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Wednesday, February 25, 2009

One second is enough time to kick your a**...

I do not like it when people take things literally that aren't meant to be taken literally. I shouldn't say that, because sometimes I wish that certain statements that aren't meant to be taken literally, were actually taken literally...like "running to the bathroom"...part of me(any by "part", I mean "all") wishes that every time people said they were "running to the bathroom" they actually did. I mean, I think I would just crack up if I saw people whizzing by me(not literally whizzing, but whizzing) every time they had to go. Gosh, I really talk about bathroom stuff a lot...more than the average 32 year old I'm sure...and more than the average 10 year old. Anydoodoobrown, that's not the point. The point of this boog is to complain about people taking things I say literally, which happened to me this morning. I answered a call at work and it was a client of one of my co-workers who had a question. Instead of asking for my co-worker, he said he would just ask me the question. Fine, no problem, I don't mind answering questions, it makes me feel like I have some value...I feel proud of myself when I answer correctly...not unlike people on game shows...or on the witness stand. Anypolygraph, he asked me how long the flight was for the flight that he is on in April. See, he had been trying to figure it out for himself since he's so familiar w/ the time change between here and Germany(he goes every year), but he was coming up with a time that was an hour faster than what the flight time had been every other time he's gone, so he was questioning his math. So I tell him that I can certainly look up the duration for that flight, just give me one second...and he goes "One second, wow you must be fast! Seconds up!"...then he starts laughing...hysterically...like he's the only a**hole that's ever said that in reaction to "one second, please". I mean I could have said "one minute" to avoid potential "seconds up" annoyance, but I find that saying "give me one minute" is far more rude sounding than "give me one second". Sure, you could say "give me one moment(in time...when I'm racing with destiny...then in that one moment of time, I will feel, I will feel...eternity. Sorry, I love Whitney)", but "one moment" is pretty much "one second" and I'd still get it from that clever little a**hole. I mean, come on dude, I'm totally doing you a solid and you d-bag me? Wow, I just slipped into some alternate language for a minute there...I never talk like that...I just watched "Juno"...that's what happened. So yeah, that's the first call I took this morning.

The second call was a heavy nose-breather, which is like my number 1 work pet peeve. Cannot stand the heavy nose-breathing RIGHT INTO MY EAR. Like what are you doing that is causing you to breath that heavily through your nose? And how close to the mouthpiece of your phone is your nostril? Because it's got to be pretty effing close to deafen me like that! It's not a panting noise either, that'd actually be preferable to the heavy nose-breathing. And what makes it worse is when they have a whistling booger while they are heavy nose-breathing. Like nails on a chalkboard...or a fork scratching on a porcelain plate...or Miley Cyrus singing live. Actually, heavy-nose breathing w/ a whistling booger is the worst sound ever, so I'm benching "like nails on a chalkboard" in favor of "like heavy nose-breathing w/ a whistling booger". Sure, it's more words and syllables, but I'm willing to take on the extra work just to get my point across.

So yeah, that was pretty much my day in a nutshell. Oh, one other bad thing happened...my friend BZ couldn't remember the cartoon "Top Cat", and therefore couldn't remember the theme song and therefore my "Top Cat/Top Chef" reference was completely lost on her. Boo. Hoo.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Coming to a Starbucks near you...

So yesterday afternoon, The Joyous One and I went to our 4th movie in a week in our attempt at squeezing in several flicks before the 2008 Academy Awards. It was unprecedented people, The Joyous One and I haven't been to the movie theater together in, oh...our entire relationship. That can't be true, we must have gone to the movie theater together once in our almost 10 years of togetherness, but I cannot for the life of me think what it was that we saw...oh wait, we went to see "Sex And The City" together last year, but we saw it at Hollywood Blvd so there was food and booze and it wasn't your typical movie theater setting, plus it was kind of a "no-brainer" if you watched the show, which we did. You see, the reason we don't see movies in theaters isn't because we don't like movies, oh no. It's because my dear, sweet Joyous One can barely make it through a friggin TV commercial without asking questions, and it's nearly impossible for her to make it through a 2 hour movie. You know her type, asking who this guy is, why that guy said that, what is that girl doing, what's going to happen after this thing happens, is that guy that girl's brother...and on and on and on. I'm to the point now where I just look at her blankly and say "First time for me too, Joyous One." This tactic doesn't usually work, and I have to resort to the more forceful "Why don't you try being quiet for 5 minutes and see if you can figure it out" or the always rude "Please shut up". I know that's mean, but I'm not perfect people, I can't help my "shut up" ways just like she can't help her "Who, what, when, where, why" ways. But that's my point, this is why we don't go to the movies...or to plays...or to musicals...or to interpretive dance performances...or to Oprah.

