You are So Busted!

Posted By startswithanx on July 26, 2010

mrs-fields[1]

I think I’ve mentioned before that Jake and I work together. Well, we don’t so much work together as we do just work at the same place. It has its ups (being able to not just listen to the other person talk ish about a co-worker, but actually contribute to it) and it has its downs. I’m about to share a fine example of the downs. Well, for Jake, anyway.

On my way to the ladies room the other day I noticed a familiar silhouette making its way into what used to be known as the cafeteria, but since the cost cuts is now referred to simply as the room with the tables, microwaves and vending machines. Rather than go about my own business and let my fiance go about his, I decided to make a U-turn. Here’s why.

There’s not a lot you can count on these days. Hell, you can’t even count on your neighbors to notice a group of thugs carrying your 42″ plasma out your front door in broad daylight. But that’s neither here nor there — nor on our TV stand. If you’re me, however, there is at least one thing you CAN count on. It happens every Sunday, usually sometime in the early afternoon. Sometimes it’s right before we start shoveling a supper fatty meal into our mouths. Other times it’s just AFTER we’ve shoveled a supper fatty meal into our mouths. Around this time, Jake puts his arm around me and makes his weekly declaration: “X, tomorrow’s the day. Yep, I’m gonna start working out!” And he says it with conviction every time. Like he’s standing at a podium in front of people like Richard Simmons and the angry chick on The Biggest Loser. If he’s feeling really bold, he throws this in for good measure: “And, I’m not gonna eat any junk food until (fill in the blank with an important occasion).”

That’s why I made the U-turn, folks. And that’s also why I wasn’t shocked when I discovered my well-intentioned Jake licking his chops in front of a black box containing Doritos, Snickers, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Chex Mix and an array of other contradictions to his weekly declaration. All I said was “How’s it goin’?” But it was the same way a cop says it shortly before he dusts off the breathalizer. Like that, Jake knew he was busted. His face turned that raspberry shade that brown people get when they blush and he wanted to look anywhere but my eyes. But, when he did finally make eye contact, he had the look. You know what I’m talkin’ about, ladies.  There’s always a look they get when they know the gig is up and he was wearing his.

Honestly, I went in there for a little comic relief. I knew we’d both get a good laugh out of it, which we did. But I went back to my desk thinking about all the other times I’ve caught boyfriends red-handed and how thankful I am that Jake’s “BUSTED!” moments don’t end with handfuls of another girl’s hair in my hand or, even better, me explaining why prostitutes count as cheating. Well, Jake’s infedilities are better only if you don’t count the scandalous Sara Lee or, his favorite, that adulterous Mrs. Fields.

Category: characters, men, relationships, this happened | 10 Comments »

The Club I’m Dying to Get Into

Posted By startswithanx on July 23, 2010

cover_9520809_clipped[1]

There’s something that’s been bothering me for a while now. About 10 months to be exact. It comes down to exclusion. It comes down to a private club I haven’t and won’t be invited to join. It comes down to the dog park, my friends.

A group of men gather there around 7 a.m. every day. When we first got Penny I couldn’t help but notice this pack of older gentleman. They’re all over 60. They all have dogs of varying breeds. One has a scruffy little mutt. Another has two of those supersized poodles, the ones you forget even exist until you catch the Westminster on a slow TV day. And I forget what the others have. Hell, the others may not even have dogs. They might just come for the atmosphere that sometimes feels like it needs cigar smoke and playing cards.

While strolling the vast stretch of lawn that is my dog park, I’ve picked up a few of their conversations. The topics range from proper screen door installation to erectile dysfunction. As Ice-T in the late ’80s would say, I ain’t even tryin’ to lie to you. They get into heated discussions and occasionally drop “f” bombs. Anytime this happens and I’m within ear shot, they look up at me like guilty schoolboys, tip their hats and all but hand me a Werther’s Original.

About three months into my dog park visits, I discovered that this club isn’t exclusive to old white dudes. It’s exclusive to men. That was around the time Bear’s owner started bringing him around. Bear’s a little bastard of a dog who once tried pummeling Penny. At which time his owner shouted his name repeatedly while stomping toward him and clapping his hands together. Um, Bear’s owner could play the stand-in for this dude:

office-craig-robinson152[1]

Now you know why I said Bear TRIED pummeling Penny.

Anyway, I wouldn’t have cared about this club that makes me feel like I’m knocking on a tree house door that has a rickety  “Boys only, no girls allowed!” sign hanging from it, but then this happened. After that lady threw her dogs a birthday party, invited the Dog Park Boys Club and didn’t invite Penny, I was a little bitter, but eventually got over it. And then something else happened.

