Things My Mother Sends Me, Part 2

A phone call:

Troy: Hey, what's up? Where are you?

Me: On my way back from the courthouse. Want to know what I have in my briefcase right now? I'll give you 3 guesses.

Troy: Underwear.

Me: [silent]

Troy: Well?

Me: The game wasn't supposed to be that easy.

Russ, Interrupted

Troy and I took a quick roadtrip over the weekend to go to a friend's wedding. A few hours into the trip, we swung through Troy's hometown to say hi to his parents. We walked in the back door and Troy yelled down the stairs to the basement.

Troy: Hi Dad!

Troy's Dad: Hey there!

Me: Hi Russ!

Troy's Dad: Uh-oh.

The situation became immediately clear.
Interrupted: Naked Saturday.

Her lovin' is a wild dog, she's got the look.

Moments after he announced to me and Brad that being on the State Fair Board is "like Heaven," Troy's mood turned. He was beside himself.

"Heather and Cory had sex on my couch on New Year's Eve." He seemed certain that the catastrophe had occurred.

"Eww. How do you know?" we asked.

"Alissa told me." He said, disgusted and shaking his head. "Can you believe that?"

"Wow. So Heather told Alissa that it happened?"

"Well, yes. She indicated it."

"Indicated it?" Brad clarified. "How did Heather indicate to Alissa that she had sex with Cory on your couch on New Year's Eve."

"A wayward glance."

Well then. That settles it.

My Brand New House. Well, not mine exactly.

My friend Troy and his boyfriend bought their first house last night. Troy's default position is something in the grumpy-27-year-old-curmudgeon category, so the ear-to-ear grin that he wore for several hours was really something to see.

The house. is. awesome. It's in a funky, liberal, historic neighborhood close to downtown. His backyard has a stream, pond, AND waterfall, and the upstairs bathroom has...wait for it...a bidet. God only knows what he and his boyfriend will use that for.

My favorite thing might be that the house has a library. Not just a room with lots of books. But a library with aisles of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. His offer on the house has only been accepted for about 20 hours, and I've already worn out all the jokes I can think of involving Mrs. Peacock and a candlestick. I need to work on something new. If only the house had a conservatory. And some rope.

I saw the inside of the house for the first time today. The good news: It looks like your rich grandma's mansion. The bad news: It looks like your rich, crazy grandma's mansion. You know...your grandma who has 13 cats, a banjo, and who drops acid before she picks out her wallpaper. (Troy...don't get upset. I love it love it love it. Let's just take care of those metallic/pheasant-loving/flowered walls sooner rather than later).

Anyway, gotta run. I have to meet Professor Plum. He apparently needs to borrow a wrench.

Oh, and congratulations, Troy & Eric. I think you (we) will be really happy together in your (our) new house.

I suppose it's possible.

A friend of mine suffered a minor romantic setback on Friday. Troy heard the news and groaned, "Oh god...now tonight is gonna be all about her, isn't it? Anything we have to say is going to turn into something about her not having a boyfriend."

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe."

"Like if I announce that my mom died today in a horrible corncrib accident, she'll say: 'My love life is a horrible corncrib accident.'"

SuperFat Tuesday

I like numbers. Numbers and math are good. Quantifiable goals are even better. But my favorite: ranking things. Making lists in order...best to worst...favorite to least favorite...tasks of the utmost importance all the way down to those that I will never do. Never ever.

My claim that I can think of 1,000 places more magical than Disney World was once challenged, so I started to make a list. When I got to #264, I became exhausted and started making paper snowflakes. It is no coincidence that "make paper snowflakes" was #264 on the list.

Yesterday was Super Tuesday (and also Fat Tuesday), an important election milestone for those who are into that sort of thing. I'm into that sort of thing, to an extent. Three of my friends are enormously into that sort of thing. Hence, a gathering was planned. Two of those friends showed up. The third - Troy - did not. Towards the end of the evening, after he'd received a few sassy text messages from me, he called to let us know that he probably wasn't going to make it, because he had FIVE parties to go to that night. (Troy works in the office of a government official. A pretty important government official.)

While I didn't like it that Troy wasn't there, I DID appreciate that he provided me with a rank...a number. Though perhaps not his intent, Troy ranked our party 5th out of 5 parties. On SuperFat Tuesday, we were 5th on his list of 5 places to be.

I wish I could always be assigned a rank. I like to know exactly where I stand. Everyone could do it. For example, my mother might provide me with a list of things, in order, that displease her today:

1 - Unfortunate Lawyer's hair
2 - Unfortunate Lawyer's clothes
3 - Lack of grandchildren
4 - The price of soybeans per bushel

Will feelings get hurt with my new system? Perhaps. But I still think it's best to know exactly where you stand...even when you're 5th.