The Boy, The Sequel

The Boy, The Sequel

Ok, so maybe I really like telling you about M. or I’m encouraged by the fact that you liked that post. When all else fails, write about what you know, right? I can’t use numbers this time, though. Sometimes numbers bother me. (Did you know I took Algebra five times?)

- M. has fiery little rings around his pupils like I do. Unlike mine, his are more brown than red, but I still find this very cool. That means our offspring will most likely have this thing! This weird cool fiery little thing!

- M. got me addicted to brussel sprouts! Wha-HUH? Yeah. I always assumed they were nasty because nobody I know likes them. Either my mom or my dad hates them because we never ever ate them when I was growing up. My ex’s parents ate them steamed with mayonnaise, and while I love mayo, I don’t consider it something you dip into so I never tried them. M. cuts them in half, sautees them with olive oil, balsamic vinaigrette, onions, salt, and they are SO GOOD. They get carmelized. Seriously people – what’s the problem? Why does everyone think they’re nasty? How were they served to you if/when you ate them? Imput please!

- I think M. is slightly annoyed by my cats sometimes. I am too. But I find it very funny when he gets annoyed. Usually a cat has jumped on him while he’s trying to fall asleep or a cat stands in front of his face when he’s lying on the couch trying to watch tv. They also walk on the puzzles we’re working on and on the weekends they start running in and out of the bedroom, meowing all the while, until we are awake. All of this bad kitty behavior usually elicits some not really but maybe a tiny bit bitter response from M. like “Kitty! Why are you so BAD?” It cracks me up. The cats definitely piss me off sometimes, so it’s funny to see someone else react like I used to react before I realized that they’re cats and while they earnestly believe in their right to fuck every thing up, they will never care enough to stop, so really you just sigh heavily and rarely, but always deliciously, shove them the fuck away. But M. doesn’t shove because they’re not his cats. That’s good. Kinda like how only I am allowed to insult my mother.

- Despite their transgressions, M. says “Goodbye, kitty cats!” every morning.

- M. and I are the exact same height. Technically I think he might be a ½ inch taller, but when we are both barefoot we’re exactly eye to eye. I always thought I’d be with someone who was taller than me because not only do I find tall men very attractive, I liked the idea of being the shorter one. I think now I wouldn’t have it any other way than just my height. It’s gives me the fantastic feeling that M. and I are on the same level on so many levels, and it’s just so easy to kiss someone when they’re right there in front of you. Not up, not down, but right there.

- So we’re all well aware that all of my very best friends are lesbians. I love it, it’s familiar, and if they all went straight I’d be disappointed. Not that I have to worry about that. What I realized recently is that having a girlfriend whose friends are all lesbians is probably near the top on a man’s Why I Love My Girlfriend list. But M. doesn’t gawk or encourage us all to make out. (You shoulda seen us about 8 years ago, though!) So YAY for the boyfriend who just watches me all night when we’re out with all my hot lesbian friends.

- M. has a blue pickup truck with a metal tool box behind the cab and matching metal running down the top of the sides of the truck bed. I lovingly refer to this as “sexy metal,” because it is, but M. has his own nickname for his truck: Blue Steel, as in the ultimate facial expression for a male model as coined by Zoolander. He finds this hilarious, and so do I.

- When I found out M.’s initials are M.C.A. I immediately sang “M C Aaayyyy” like they do in that Beastie Boy’s song. Or maybe in every Beastie Boys song? Maybe we’ll name our first child Adam Yauch. Or maybe not.