Monthly Archives: January 2008

Moving?

I’ve been waiting to tell you. Rukan and I are very seriously considering moving our family to Louisville. When I say seriously, I mean it. I would say, rather than “considering”, that we’re actually in the early stages of laying the groundwork for a big move.

We’ll see.

I’ll tell you more when I don’t have a big exam to study for.

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Today’s Top Stories

On the night of our anniversary, who should show up at the door but old Monk! It was good to see him, and as it turned out all the rumors about where he’d been the last six months were true. There was a gal, there was some long-distance travel, and in pure Monk style, lots of story in between.

He happily ate up the fresh apple pie I gave him with a tall glass of cold milk (and correctly guessed, as usual, the exact measurements I use in my top-secret crust). He requested some first aid supplies for his road wounds and some change (“I promise I won’t spend it on anything but beer”). He regaled us with stories of his travels, read Rocky a bedtime story and, when she was tucked away in her bedroom, put back a tall can of cheap brew and rolled a cigarette for the road, before finally ambling his way to the door and retreating to his greenbelt hideaway.

After he was gone, I looked at Rukan. “Monk knows where we live,” I said.

Then we opened a bottle of Merlot, and ate a lovely dinner by candlelight.
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The good news is, I am not going back to housekeeping any time soon, I still get plenty of sympathy, which I (unhealthily, I know) wear like a protective down vest when I’ve made a mess of things and people don’t like me, and the doctor says nothing’s for sure.

The bad news is, I’m still working a $9/hour job and my family’s barely getting by, I really need the housekeeping money, I have to put the boot back on, and the doctor thinks my left big toe is probably broken.

Yes, the other foot. Seven months after breaking the right one. Just as it’s starting to heal.

Do you believe things happen for a reason? I never really have. But I guess, if the x-ray shows a fracture, I’m going to have to rethink my stance. Because, really.

Happy Anniversary

I want to write a long, lushly-detailed story about how Rukan and I fell in love. I haven’t got the time to give it the attention a good story deserves. But I will tell you that nine years ago today, Rukan and I made eyes, talked, and each had a gut feeling that this was going to be The Big One.

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My feet are disaster magnets, and my cat is humping a bunny

You know what I did tonight? I dropped a goddamn massage chair on the OTHER foot.

We had just finished a chair massage gig, and Ru was dropping me off at school. I opened the back of the Pathfinder, and my chair slid off the top of Rukan’s chair and . . . well, you know the rest. I won’t get graphic. As in, I won’t tell you what came out of my mouth at that moment.

I made it through class, somehow limping on both feet at the same time, occasionally taking off my shoe to ice and watch the pretty colors spreading across my metatarsals.

That God! He is SUCH a funny guy!

I want to tell you, and I want you to believe me, I am not somehow inviting physical injury. I did not ask the universe to break my foot. I did not ask to then fall down the stairs in an orthotic boot. I did not invite the damn massage chair to guillotine my toes. So, why why why?

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I need to tell you now about my cat.

This is Bob. Full name: Bobby. You can’t see here, but he’s got a little cutoff tail that sticks straight up. Anyway.

Bob is getting old. He’s been in the neighborhood for at least a decade; the vet puts him at probably 13 or 14. You know how, when some people get older, they start to get a little . . . eccentric? Apparently it can happen to cats, too. Bob has started making love to stuffed animals.

It started with Lemon Juice the Pink Unicorn. Rocky would be sleeping, and we’d hear these weird cat noises in her room, and there he was, humping the unicorn. We’d chase him away from the unicorn, and he’d start on Bubba the Bear. We’d put him out, and he’d claw the screen door, which has a very loud bell tied to it, for two hours until we’d finally wake up enough to let him back in, cursing. Us, not him. He’d just go right back to work on something else in the toy bin.

Then Rebecca, Rukan’s hairstylist, suggested giving him his very own toy animal to “sleep with”. We were, at first, appalled. But it was winter, and he’s old, and I can’t just leave him out to freeze at night. So Rocky picked out a big pink bunny that she doesn’t much play with, and gave it to him.

That night, he and the bunny went at it for several hours before finally, spent, they smoked a cigarette, rolled over and went to sleep on the couch.

Bob and the bunny seem very happy with each other, and I’m glad? I guess? that we found a solution to the whole sex-with-Rocky’s-toys problem.

“Look what Bob’s doing,” says Rocky. “He’s biting the bunny! Silly Bob.”

“Yes, he’s, uh, cuddling with it!”

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That’s all I got.

And we’ve never told her she actually had two.

Rocky, completely out of the blue:

“Mama, make a hole in my heart.”

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