Wednesday, November 28, 2012

UPDATED: Romantic Lazypantsness: It's a technical term.

Hot man, Scottish accent, AND coffee? Yes.
So I'm quite sick of the stupid "if you love her, buy her THESE diamonds" holiday commercials, and unfortunately they'll just keep getting MORE annoying until 1) the apocalypse on 12/21 kills the power or 2) Valentine's Day is blessedly behind us. So, let's discuss REAL romance, shall we? Because in my world every kiss does NOT begin with Kay (ok, technically the letter K does begin the word Kiss, but that's like spelling doughnut "donut" for marketing purposes, which irks me anyway), and fuck you De Beers.

A particularly cynical friend of mine thinks romance in concept is deception designed to get a partner into bed/relationship/marriage and is ultimately a big fucking lie because it's unsustainable.I find that attitude...depressing as hell, and so I checked with other friends (male and female, touchy-feely and not) about romance in relationships and as a seduction tool.

Flowers: Husband, CF, and a few other males I asked are unanimously against buying/picking/giving flowers to a woman. And I'm sorry boys, but your reasons are FUCKING STUPID. Worded in various ways, the basic cop-out is "why would I want to buy you/her/anyone flowers as a token of my affection when flowers die? Isn't that a temporary and not-nice symbol?"

Nice try, but fail. Flowers are pretty, they smell nice, they brighten a room/day/life for a time, and know what? They MAKE RECIPIENTS SMILE. Their temporary nature, if you must be philosophical about it, is a reminder not to take things for granted because everything is temporary.

The fact is, not giving your partner flowers because YOU don't like them is a selfish reason. If SHE doesn't like flowers you're in the clear. If flowers make her day it's romantic to give them: it shows you're thinking about HER feelings.

Candlelight: CF doesn't like candlelight because he thinks it's part of an ulterior-motive: creating a seduction. DUH. I'm sorry, when did being seduced become a bad thing?

Soft lighting is the equivelent of make-up, lingerie, high heels, a dress, shaving, suit-and-tie, perfume/cologne or any other "dressing up" mask people wear to make themselves look appealing to their partner. Of COURSE you want your partner to find you sexy, and low lights are an easy way to 1) set a mood of quiet attentiveness and 2) instantly airbrush some of the flaws about which a person may be self conscious (stretch marks come to mind: they're fucking ANNOYINGLY obvious in harsh light). Do you notice the flaws? Maybe not, and finding your partner attractive with all his/her flaws is part of what makes you awesome. But it's not about whether YOU notice them: it's about whether HE/SHE feels self-conscious about them. Is a partner who feels attractive not a better date than one who is distracted by self-doubt? Yeah. Thought so.

Compliments/Cards/Mushy Talk: Seriously, this isn't romance, people. This is part of loving someone. If you aren't randomly complementing your partner after X years, why the fuck NOT? If you like something about him/her, TELL THEM. Your partner isn't a mind reader, and everyone likes to be told in no uncertain terms that they're appreciated, loved, liked, admired, that their boobs look awesome that day.

Jewelry: I admit I'm not a very girly girl when it comes to traditional presents. It irks me that jewelry commericals insist so strongly that men ONLY love their women if they buy fancy-pants cold stones. However, if that's what gets you all mushy and gooey about your partner I say go for it.

It's not that difficult: choose the gifts that your PARTNER will love. For example, for our anniversary this year I got my husband a pistol. Because he's an avid gun enthusiast and his plans of saving for it were dashed in the accident that stole a few months of his time. It meant something to him, even though I don't necessarily find a gun a romantic gift. *shrug* If you want to romance ME with gifts, buy me books. Get me a MN Wild jersey (my most EXCELLENT anniversary gift from Husband last year) or tickets. Clean my house so I can write. Make me dinner. BUY ME FUCKING FLOWERS*. Ha.
Effort, people. EFFORT: If "Romance" is effort put in to woo your partner and left at the wayside after a few years/marriage/kids/etc then maybe it was a deception. In that case, I guess I can agree with CF's assessment, but it makes me sad. But mostly I think it's laziness, not intentional jackassery that locks romance in a closet.

I've been guilty of romantic lazypantsness. It sucks: resentment and unappreciated invisibility are sneaky bastards who weasel their way between people in relationship: they must be executed. No matter how long a couple has been together, a little effort to set a scene, to purposefully seduce, to ROMANCE their partner is always an appreciated and cherished gesture. Ultimately, romance is never a waste if it makes you both feel appreciated, wanted, and valued, right? The trappings are utterly subjective, but they're still an important part of a loving and long-term relationship.

