“No minority should have their rights subject to the passions and sentiments of the majority.” – Mayor Cory Booker
I am slowly (or quickly?) being convinced to move to New Jersey. Althought people drive fast as hell there, one good looking’, well spoken Mayor is little by little convincing me that New Jersians are just made of proper, American stuff!
We all know Mayor Cory Booker don’t shy away from no raging inferno. So back in January, in sure Booker fashion, when he was asked his opinion no marriage equality. He sure didn’t shy away from speaking his mind!
Boy oh boy! Cory Booker is make of PROPER American stuff. You know that stuff, that thick red, white and blue stuff that separates the Patriots from the pawns. I sure am proud of him. New Jersey is looking better and better.
Either we have one badass poltergeist, or Appa is up to his tricks again. (And since I don’t believe in ghosts, I am inclined to believe the latter. Plus, this poltergeist made clever use of scotch tape!) I came home to find my husband lounging comfortably on the couch surrounded by this*.
The sodas, the pickle relish, the mayonnaise, no lid was safe!
My house is a perpetual physical comedy act.
I just never know when someone is going to jump out from the shadows and propel my heart toward my brain. Like the other day when my alarm went off. I reached over to turn it off. It was a nice morning with the sun and chirping birds and the such. Until – AAAAARGH!!!! – up pops a monster from under my bed. Not a monster, per se, by my precious husband scaring me awake. There’s also the time he changed his alarm clock ring to a barn owl sound. (Seriously, I thought the cat was dying.) Trust me, that’s not the best way to start a morning.
When I met my husband – boyfriend then – I was wise to the tricks men typically like to play with the ladies. And I wasn’t having any of it. I like to think he got lucky – right time, right place, perfect amount of cuteness. Early in our relationship, he spent most nights at my apartment before we finally moved to cohabitation. After he (finally) proposed to me, he admitted that he had been playing a trick on me ever since the day we met.
Lid over-tightening. He didn’t go out of his way to crank down all the lids in my house. No. He’d only do it at his convenience. You see, every time he would get some jar or bottle from my refrigerator and put it back, he would twist the lid down as fast as his strong hands could manage. I remember being home one evening and trying to open a 2-liter of Sprite. I tried and tried to open it. I even tried one of those rubber grippy pads. But alas, to my utter disappointment, I had to put the bottle back.
When my (now) husband next came to visit, I can imagine his smug satisfaction in helping me open my prize. He probably knew that such “good deeds” would solidify my image of him as a manly man – able to open sticky lids with a single squeeze! The sodas, the pickle relish, the mayonnaise, no lid was safe!
These are the long-term tricks he plays. The lid tightening has ceased. But now he has turned to another trick – picture tipping. If you come visit my house, you may notice that several pictures are very crooked. Obviously crooked – like we live in some Dali-esque space. I caught him red handed, “adjusting” my art as he was brushing his teeth. But he still denies any involvement in this tipping scheme.
To my pleasure, he is not all mean tricks. Every time I travel alone he sneaks Badtz Maru in to tag along with me. He says Badtz is my protector. At least there’s one trick I’m okay with.