What the hell...you only live once

What is it about little blond haired blue eyed beauties? At 5, they're like little angels wrapped in a satanic teenager's PMSing body. The Girl looked so adorable this morning. At least she did until her head started to spin about as if independent of her body while green vomit spewed from her mouth and I recited the Exorcism Prayer of Saint Michael.
Or as we call it here: Time to pick out what shoes to wear to school.

As she is my daughter, she's a shoe horse. Lots of shoes. Lots of choices. However, not all are allowed at school by school policy. And those, of course, are the only shoes she wanted to wear today.

I could feel my temper rising just below the surface. [take a deep breath. just breathe! I swear that's what Lamaze is really for...not for birth but parenting] As long as blood isn't involved, I usually go the ignore route until they're calm. Trying to fight with a 5 year old is like running in the Special Olympics; you might win but you're still retarded.

A storm of shoes started raining from her open bedroom door...
And the phone rings.

"Hello, Ms. Fauve? This is Nurse Rachett from Dr. WakkitySchmackityDoo's office."
[just breath]
"I need to talk to you about your biopsy results."

As I look at the clock to see how much longer before The Girl's bus arrives, I can feel the now familiar sensation in my throbbing inner thigh. A combination of itching and burning; now 9 days later, it's still too tender to touch.
I have to remember to change my bandage and add more antibiotic cream before I leave, I'm thinking as another shoe thunks across the room and the voice on the phone continues.

[just breath]

I continue to pack up my things for work, noting that it's payday and wondering at the true perviousness of the term 'superficial cancer'. While medically accurate, I wonder who's asinine idea that was. Surely not someone who's ever been on my side of this kind of phone call.

"Idiot!" she yells.
The Girl, not the nurse.
God damn The Paperweight. While a potty mouth he's not, 'idiot' is and always has been his denunciation of choice.

Squamous Cell Carcinoma

No wonder he took so much. I'm no doctor but I have a hole the size of a nickel in my thigh...
[just breath]

Nurse Rachett explains that I'll need to have full body checks every 6 months to check for and the removal of re-occurrences, and to check for the off chance that melanoma will also appear, but that's it for now. I'll be fine. I am fine.

"Mom" a quiet voice says behind me.
"Yes sweetie?"
"I really really want to wear these shoes today."
"Honey, go for it. They look beautiful on you."

And she smiled.

Try to wish a guy happy birthday....

From: Fauve
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 12:41 PM
To: T (Girlfriend's Husband)
Subject: I almost forgot...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

________________________________________
From: T
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 12:44 PM
To: Fauve
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

Well thank you, ma’am. I feel considerably older today than I did when I went to bed last night. I’m probably going to die soon.

________________________________________
From: Fauve
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 12:49 PM
To: T
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

I know. We have a poll going. If you could kick off in March, I'd really appreciate it. xxoo

________________________________________
From: T
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 12:56 PM
To: Fauve
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

March, eh? Will you get extra payout if I go violently, or get tortured, or kill myself? I mean, anything I can do to help out!

________________________________________
From: Fauve
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 1:17 PM
To: T
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

I get $100 for any day or method of death in March. That gets doubled if you die on the 21st or if you die with a fork in the skull. $500 if it's both, but only if it's Girlfriend wielding the fork.
An extra $100 gets added for any/each of the following:
• If your death makes it in to the local news; obituary doesn't count.
• If there is a goat involved in any way.
• If Barry Manilow is playing when your body is found
• If you are killed by a midget.
• If you kill yourself because of a midget.
• If the autopsy shows you were pregnant with or impregnated by a midget.

________________________________________
From: T
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 2:14 PM
To: Fauve
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

Holy crap…the amount of effort that went into this is creepy. And I appreciate it fully – I would expect nothing less!

I have two very important questions. First, if Girlfriend and/or Barry Manilow has their legs cut off at the knee, would they then be considered midgets? Second, does a midget singing like Barry Manilow count?

________________________________________
From: Fauve
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 2:49 PM
To: T
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

1. No. It would have to be an actual midget. However, it's a moot point because I doubt either Girlfriend or Barry could kill you if they were dealing with the fact that their legs had been cut off. Even Girlfriend, the tougher of the two, would be slowed down considerably.
2. Totally. Though if you could get the goat to sing like Barry Manilow, I'd be really impressed.

