the big city!) I know I have some fun in store soon.

But right now I'm letting the kids watch DVDs because it's pouring out and I'm thinking we could have done this back home!

Hmmm. I may have just scooped a blog topic from Patrick. But oh well. He deserves it for having fun without me.