Anyloudmouth, The Joyous One and I were gearing up for movie # 4, "Doubt", out at a lovely theater in Glen Ellyn where we had seen movie # 2(The Reader) and movie # 3(Milk) two days before. We got there at 1:30pm for a 2:00pm show but the theater was closed until 1:45pm. We decided to scoot over to the Starbucks to grab some Signature Hot Chocolate and take a load off before the flick. The *Bucks was crowded, so we grabbed 2 seats at the counter facing out onto the street. This was fine with me as I like to stare at people...which I realize is almost as rude as telling people to shut up...but like I said, I'm not perfect...I'm a people-staring-shutter-upper...what a combo! Anynomanners, as we sat w/ our chocolate, The Joyous One told me to non-chalantly look to my 4 o'clock(PS...this is the worst way to get me to look at something as it takes me SO long to figure out clocks. It's why I don't wear a watch...and why I didn't go to college). I sat there for awhile trying to figure out where my 4 o'clock was and The Joyous One finally told me "behind you and to the right and please look soon". She should have just said that in the first place and we could've avoided her frustration and also avoided me attempting to draw the face of a clock on the counter with my finger. So I casually turn, slowly, to my right, pretending to look at the various posters and *Bucks decor. As I get to what I assume is 4 o'clock, I'm confronted with the glaring buttcrack of a blonde-haired woman who was being in-the-faced by a large bald man who clearly was her boyfriend, and clearly a Newport smoker coming off a rough night because he sounded like Froggy from Our Gang(PS...he was the second person in a week who I heard talking like Froggy. Time to reconsider the smokes, I think). I turn back to face the window so I can make wide-eyed funny faces about their very loud, very public argument w/o them seeing me make fun, because although I like making fun, I'm a scaredy cat who doesn't like confrontation...I won't even honk at people. Anyawkward, The Joyous One must have thought that my turning away from the PFC(Publicly Fighting Couple) rendered me unable to hear them and started giving me the play-by-play..."Ooh, they are really fighting...he's yelling at her about something...oh, now he's yelling at her about sex...he said she had sex with one guy, then another guy, then with him and he doesn't want to be with her anymore...he's seems mad...she's trying to talk to him...he's yelling again...oh, they're leaving". I looked over and yes, Cue-Ball and Sally Buttcrack were indeed leaving, much to the relief of every *Bucks patron within earshot...which was pretty much everyone in *Bucks. They exited, started walking and...stopped right in front of the window I was staring out of. There was more yelling, Cue-Ball was all in Sally Buttcrack's face, she was crying and yelling, she tried walking away, he wasn't having it, he lit up a smoke, they kept yelling, then all of the sudden...they were hugging and kissing all pressed up against the glass...right in front of where I was sitting. There was a couple behind me and the girl said "Aw, they're making up"...this, of course, caused me to burst out laughing, which was nearly impossible to hide from the turbulent lovebirds because they were pretty much face to face with me...or should I say tongue to face...ew. I attempted to pretend like The Joyous One said something funny, and turned away from the window. They finally walked away, The Joyous One and I finished up our hot chocolate and headed out. And while "Doubt" was an excellent movie, the first half of our double feature provided us w/ just as much drama, mystery, and intrigue as "Doubt" did...plus a little something extra...buttcrack...

**Author's Note: I would like to mention that The Joyous One was 100 kinds of awesome in each of the 4 movies we saw leading up to the Oscars. Not one question during "Slumdog Millionaire", only 1 or 2 during "The Reader", just a comment or 2 during "Milk", and the only question during "Doubt" was "Do you want more popcorn?". This just might mean that our non-movie going days are behind us, and we can join the rest of the world in celebrating movies within months of their release instead of years.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

To VD or not VD...