________________________________________
From: T
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 3:28 PM
To: Fauve
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

Hmm. This all brings into question; would teaching a goat to sing like Barry Manilow really be worth the effort that would be required to do so if I was just going to be killed when my mission was accomplished? And if I did get that done, what would happen to the goat when I was gone?

________________________________________
From: Fauve
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 3:48 PM
To: T
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

Well, you're assuming that you're going to be killed. We only expect you to die soon, not necessarily be murdered. Though, if I had to be murdered, it would be pretty cool to have it done by a Barry Manilow singing goat. Now that would get you in the news.
But perhaps the pride of teaching the goat to sing will cause your heart to burst?

They'll be plenty of room in the new house with you gone. I'm sure a he'd make a lovely addition to the Music Room.

________________________________________
From: T
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 3:50 PM
To: Fauve
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

Ah, so what you’re saying is that I may have a highly advanced disease that is, unbeknownst to me, waiting to strike at any moment? And if I’ve only got until March…
I’ve got some things that I’ve got to take care of.

________________________________________
From: Fauve
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 3:57 PM
To: T
Subject: RE: I almost forgot...

[sigh] That's what I've been trying to tell you....HAVE A HAPPY BIRTHDAY....ya old geezer.

Holy Fast Batman! Part 2

His procrastinating ears must have been burning...
If you missed Part 1, go check that out first.

Fauve Anniversary Blog - Part 2

Madison asked:
What was your opinion of paperweight the very first time you met him?
What is your favorite meal that Fauve makes you or you make her?
Does Fauve have any quirks that just annoy the hell out of you?

I was scared to meet him initially – not because the "I'm banging your ex-wife" awkwardness – but I had heard stories or rather, hints of stories (the relationship was very young at this point), about him being abusive to Fauve. So what's preventing him from being threatening to someone who is banging his ex-wife? If he did he take a swing at me, I'd have to rely on adrenaline to jumpstart the retard strength.
With not having heard not many good things about this man, my expectations were relatively low. So he had no problem meeting them. He ended up being a pleasant enough chap and has been surprisingly supportive of Fauve and I's relationship. But every time I see him, I think about him physically and emotionally abusing Fauve and – well – I want to shove a fork in his fucking skull.
This sounds really fucking lame, but my favorite meal is anything she puts her hands on as long as it doesn't contain cheese, mayo or cheese. I love this woman very, very much.
Again – I am so in love with Fauve that, at least at this point ;), any quirks she does have don't annoy me at all – they're all very endearing and I find them to be another part of her awesomeness. This will, however, not preclude me from poking fun at them. Here's a couple:
*During the night, she will routinely take over the bed, ultimately leaving me about 6inches of space between her and the edge of the bed for me to nest comfortably.

*She is relatively firm in her desire to sleep on the right side of any bed.

*She refuses to give me permission to take pictures of her while she is sleeping

*When you call her at work, she answers the phone with her name in the sultriest, Up Late at Night? Call a Hot Girl Right Now! kind of voice I've ever heard (and she doesn't have caller ID, so I know its not exclusively for my benefit)

Arwen says:
Dearest Thingy,
Muahahahahaahahaha! Oh, the questions I could ask. But, I love our fauvie and so I won't embarass her here (in person is an entirely different situation). What I will ask is this: When are you buying a mattress? Hmmmmm?

On my list of priorities, the mattress isn't even on the radar at this point. I guess I'll have to wait until her next paycheck.

Fauve here again...by "her" he means Arwen. I think Thing & I may have finally reached an agreement in the Great Mattress Debate. [evil laughter]

Kelly asked:
If you could pick any nickname for yourself(and that nickname would be how you are referred to in this blog from now on), what would it be, and why?
Further, what nickname would you give our fauvie? Why?
Tell us something that surprised you the most about fauve.
And finally, do you ever get just a little tempted to see the blog?

I think Mr. Fantastic is a bit too formal – so maybe she could just call me Reed or Mr. Richards. Why? Because that's how I fucking feel ever since I met her.

My nickname for her would be sweetheart – just like in "real life"

I was most surprised by how calmly she engages with her children when they are being a pain in this ass or – well – like children. My own experience growing up was much louder and more aggressive and verbally assertive. So I wasn't used to watching a parent not being so condescending and talking to her kids in realistic terms. It's amazing. She's amazing.

