May 21, 2005

Andrew got all huffy when I tossed his scarf to the ground today. His scarf had, prior to the tossing, been neatly hanging in his closet. ON ITS OWN HANGAR. Scarves do not need to be tidily hung up on hangars. The very idea is intrinsically absurd. So I tossed it derisively to the floor. Commence huff. I pointed out that the hanging makes Andrew gay but the huffing over the toss makes him gayer. He huffed that he wasn't huffing, he merely could not understand my aversion to tidiness and order. I'm not averse to order, I just don't have time for it.

This is why gay men will never rule the world. Because they hang scarves on hangars? No, stupid kid in the back. Shut up. Because they get distracted by minute details on the way to the throne room. See, gay men are plenty smart enough to rule the world. They're cagey and intelligent (most of them - let's not stereotype here) and can coordinate daily outfits and have drive and ambition and what-have-you. But on the way to being crowned King of All the Known Universe, they'd notice that some yahoo subject had carelessly tossed a scarf to the ground, thus allowing a hangar to go unused in the great closet of life and would immediately set the terrible wrong right and therefore miss their coronation. See, straight men don't catch ANY details and gay men catch TOO MANY. Somewhere there is a happy medium. And no, the idea of a meterosexual ruling the world doesn't comfort me either. I was aiming for the answer "woman". A woman will one day rule the world while her wars are fought by hot sweaty rugged men and her closets are re-arranged by huffy gay men.

Andrew is going to object to this entire post but he maligned me in his journal by saying that my incessant babble was fundamentally distracting so I'm exacting my revenge here.

This scarf belongs on the floor. *waves hand in a Jedi fashion*
This is not the hangar you're looking for.

May 20, 2005

I just read Andrew the last entry starring him. Of all the things he could have said, he chose to say, "But isn't it nice? The pillow scent? It is nice, isn't it?"

I worry about my femininity sometimes. Or maybe more to the point I worry about his masculinity. Luckily we don't find the same guys attractive. He's into slightly awkward-looking slender creatures of muscle tone and smooth skin and, aside from pretty pretty pretty Orlando Bloom and Craig Parker as Haldir, I'm into rugged manly men who could either break into a sweat or grunt at any given moment. Like Marton. Only he doesn't ACTUALLY sweat and grunt, he only ACTS like he's sweating and grunting. And looks all rugged and sexy doing so. MmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMarton..... *fades away* Where the hell was I going with this?

Right, Andrew.

Anyhow, we like different guys. I also noted that he hasn't fragranced my pillow since that first night I moved in and he said, slightly huffily (he'll protest my usage of that particular word but I stand by my choice of adjective here), "I figured you knew where the spray was so you could get it if you wanted it."

I love this man! I do.

May 18, 2005

Sometimes I just have to say, "Fuck YES I rule!"

In a totally unrelated story, there is scent all over this room. Andrew is a better girl than I am, for godsakes. I told him that the first day I moved in. He fussed over changing the sheets (to a matching lavendar set), tucked in all the blankets, smoothed the top coverlet, and then sprayed fragrance on my pillow. I was agape. I said, "Dude, I would've just crashed on the floor. I mean I'm the intruder here." He replied, firmly and in a tone that left no room for argument, "You're not an intruder, you're my guest. And you will NOT sleep on the floor, you'll sleep in my bed. I'll sleep on the floor. And of COURSE you'll have clean sheets. And this scent is my own mixture. It's for vitality of complexion and also relaxation." I blinked. "Dude," I said again, eloquently, "you're making me feel so MASCULINE." Luckily he laughed. But seriously, PILLOW SCENT? In all my years of womanhood I have never voluntarily made my bed with lavendar sheets or considered the virtures of a relaxation spray for pillows.

Andrew also sleeps with the window open. Because he cannot abide staleness. Fresh air is the elixir of life or something like that. He also likes throwing the curtains open to receive light in the morning. As a vampire who likes to curl in the fetal position away from every possible ray of light and who never ever on pain of undeath opens a window because fresh air is like razor blades on the skin, this poses a problem. Hence we arrive at that other "c" word: compromise. I pull my Leggy blanket over my head and face the wall and he only opens the window part way and waits till after nine to part the curtains. Then as soon as he goes to work I shut everything up into crypt-like closeness again.

Did I mention I fucking RULE? *knocks on wood* Can't say too much, too much. Don't want to jinx it. More on my ability to kick life's ass later. Just know that I am, to quote the book Skotty and Shannie gave me, QUEEN OF FUCKING EVERYTHING right now.

Go me!