So last Saturday was VD, a made-up holiday that I'm not all that interested in. This stems(snerk) from my mother being a florist and hating any and all made-up holidays. However, I think she's changed her mind about certain made-up holidays since attending Comb Day and Balls Out, so let's just say she hates any and all made-up holidays that involve flowers. I can't say I blame her, I can't imagine a place that would be worse to work in than a flower shop on VD...except maybe Hallmark...or Sybaris...but I don't think I'd ever want to work at Sybaris...its seems...sticky...to me...and def a place where you could get a VD on VD which is no kind of VD gift...now I don't feel good. Anyfauxmance, while I'm not a fan of VD(or the other VD), I have a wife who is fond of it(VD, but not that VD), so we tend to celebrate it every year. This year, we VD'd at home w/ delicious and a movie...no, not a romance...not a comedy, guess again...nope, horror movie wasn't it...we watched "Prayers For Bobby", a Lifetime movie starring Sigourney Weaver as the uber religious mother of a gay man who ends up killing himself. Not exactly the feel-good movie of the year. This movie totally pantsed me, I was a puddle of sadness throughout, tears streaming down my face, sobs catching in my chest, snot seeping from my nose, The Joyous One asking me every 10 minutes if I was okay, me answering "yes" just by nodding for fear that if I spoke I would lose my sh*t. Don't get me wrong, PFB had it's positive moments and by the end I was perched on the edge of my couch, waving my rainbow flag emphatically...for real. But it did get me thinking about something that is long overdue...

...a thank you. I have been dizzyingly lucky in my life, especially my gay life...which I guess is just my regular life now...and actually always was my regular life. Anyqueereye, I don't really know anyone who has gotten the type of support that I've gotten from my friends and family, whom I affectionately call my "18 Hour Playtex Posse"...only they don't know I call them that...except now they do. I hear horror stories about friends de-friending, families disowning, gay people everywhere being abandoned by the people they thought loved them. And that's what they are to me, horror stories, because I have never, ever known that kind of pain thanks to the utterly amazing people that surround me. My COP(coming out process) is a testament to that. Everyone reacted as if they were waiting for me to realize what they already knew, and waiting for me to love myself as I was, because they already did, and when I said those words, "I'm gay", I was being hugged before the word "gay" even escaped my lips. As I've collected more friends along the way, and continued my COP(it never ends people, for as long as I'm alive I'll be coming out), my new friends have met that same high standard that my old friends set, without me even hinting that they had a lot to live up to. My friends continue to amaze me every day and I am thankful for them every day and I wish I remembered to tell them that every day. If only I could have all of you stand up and take a bow, I would...I mean sure, I'd be the only one clapping, but I'm a loud clapper...it would seem like more.

I have to do a special "thank you" section for my parents...but how do I even begin to thank them? They were the perfect couple to have a gay kid, they've done everything right and every reaction to my homosexuality has been heartwarmingly startling. Pretty sure "heartwarmingly" is not a word, but when has that stopped me? AnyPFLAG, back to my parents. I don't know if there was ever any disappointment about me being gay, because they have never voiced that to me. I don't know if they ever felt sad about what "could have been", they were too busy telling me they loved me because of who I was. I don't know if they ever felt ashamed, because when I attended my first Pride Parade, PFLAG came strolling down Broadway and there were my parents, giving me the surprise of my life by celebrating how proud they were. They have marched in pretty much every parade since. Not only that, but they are deeply entrenched in the fight for equality, they take it as a personal attack on them because I don't have any rights. And to top it off, my mom is president of the local PFLAG chapter, and my dad attends every meeting by her side. They are much better activists than I could ever imagine being. They are what every gay child, gay teen, and gay adult hopes for in a set of parents. And they are all mine.

So thank you, thank you, thank you...all of you...for making my story one of the happy ones and not one of the horror ones.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

A letter to Yoplait...

Dear Yoplait Yogurt Executive,

I am writing you this letter to lodge a (small) complaint. Every time, and I mean every...do not take me for one of those exaggerating types, because while I do exaggerate about some things, I am very non-exagerratish when it comes to other things...like my awesomeness...and yogurt. Anyfruitonthebottom, every time I attempt to open a container of delicious Yoplait yogurt, a mighty struggle ensues caused by the vacuum seal on the rim of the container. When I finally get the aluminum top to open a little, the release of air inside the container causes a "smloop" of yogurt to project onto my shirt, usually in the chestal region. I am then forced to spend the rest of my day being "the kid who smells like sour strawberry yogurt", which is worse than "the kid who smells like syrup" and I really thought that the only thing worse than being "the kid who smells like syrup" was being "the kid who smells like poo"(or dirt, or B.O. those 3 are interchangeable in my eyes).