*in the interest of not making my husband look like a dick, he HAS given flowers on multiple occasions after we had that exact discussion about the worth of floral gifts early on in our relationship. Win.

UPDATE: I've been told Husband DID buy flowers before the conversation. However, I maintain we did HAVE that conversation at some point. Since I don't recall whether it was before or post-flowers, I concede the point.

Enough mush. On to the most important point of this post:

Let's discuss the total bowl of awesome it would be to give me Gerard Butler (preferably naked but not required) for any occasion, shall we?

Monday, November 19, 2012

CLIMB INTO THE HANDBASKET...and hang the hell on.

If you're wondering, I'm TOTALLY using that title for my as-yet-ill-conceived memoir. That's right: "climb into the handbasket" was one of the many fucked-up ways people found this blog. Here are a few others:
  • "i'm in love with my same sex therapist" - I'm fairly certain I've never blogged about this. Should I ever I'll be sure to tag it something obnoxious.
  • "mini donut bus" - snicker
  • "pithy porno for men" - I suppose this is because I SPECIFICALLY add tags that indicate this is NOT porn and these aren't the looked-for penises, and that amuses the fuck out of me.
  • "ripping each other's faces off" - well, that's violent. And gross.
  • "shit my pants as an adult" - yeah...I just have nothing for this one at all.

In other news, so far today I've managed the following nonsense:
  • offered to buy a former co-worker and his new bride porn. Doesn't everyone want a subscription to Penthouse as a wedding gift??
  • was called an Orca* which did fabulous things to my brain, considering I've gained four pounds back after our annual Girls Weekend Group cookie exchange (HOMEMADE FUDGE, WHY CAN'T I QUIT YOU?)
  • been recruited by the travel-hell job that laid me off last November by a former co-worker (not the one I offered to get porn: that would be inappropriate!) who has been rehired and seems to really want that employee referral bonus. I find the prospect...unlikely.
  • spent far too much time on Twitter and Amazon after discovering many of my followers/followed twitter peeps offer freebies. Indeed, the Kindle app on my iphone is STEAMING with the stuff I've downloaded...and I now know some wonderfully sick writers to add to the Dirty Book Club.
*to clarify, a discussion in regards to swimming in the ocean led to that, which to be fair WAS intended as a compliment. One of the many nicknames for an Orca is "sea wolf" and the person in question SAYS it was meant thusly. I, however, pointed out next time such a text should be read out loud to a female before sending it to a girl, and that another nickname for Orcas is "KILLER DEMON."

To be fair, Killer Demon may be more applicable than either a whale OR a sea wolf.

I'm cool with that.

PS: spellcheck refuses to acknowledge "orca" as a word. Fail, spellcheck. Fail.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Phoning it in: Vengeful Turkey (again)

It's nearly Thanksgiving and I've been considering family, things for which I'm thankful, and all that sentimental bullshit.

And I'm writing NONE of it here, because I'm also busy as hell right now at home. I'll try to put a real post up over the weekend. In the meantime, something I posted originally a couple years ago about one of my favorite Thanksgiving memories.

Miss you, Grandpa.

I come from a large extended family: my mom's the oldest of eight, dad's the oldest of seven. Holidays at my grandma Kit's house (mom's side) are crazy: cousins, animals, aunts and uncles all running haywire. Stories are told and retold, children are in and out of the house all day followed by the dogs, cats are hiding in terror, and horses are hitched up for rounds of sleigh rides. It's all loud insanity and it's wonderful.
When I was about five my grandparents lived on a large farm in northern Minnesota, outside of Cloquet. It was more than a hobby farm, less than a farm-for-a-living spread. After all, they had seven kids still at home (four of them teenage boys) to feed so anything they could supply from the farm was much more cost effective for a second grade teacher and a heavy equipment driver for the county. In addition to the herd of horses, cats and dogs for fun, I remember cows, chickens, goats, sheep, guinea hens, and turkeys. There were probably other random animals from time to time...I know one of my aunts had a pet raccoon for a while.

One turkey in particular took an instant disliking to my small five-year-old form. He decided I was a blonde devil and for months I couldn't walk near the barn without him attacking. In case you didn't know, 25lb turkeys fully live and loaded have VERY STRONG wings: he'd extend them out to each side and run at me, screeching and beating his wings at me until I was cornered against the barn. I loathed that stupid bird. My aunt Elyse, only seven years older than me, had to beat him away from me with a big stick. That bastard gave me nightmares every time I stayed at Grandmas for the entire summer.