I'm not tempted to read the blog at all. Mostly because I recognize it as her own. I wake up each day assuming that if there's something on her mind and she needs to talk or wants input from me – she'll bring it up. If she wants to have another avenue to vent or solicit opinions regarding something going on in her life – even things she wants to hide from me – I need to embrace her desire to do that. I want her to keep this blog as her very own. Plus, you guys were here first :)
The only thing I get shafted on is that, because she has forwarded me snippets of her posts in the past, I know she's a truly gifted writer. And I'd love to laugh as much as you guys probably do at her posts.

Thing's a whore, jerking off and a car load of monkeys

Yes, it's my 2nd Blogiversary!

Per your request, I once again asked The Thing to write a guest post; this time, responding to reader questions.
As those of you who were here last year know, Thing is a great procrastinater...so not all questions have been answered yet. I received these just this morning and was not at all surprised to see "Blog Answers Part 1" in the subject line.

Here are the questions he's answered so far:
Bonnie asked:
What was it like meeting Fred & Wilma?

Coolchick asked:
What was the weirdest thing that happened while you were at Fred & Wilma's house?
What did you get Fauvie for Christmas?

Oracle asked:
On December 17th, Fauve wrote this:
"The Thing [came] up this weekend and for the first time in 14 months we didn't have sex. And...I'm really really upset about it. "
Now over to Thing, Why ?

SP asked:
Do you have a twin brother currently residing in the midwest?

As last time, I'll just copy what he wrote, changing nothing but the occasional spelling error...though I reserve the right to add my own brand of side commentary from time to time. I'll make sure you know it's me though. I'll be the one with the vagina, a fork, and the stunning good looks...

Fauve Anniversary Blog - Part 1

Prior to meeting Fred & Wilma, I had spent approximately twelve months firing off regular salvos of probing questions revolving around Fauve's lack of communication with them. I was very glad to hear Fauve ask me if I finally wanted to meet them at Christmas.

Of course, the normal tension about that first meeting would never be fully realized since we ran into them at the mall a couple weeks later - a full month or so before Christmas. Although... I wouldn't call that unexpected (and brief) introduction in the book store a "meeting" so much - her father shook my hand lightly and quickly turned and walked away and I mostly watched Fauve as she spoke and listened to her mother - but it did help break the ice. If nothing else, at least they knew I wasn't the tallest person in the world. I thought that maybe now I wouldn't have to watch them looking me over so much at Christmastime. You know, where the eyes - after attempting to initially asses who i am and where i came from and are my parents still married and where did they come from and what kind of lies am i hiding and how it relates to them and their daughter they don't talk to - gradually make their way upwards and ask "What the hell is he doing with his hair?"

Christmas day was nearly anxiety free. Granted, it's much easier not giving a shit about making a good impression when in all likelihood, I may never see them again after dinner. I walked into an environment not too dissimilar from my own. Within minutes - I witnessed her sister and mother spend quite a lot of energy revolving around food and the preparation and presentation and timeliness of dinner and the before dinner munchies and drinks (DRIIIIINNNKKKSSSS). On the other side of the room, her son and father seemed to be talking about sports or cars or televisions or lifting weights. Being within earshot of any type of sport or car conversations triggers very hard teeth grinding which, you know, hurts. So I started flitting around the kitchen like a hen, offering to help move food stuff from the counter right there to the other part of the counter over there. Ah... the wine...

Dinner went well. I had lots of salad and wine. I was seated at one end of the table, her father at the other (were we supposed to arm wrestle?). At one point, there were 3 different conversations going on at the table. I was engaged in one of them. With her father. Discussing... cars. I AM A WHORE. Whose teeth really hurt. Actually, what kept me going was her father's reaction to the other conversations that were happening: occasionally someone would get louder than what he was saying - so he'd pause for a brief moment, glance over towards the "loud one" (I think he was hoping to make eye contact and shut them up with a stern look of disapproval) and then continuing on with his dissertation... but not without giving one last double-take (trying to catch them "in the act"?) I thought about texting Fauve: Does your Dad own a gun?

I was able to finagle some high school pictures of Fauve (which are rarer than a 1943 copper penny) from her mom. Sadly, none were of her feet.

It was as Fauve said it would be - seemingly very nice and normal. It was my impression that Wilma was the one responsible for the severed communication with her daughter - Fred just didn't seem to give a shit either way about anything - much less his children. He was neither interested or disinterested... just kinda "there", you know? That was kinda sad. The whole way they "are" with Fauve is sad. HEY! SCHMUCK! That's your fucking kid!