Don't get me wrong, Yoplait Yogurt Executive, I appreciate the freshness that your vacuum seal provides, but I don't think it's too much to ask those down in the vacuum sealing department if they could take it a little easy on the suction...at least for the strawberry yogurt products. That way, I can avoid any future yogsmloops, and you can avoid any future letters from me complaining about this very small(but VERY important) little matter.

Thank you for your time, Yoplait Yogurt Executive.

Sincerely,

Merta Kufle

Friday, February 6, 2009

Stranger danger...

In an earlier boog that I wrote today, I made a reference to making strangers uncomfortable, so I thought I should elaborate for those of you who might have said, to no one in particular, "Huh, I wonder what Meta meant when she said she's been making strangers uncomfortable? I sure hope she boogs about it!"...well, those of you talking to no one in particular, today is your lucky day! And for those of you who already know the 2 recent incidents in which I made strangers uncomfortable, it's not your lucky day. Or maybe it is if you've found yourself craving a re-telling of those 2 stories, or also if you've been hit on the head recently and find that you've forgotten the stories. Lucky day, my friends...lucky day. Oh, and sorry that I use the "..." so much...it's like my favorite way to express myself...ever...most favorite...of all time.

Last week, after weeks of procrastinating, I finally called the plumber to come fix our toilet. It wasn't a major problem, a small leak at the base of le toilet would occur occasionally when we el flusher'ood. Gosh, how gross would we be if our toilet was overflowing all over the bathroom every single time we flushed? Sick. Anypuddle, I called the plumber who made a date to come and reset le toilet. We have had this plumber 3 times now(does that mean we officially "know a guy"?). He's very nice, young, and kind of cute if you like men...which I don't...not in that way...but you knew that...at least you should know that...I practically wear it on my sleeve...in the form of a rainbow flag. Anylezzie, nice, young, kind of cute plumber guy was doing his thing, I was doing mine(Golden Girls) so we had limited interaction. He finished up, came in and said "Okay, the toilet's reset, you guys should be good for awhile." to which I said "I'll try to sit lightly", to which nice, young, kind of cute plumber guy said "Oooookay..." and handed me the bill.

Fast forward to yesterday evening. I was paying a visit to the meat department at my favorite organic grocery store, Whole Foods Market. I was getting veal scaloppine for a dinner than I'm co-hosting on Saturday night(please don't PETA me for the veal. The Joyous One loves veal, and I love The Joyous One, so I thought I'd do right by her and add veal to the menu. Plus, she paid for the veal...holla!). Anyringworm, I was window shopping the meat when a very nice young butcheress asked me if I needed any help, so I gave her my order and we shared pleasantries while she weighed and wrapped my veal. She told me a story about a guy who comes in every week and spends $300 on meat for his dog, london broil, filet Mignon, sirloin, I mean expensive meat. My reaction to this? Was to say "That dog better crap money". This left my butcheress slightly speechless, she laughed a little(definetely a chuckle of the 'awkward' variety), handed me my meat and said "Alright, thanks!".

Let this be a lesson, kids: Don't talk to strangers...especially if you're going to say cracked-out nonsense like Auntie Merta does...now...go get me my scotch...

That smelled chunky...

This morning when The Joyous One entered the bedroom to grace me w/ a goodbye kiss, she also asked me if I would like to wish her tooth "good luck". You see, she chipped her tooth eating a carrot the other day, and it's been bothering her so she's going to the dentist today to have it fixed. It's not like I'm everyday wishing one of her teeth "good luck", although maybe I'll start to. That could be a new, weird thing that I do. And maybe I'll start doing it to strangers too, since lately I'm all about making strangers uncomfortable...but that's a story for another time. Anydenture, I leaned in real close to The Joyous One's mouth and said "Good luck, tooth", and she promptly burped as I pulled my face away. I said "Ew, you smell like oatmeal"(PS...oatmeal...makes me sick...sick sick sick) to which she replied "Hey, I just lowered your cholesterol, you should be thanking me!". See, my wife always has my best interest at heart...even when she's burping in my face. Who says romance is dead?