I witnessed a game of dogshit horseshoes. Never heard of it? That’s because the Dog Park Boys Club invented it. They take the bags that hold their dogs’ poop, tie the ends of them and try and toss them into the garbage cans from about 20 yards away.

Every time I passed those inaccurate-aiming fools I was THIS CLOSE to asking if I could play. I pitched softball for years. I knew I could school those suckas. But I never spoke up. … Once again, I eventually got over it. But, the most recent offense — this one I’m not sure I can overcome.

It looks like this:

dogparkclub

Guess who’s inside that tent? The pack of old men and Bear’s owner, probably smoking cigars, playing poker and getting lap dances. Still not following why a tent would enrage me? I live in Vegas, people. I live in it-was-112-degrees-on-Tuesday Vegas.

I rest my case. Now, how can I break down the barriers and make my way into this club that is clearly more exclusive than the VIP section at Diddy’s White Party?

Category: men, question, this happened | 8 Comments »

Burgle Banter and DVR Dreams

Posted By startswithanx on July 21, 2010

tv460[1]

I never knew condolences could be offered for things besides, like, deaths in the family. But, since Friday I’ve learned that Hallmark probably makes a card for people whose houses have been burgled. (P.S. Can anyone use ”burgle” in a sentence with a straight face?) We got a ton of text messages and phone calls and just facial expressions that said “my thoughts are with you” from people who heard the news and wanted us to know how sorry they were for our loss-es.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m touched by it all. I really am. It means a lot to know people care that much, but it honestly makes me feel like kind of an asshole. If I found out someone’s house got burgled (hee hee, burgled) I’d have a ton of questions (Are you OK? What’d they take? Any ideas who did it?), but beyond that I’d probably just be like “Dude. Shitty.”

People are telling us to “hang in there.” They’re asking how we’re holding up. They’re bringing over casseroles with black veils over their faces. OK, the veils aren’t always black, but here’s my favorite thing they’re doing. They all wanna know if they can offer us their extra TV. Actually, only our friends with penises want to know that. But, when they offer it up — all 55 pounds of it cuz we are talking about the EXTRA television set – they get this tone. The tone you get when you let a friend know just how high on the friend totem pole you place them. ”Hey man, I got a TV, if you need it.” Now read that quote again, but add one of those hugs that end with hard, manly slaps on the back and you’ll have an idea what I mean.

The thing is, at first the TV offers made me laugh. The same kind of laugh I got when Jake’s buddies kept calling for counseling sessions during the Izzo fiasco. But now I’m realizing how insightful our friends with penises were when they offered their extra TV’s that are just a few model upgrades shy of needing bunny ears. See, we have two extra TV’s, but one of them is in a room we never enter so now it’s like we have one TV, which can cause problems in a two-person household.

For instance, Monday night Jake was man-handling the remote from my hands because we’d “already seen this episode” of New Jersey Housewives. Realizing he had a point, I surrendered the almighty device. Shortly after, I found myself watching a mashup of Holly’s World, Remember the Titans and ESPN. He couldn’t even wait for commercial breaks, flipping channels like he was Mary Lou Retton. It was Holly’s boobs, Denzel, an awesome double play. Over and over and over.

Speaking of ESPN, Monday morning we battled it out over which was more important, Sports Center or The Today Show’s segment on who MIGHT be attending Chelsea Clinton’s wedding, where it MIGHT be held and what her Oscar de la Renta dress MIGHT look like. Which one was I pulling for? C’mon now, you know I love me some LeBron James with my cold cereal.

Oh, and remember our little Jeopardy challenges? Well, we had to forfeit Monday’s game for a meeting with the home alarm salesman and last night’s game was cancelled due to my Espanol lesson. I guess it’s not the TV I miss so much. It’s the DVR. The relationship-saving, godsent DVR.

But back to our well-wishers. I can’t say I was traumatized by the break-in experience, but I can definitely understand why Jake was. Things haven’t quite been the same since Friday — for either of us. For me it’s a good thing. For him, not so good. More on that in another post. Regardless of how we’ve taken it, we’re both happy for a few things it’s brought. The sweet condolences, the 55-pound TV offers slash male bonding moments, the frequent use of the word “burgle” and, what was the last thing? Oh yes, the casseroles. Thanks, everyone.

Category: house, men, relationships, this happened | 7 Comments »

It’s a Wonderful Life

Posted By startswithanx on July 18, 2010

Jake’s heard his fiancee talk a lot about what she DOESN’T have lately. About the money she doesn’t make, the neighborhood she doesn’t come home to and the lifestyle she doesn’t live. He’s had to build a case for what we DO have. How unfair is that? Having to tell the woman you’re going to marry why she SHOULD BE HAPPY with the lfe she has. Nevertheless, he continued to tell me, time after time, all the reasons I should stop chasing something I don’t have and start appreciating everything I do.
 