I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope that, on this supposedly sacred Christian holiday, her parents would confess their regret over their reaction to Fauve's divorce announcement and beg for her forgiveness for their behavior. I mean, c'mon - its divorce, not murder. Plus, I'm really fucking awesome and have tons more depth than The Paperweight!

______________________

What did I get Fauve for Christmas? I actually couldn't immediately remember anything other than the LCD monitor for her computer. She had one of those huge CRT units so I thought it'd give her a lot more desktop space. What the hell else was there? (Honey, it's late and I've been drinking! Help me remember!)

I'm not good with searching for and buying material gifts that fall outside the scope of my current interests and knowledge. Its really hard for me to focus in on anything that isn't electronic and easily accessed through Amazon or NewEgg. Partly narcissistic, partly disinterest, mostly its that I think gifts for adults are totally uncalled for - especially when they're "expected" (Christmas, Fathers Day, Birthdays or anything other day that Hallmark has its marketing team involved with). I prefer making a homemade card on an otherwise forgotten, random day. Or welcome someone home from a long drive coming to visit me - with a warm bath. I've also been known to jot down some stuff for my girlfriend's blog when she asks really nicely. Wait. I bet Hallmark probably has a card for that now, too. Corporate fucks!

Hi. This is Fauve. Remember me? He also got me the DVD of The Year Without a Santa Claus, one of my favorites and not one but two cards. So ignore his Hallmark cynicism. And, for the record, I asked him to please not get me anything for Christmas. He insisted.

--------------------------------------

The Weekend of No Sex. Why didn't we? I may have been tired, too drunk, not interested and/or fresh from jerking off in the bathroom. I didn't realize we weren't meeting the sex quota. Or maybe I did, and were preparing us both for marriage.

--------------------------------------

I have a brother, he is not a twin and is not currently located west of the Mississippi. Nice guy, but is only able to tie his shoes with support from a car load of monkeys. To give you more of an idea, his particular car seats about a dozen monkeys - 14 if two of them are midgets.

To be continued...

Reader appreciation

I was very happy to meet so many people with this year's official Delurking Day. Below is a list of my fellow bloggers who stopped by and so I owe them a little pimpage.
A big old Howdy! to those that don't have blogs of their own.
And to those who do have blogs but aren't listed (cough cough lemming, ahem) it's because you didn't leave a link and/or I couldn't find one for you. But if you leave one, I'd be more then happy to pimp you out.

VeryContrary
Just Married Chilean Style
7 Acres of Heaven
Musings of a Trini in London
MacDonald Clan
Rocks & Garbage
natural mental implosion
Thumper Thinks Out Loud
RudeCactus
NOTTHEDADDY
Adventures of Little Man and his Bear
Inches and Falling
Topanga Bay
Ms. Sassy Pants
SWEETENED*TATERS

Why I love Thing - Reason #548

I present to you Thing's shelves...

See that? No, not the awesome stemware; I picked those out.

Have you picked out the (newly added) book that caught my eye on my last visit?

I think we've grown on him...his bachelor days are numbered...

By the numbers

1 – Number of people who suggested we flip a coin to decided who should pay for the new mattress; it may actually come to this but I’m not worried because I’m fairly lucky in the coin flipping department.

3 – Number of people who said we were retarded.

3 – Number of people who broke the rules and said we should both pay for the new mattress. And for the record, it was I who suggested the compromise and The Thing who rejected going half-zies.

5 – Number of people who said the cost of the new mattress was The Thing’s responsibility. You may or may not be happy to know that this is the same option Girlfriend picked. So….The Thing paying gets 6 votes total.

5 – Number of people who suggested The Thing quit being a big baby and deal with sleeping on the mattress another 10 times or so. Actually, this was my opinion when Thing originally suggested that a new mattress was needed. However, once he explained it was causing him actual physical pain…well, you know I can’t let that happen.

8 –The number of people who, despite my careful avoidance of swaying the votes, agreed with me. Yep, you said I should pay for the new mattress, and you’re right. It’s my mattress and when I move, my son will inherit it. However, Thing won’t hear of it. He’s now threatening to just order one himself and have it delivered while I’m distracted writing blogs.
Yep, we were 'fighting' the fact that we each thought we should be paying for the mattress ourselves.

200 - Percentile increase of people who now think we are retarded and need to learn how to fight.

And a big Thank you! to everyone who participated in the Official Day of Delurksion. I was honored to have more people show themselves in one 24-hr period this year then I had in the entire week of delurking last year. I'll be doing a proper thank you post in the near future. I'd do it now, but my cup of tea is empty.