Thanksgiving came and we were all sitting around the large kitchen table. It was a cacaphony of children and adults all talking at once, passing food, slipping treats to the dogs under the table, and laughing. I, being the oldest (and therefore exalted) grandchild, sat next to my Grandpa, a big, gruff man who was really a big softie with the grandkids. He watched me take a big bite of turkey and waited until I swallowed. Then he told me that was the big nasty tom from the barn. To this day I think he was telling me just to see how I'd react, being a girl mostly sheltered from the more unpleasant farm duties (we never went there on butchering day after the chicken incident).

I cheered and asked for more.

Tuesday, November 06, 2012

"What's with TODAY, today?"

I have nothing for a real post today.

That's a lie. I could probably entertain someone with some random stream-of-consciousness-crap that bounces around like a superball on speed in my cranium. However, I am lazy. And it's election day (NO MORE Romney supporter calls to my house: yay!!). And therefore I give you the posts I've seen recently that made me cry, either through excessive laughter or well written sentiment.

(Please note, the mental image I get when I write "sentiment" is Johnny Depp as Willie Wonka...remember how he looked like he swallowed a bigass frog every time he tried to say "parents"? Yeah. That's the face I make...also, I just got COMPLETELY distracted looking at pics of Johnny Depp on the interwebz.)

Work, shmerk, people.

Anyway, read these. Seriously.

Cerebral Milkshake: I Will Inject You With Kindness
Superbetsy: Star Wars Kinect
Rubypearl: I Wonder Who Does Laundry at Castle Greyskull?
Non-Girlfriend: Loss is Loss
HyperboleAndAHalf: GOD OF CAKE

Honestly, I could put pretty much anything Jenny writes up as either funny or touching (there's that frog face again), so I'll just say: if you aren't already, read The Bloggess.

That's all I have. Go forth and have a fabulous Tuesday.

PS: spellchecker HATES this post. Mwahahaha.

Saturday, November 03, 2012

I'm Wonder Woman...without the sexy costume.

My grossly neglected dogs (who have punished me for recent lack-of-attention by killing birds, eating bad Halloween candy and vomiting aluminum wrappers all over the floor under the table, and other manifestations of evil) had a vet appointment today. Both survived their respective tortures: Chewy is prone to ear infections: he has one (and it's pretty gross) so they shaved the hair in his ears, cleaned the infected one thoroughly (takes 2 people, dude) and clipped his nails for me.

Thor needed his nails clipped: he's a goddamn drama queen and SCREAMS when the techs clip him. Not the normal Shepherd whining: full on "OHMYGODTHEY'RERIPPINGMYSKINOFF!!" screaming and howling. Sigh. For fucking TOENAILS. Diva.

I felt guilty, therefore after becoming a narcotics dealer at Walgreens I picked up McNuggets for them. I was rewarded with drool down the back of my neck. Assholes. is spoda be cleaning day, right? Because having been gone for two months my office and the corners of my house are...dusty. I have fabulous aunts who came to clean last weekend, but this place needs more than a quick today was going to be cleaning extravaganza.

Because I'm supposed to be writing for NaNoWriMo...and I'm a MASTER (Mistress?) procrastinator. Seriously. If this was college I'd wait until 11/29 and try desperately to cram 50,000 words between 10pm and midnight. Hey, it worked for my Greek and Roman history classes...Except when I argued that Achilles was a bitchy whining teenager who basically took his friends and pouted on the beach because Agamemnon TOOK HIS TOY away.

Agamemnon: dude, your sex slave is hotter than mine and I'm an asshole, so I'm taking her.
Achilles: Fine, dick. I'm taking my Myrmidons and going home. Fuck you and the ship you sailed in on, and good luck taking down Troy without me.

Note Achilles didn't really care about the GIRL (although Hollywood desperately tried to make it look that way in Troy, which was horrid and should never be watched by anyone unless it's ONLY to see Brad Pitt and Bruce Banner (who's real name escapes me) nearly naked). He cared that Agamemnon took the equivalent of a blond Tonka truck away before he was done.

Yup, MASTER PROCRASTINATOR over here. I got a C on that paper...because my professor was offended that I called Achilles on his crappy behavior. I'm not sorry.

In case you're wondering, the cat hair in the vet's office has me sneezing like a goddamn faucet today (yay for unsexy snotface) and yet I STILL managed to: become a drug dealer (only to my husband, who is legally on prescribed narcotics, police-type readers. I swear: I have the prescription), torture the dogs, clean the upstairs bathroom, tell my mom Happy Birthday, take out the garbage AND make homemade apple crisp.
All of this while my fucking pants keep falling down. Sigh. Inappropriate, but husband finds it amusing.

That's right. I'm goddamn Wonder Woman without the neat lasso...or Amazon heritage.