Why it all sunk in the morning of July 16 — before I got the frantic phone call at work – I will never know.
 
Jake was with Penny at the vet’s. He wasn’t thrilled I scheduled the appointment on the one day of the week he normally sleeps in (he works nights on Fridays), but he only complained three times. I got a late start that morning. It wasn’t until around 9:30 a.m. that I pulled out of the garage, a good half-hour later than normal. In retrospect, I wish I remembered more than just feeling really good as I watched the garage door slide down. I never drive away until it closes completely and Friday morning was no different, except this time I looked over more than just the garage. Paying no mind to the cars that may or may not be pulling up behind me or the strange people that may or may not be on the sidewalk beside me, I sat in my car and took in the whole house.
 
Upside down or right side up, it’s dope. I love it. I love the man who owns it with me and I love the little doggie who greets me when I walk through the doors of it. Jake could finally rest his case. It’s a wonderful life I live, that I knew for sure Friday morning. I buckled my seat belt, turned the volume up real loud and drove away as I thought of my many blessings. As soon as I get to work, I said to myself, I’m gonna send Jake a text telling him as much.
 
Not surprisingly, I never got a chance to send the text, but I told him all that and more as four cops drew their guns less than an hour later and made their way into our house while Jake and I watched from across the street.
 
When he came home from the vet with Penny, about 30 minutes after I had left, the place was ransacked. THIRTY MINUTES AFTER I HAD LEFT. His 42″ flat screen TV was gone, the plantation shutters above our living room sofa were busted through and the front door was open. He yelled all of that into the phone, first to me and then to a 911 operator.
 
After the cops searched the house and didn’t find anyone, we went in for a walk-through. Our bedroom made me feel like we were standing in a snow globe – after someone gave it a good, hard shake. Clothes, shoes, bedding and underwear replaced the snow flakes. And all in 30 minutes. It took four metro cops, the real CSI and a cadet who wrote it all down about four times longer to finish our report than it took the burglars to take everything pawn shop-worthy that we own. 
 
It doesn’t matter what they got away with. What matters is what they didn’t get. I’m not talking possessions or material items, either. Although my 11-year-old nephew “D” did note that “at least they couldn’t take the pool.” 
Everyone keeps talking about how unfortunate it is and how unlucky we were. It’s funny, I’ve never felt more lucky in my life. Did I mention there were 30 minutes in between the time I left and the time Jake and Penny came home? I’m lucky I still have the love of my life. I’m lucky I still have my sweet dog. I’m lucky I still have my house, snow globe-style or not. And I’m lucky this was still the view I woke up to Saturday morning:
pen.bed

Category: house, this happened | 23 Comments »

Jake and X … and Levi Johnston

Posted By startswithanx on July 16, 2010

Remember when you were a kid and you’d find out something really awesome just happened to one of your friends? Something that made you wonder why God liked them more than you, like she got her period before anyone else in your “group” or something really “neat” like that?

Remember how you’d reply? It went something like this: “Nuh-uh? LUCKYYYYY!” Or maybe your brother was playing Frogger and he beat the game. What did you say? “Nuh-uh? LUCKYYYY!” The girl you walked home from school with got the newest Adventures in Babysitting Club book before it hit shelves — “Nuh-uh?” LUCKYYYY!”

You get it.

Here’s a little conversation Jake and I had two nights ago.

Me: Samantha’s doctor put her on bed rest. She’s not due until September!

Jake: What’s that mean?

Me: She has to stay in bed all day until freakin’ September!

Jake: (Takes some time to process the info) Nuh-uh? LUCKYYYY!

One woman’s bed rest is another man’s … bed rest? By the way, there was no sarcasm whatsoever detected in Jake’s last comment. Not a drip. Should that worry me?

resized_Levi_Johnston_playgirl_cover

Onto other potential worrisome news in the Jake and X department. Turns out I have more in common with Bristol Palin than just trying real hard to act like I’m not a big sex-starved trollop in public. Her man, that would be Levi Johnston himself, proposed the EXACT SAME WAY Jake did. I don’t even want to think about the implications.

Folks, there were rose petals leading to her bedroom. There was a heart made of petals on her bed with a ring box in the middle. There was a bended knee while she took it all in. You can read about it here, although I just gave you all the BITING details. That’s right, I said “biting,” as in Jake’s proposal style got BIT by a Playgirl centerfold.

I would use the ol’ “Great minds …” saying and call it good, but um, we’re talking about a guy who wants to associate himself with the Palin family, so I’ve decided there’s no other conclusion but the obvious: LEVI JOHNSTON CLEARLY READS STARTS WITH AN X!

Category: banter, men, pop culture, this happened | 8 Comments »

Next Page »