The Official Delurking Day! *

I participated with this last year, though it was Delurking Week then, but I had a good turn out so lets see if we can beat that this year. If you read this post, this blog, comment often, comment little, or have yet to make your presence known, leave me a note (or a hi! or a fuck you, whatever) and let me know you're here.

And since you're already commenting (and haven't already fainted that I've posted two days in a row now) make sure you add your two cents to the Debate and leave your question(s) for The Thing.

* Thanks to Rude Cactus for taking charge this year!

The Great Mattress Debate

Since Girlfriend kind of brought it up in her question (there's still time to add yours too!), I figured I'd let everyone in on the fight* Thing and I are currently having. I will state both sides of the argument without telling you who's side is who's because we all know you'd just vote for me because I'm so awesome, The Thing would then reject the poll outcome, and we'd be right back at square one. Girlfriend, you are hereby prohibited from commenting on this thread because 1) you've already told me your opinion and 2) since you now know who said what, I don't want you swaying the masses one way or the other.

*For those of you who are new to this blog, the definition of us fighting is; about once every 3 or 4 months, I'll be upset about something (usually due to the fact that my marriage scarred me), we sit down and talk about it, come to a compromise/understanding, we have awesome sex and move on. The Great Mattress Debate is the closest we have ever come to a "real" fight and when I told Girlfriend about it, she laughed at me, said we were both retarded and needed to learn how to fight….

Facts:
My mattress is approximately 10 years old and is not in the best of shape.
The Thing has a bad back and my mattress makes it hurt when he stays at my place.
I've agreed that, for the above reason only, the purchase of a new mattress is warranted.
The Thing will only be using this mattress, at most, twice a month for the next 4 1/2 months, at which time, I'll be moving in with him & his bed.
If it weren't for The Thing's request, I would not be purchasing a new mattress, choosing to deal with it for the next 4 1/2 months and then tossing it before moving in with him.

Who should pay for the new mattress?

And if you are thinking of taking the easy way out and saying "each pay for half of it", don't. One of us feels so strongly about our position that the offer of a compromise has already been denied. So you'll just have to make a choice.

This should be fun, especially for Girlfriend

Since the majority always rules, I'll ask The Thing to write a guest post for my upcoming blogiversary. The Thing being the great long winded procrastinator that he is (do you guys remember that it took him 3 posts and a month to complete last year's guest spot?) I think madison had a wonderful idea when he asked:

Can we come up with the questions for him to answer?

In addition to the fact that this leaves me with absolutely nothing to actually do while putting work on everyone else (score!), I figure it will give my readers a chance to see what they actually want to read. Plus, it will be much easier for me to entice Thing to actually write something if all he needs to do is answer questions.

Nothing is off limits, in my opinion, though answers will depend on Thing, of course. However, as you saw last year, he's not all that shy. So...ask away.

Chomping at the bit

I've delayed discussing the Christmas events because I was hoping a creative spark would ignite and let me tell the stories in a more interesting way. While I know you each will be 'happy' that things went well, the blog fodder missed will be disappointing...at best.
Unfortunately, no such spark came so you'll just have to make due with the bare facts.
1. The Paperweight & 3 Hole Punch arrived on time, with presents and money and were completely well-behaved.
2. Wilma welcomed The Thing with open arms, put her martyrdom aside for the day and was completely well-behaved.
3. Fred kept his pants on (literally), told no racist jokes and was completely well-behaved.
4. The Thing grew a beard beforehand because he knew Wilma liked them, had long conversations with Fred & promised to send him a movie they discussed and, besides one minor infraction of swiping a few pictures of me from my babybook, was completely well-behaved.

I spent most of Christmas spending time with the kids or my sister who was in town, but was completely well behaved too. Of course, I had started drinking at 9:30 am (mmmm mimosa) and didn't stop until Thing poured me in to bed that night, but my family is much easier to take on an empty stomach and a mind full of booze.
But I figure we each got what we wanted out of the day. Fred & Wilma saved face by inviting me over while my sister was in town, Thing got to see pictures from my gawky teenage years, and I got to give Thing the one thing he's ever asked me for, to meet my parents.
However, considering that our actual interaction that day was limited to 'please pass the ham' and I haven't heard from Fred or Wilma since, at least we can put any thoughts of a tearful reunion to rest.