There should be more body fluid flavored candy

March 02, 2005 - 12:44 p.m.

My pilot and I haven’t had a chance yet to sleep on the new bed, because we can’t stop having sex in the library, on the rug in front of the fireplace, and then passing out blissfully in the warm flickering firelight.

Is there a burning sensation behind your eyes? In your belly? Is there a lump in your throat? Do you feel you mouth pulling down into a frown?

Are you rolling your eyes at me??

Why do you have to be such an asshole? Why do you have to loathe me because I get fucked by firelight?

Seriously, you have to believe me that I have worked my ass off my entire life to get to this point, to have a normal, functioning adult relationship with a person who is magnificent. Since the day I was born, I've had one goal, and that is to have a healthy, loving family of my own, and I've put all of my energies into making this happen. My friends will attest to this. I TOTALLY DESERVE THIS. Nothing was handed to me, I have never been lucky, and I had to live through 15+ years of idiot boyfriends like Fat Fuck, the Sodomizer, the Future Homosexual, the Man Child, the Cheater, Gonzo Dick, the Virginator and 250 suitors through online dating. No offense to my buddies, the Man Child and the Homosexual, who read this blog. Hi Guys! Love ya!

On Sunday me and the Captain went to the Museum of Science and Industry, where they are having a special exhibit of cadavers, skinned to the muscle, and then posed in real life situations like riding horses and playing euchre. HA HA HA HA. Ok, not really playing euchre, but they are playing chess and smoking cigarettes. Even in death, EVEN as a skeleton with marble eyes and exposed large intestine, this dude looked COOL. He was like a beatnik skeleton. I hope this was not supposed to be a Public Service Announcement, like Smoking = Death, cuz all I saw was: “You mean after I die I can take up smoking again?!?!”

People are up in arms about this exhibit, saying that it is wrong to look at dead human bodies at a Science museum. Bodies that were donated to SCIENCE by their rightful owners, with all of their muscle, tissue, and organs preserved forever through a process called “plastination.” Funny, since this is the same museum that has had the Hall of Fetuses since forever, and I didn’t see anyone upset about that. Jars of dead fetuses from conception through full term. Huh.

Photography was not allowed in the museum, but you just can’t stop me from taking pictures with my phone. I found myself leaning in to get close-ups of the genitalia, and the children standing next to me looked up at me with saucer eyes, cuz even they know what a sicko I am. I am all about the Wombs and Weiners.

And oh shit, I saw the coolest thing ever in the museum store and I’m kicking myself for not buying it. I had bought some other shit, including a “How Babies Are Made” book, cuz I still need to figure that shit out, and as I was leaving I saw this awesome thing and I was like: Damn, I’m not going to run my credit card again for $2. It’s a plastic ear that has an ear canal full of ear wax candy. It comes with a plastic Q-Tip that you use to dig ear wax out of the ear and EAT IT! How awesome is that? I want to see someone eat ear wax off a Q-Tip. If you go to the museum, PLEASE BUY ME THE EAR WAX CANDY.

Afterwards we went over to the Captain’s house just to chill and lie around for the remainder of the day, since the weather was ass, and you didn’t even want to step foot outside. We settled onto pillows in front of the fireplace in the library. That rug is so multi-functional! We leaned on each other back-to-back to read the Sunday Tribune, which is a newspaper that weighs about 13 lbs and is delivered to your front door in a Hefty Cinch Sak. We sat reading quietly, passing sections to one another, and sharing a bottle of red wine. Does that sound pretentious at all? Of course it does, but we are not pretentious people, so we can pull off these types of activities without looking like complete assholes. An example of this modesty occurred before we even reached Section C, when I suddenly found myself bleeding profusely from the nose, blood covering my hands, and him running to the bathroom for tissue. Glamorous situation + Bloody Face = Humbling moment.

On days when we are able to sleep in, we typically stay in bed nekkid and shoot the shit and stare at each other and smooch. Often times he jumps up and gives me an unsolicited body massage while I lay there and giggle like an idiot. There are three operative words in that sentence and they are: Unsolicited! Massage! and Often! Ya hear?

Out of nowhere I asked him, “How much do you weigh?”

And he said, “156.”

“THANK GOD. I was just making sure that you weigh more than me, because me and Christina were talking the other day about how she weighed 115 lbs, and she had a boyfriend who weighed 115 lbs, and how horrifying the whole thing is to weigh the same as your man.”

“Yeah, and by the way, your scale is off by 5 lbs.”

“What??? Noooooo! Let me live the lie! Let me believe that I weigh 128 and not 133!”

“Are you kidding? Look at you. Look at THIS…you’re perfect…perfect…perfect.”

Now…my man (like me) does not kiss anyone’s ass for any reason. I don’t think he was lying…but I do think that he has convinced himself that this is true, that in his eyes it is true. And to that I gotta say:

GOD BLESS THIS MAN.

God Bless ‘im!

Here-here!

So you know my reply could only be one thing.

“I need to go make bacon.”

I got my ass out of bed, went into the kitchen and made turkey bacon, scrambled eggs, wheat toast with boysenberry jam, grape juice, and of course, plenty of *heart*. Like cooking in my underwear.

I find myself always scrambling to make sure that he is never hungry for food, sex, or affection, because goddamn. It’s the least I can do. I need to hold up my end of the deal, because he so deserves it. He is the world’s best boyfriend.

It’s funny, this girly kitchen behavior is the ultimate sacrifice for a feminist. This domesticity, this cooking and care taking. It is my way of saying, “Honey, you are really sumthin special.” Because I frown at the thought of doing these things for any other man, and I can only play this female role because I already feel so completely respected and adored by him that me playing Wifey for him is not the least bit degrading. I’d scrub floors in high heels and a thong if it would make him happy.

The following is a list of things that, before meeting Captain Handsome, my opinion of which would have been “Naw”.

Playing a traditional girly-female role in a relationship
Partying with Betty Page girls and pompadoured guys
Drinking Merlot
Vespas
Dating a pilot

The following is a list of things that, before meeting Captain Handsome, my opinion of which would have been: *spin on heels, turn, walk away*.

Guns
Rockabilly
Swing Dancing
Dating someone more than eight years older than myself

But now, those things don’t even make me blink. This is him, this is his life, and who the hell am I to turn my nose up at things that are wholly UNIMPORTANT in the grand scheme of things? I don’t care. Bring on the guns! Let’s play with guns! Bring on the scooters, and pin-up girls, and flame tattoos! Bring on the girls with dyed black hair and very short bangs! Big Band music! Horns! Stand-up bass!

I support all of his interests, because he accepts everything about me, including the belching, swearing, and listening to Lil’ Wayne and Kanye.

I told Belle that last weekend the Cap’n gave me my first swing-dance lesson and he was like: *stunned silence*.

And then, “I cannot. Believe. That you are swing dancing. Uh. Huh-ha ha. Huh.”

But swing dancing means that I get to hold hands with him, and dance chest to chest, and stare at his face, sweat, and laugh, and therefore – I love it. I’ll do the Polka with him, or the salsa, or whatever else he wants to do. Dancing is HOT, anyway you slice it.

And last weekend I got the best gift ever, it is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, my jaw dropped open, and I immediately went home and framed it. This picture, from my five year-old goddaughter:

The Future Famous Artist Eggbazilla Ophelia.

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The Fast, Days 1-6
January 28, 2007