Sometimes Anal is a Good Thing

Though you will all agree that being anal is sometimes a drag, tonight I have proof that anal ROCKS! Let me share my tale of woe cum bliss. Sarah and I received a long awaited package: the new entertainment center I ordered. When it arrived early Saturday morning, it came in 6 massive boxes. So much for "some assembly required". That is the epitome of litotes (look it up). So we waited for the opportunity to bust out the dyke drill and get 'er done. Monday was the night. We busted open a box, and another, and another. After successful assembly, we called it a night - I finished the remains of her third vodka-and-whatever (my 4th). This evening we tackled the final two boxes. Mind you, instruction reading is our forte (and we gave the bottle of Sky a break tonight), so we had no troubles. Until the last screw was screwed. We realized that we had missed an "up" and one shelf looked a little freaky. I was good to go, having left my anal tendencies at the pharmacy door. Unmedicated Sarah on the other hand felt it just wouldn't do. I was irritated to say the least. In her idiot savant way she devised a plan to unscrew the Ken "cam"initti bolts and just flip the inner shelves. I assumed easier said than done. She is relentless in her pursuit of perfection and said that she'd do it with no involvement from me. I agreed and moved on to pumping up my Bosu ball - I can open a gym in the garage now. Anyway, let's just say she got 'er done and I apologize for doubting the anal bliss. JC, I know you're smiling now. And so are we because it's done and done well. Now I move into my anal problems of cardboard and recycling. Off to Edco for my weekly deposit of boxes.
More later. . . xo,
J

Private Dancer

So, I've succumbed to peer pressure and am writing my first freaking blog. Happy now, Jenn?

The thing is: Jenn has always been more of an extrovert than I. (I know, I know...a shocking confession.) I am the more private of the household, and the thought of miscellaneous strangers on the Internet peering into my life makes me a little cagey. But since we're only up to two loyal readers, I suppose I'll be a'ight.

And what's this business about me having always been the hipper one? More condescending and snarky...sure. Jenn was the one voted Best Dressed in high school. MAN, I wish I had a scanner. If I recall correctly there was a hip scarf and gold coins involved. (FYI, Jenn...call me a bitch proofreader again, and I'll have to make a trip to Kinkos with a copy of the Helix Tartan c. 1990.)


--S

BITCH PROOFREADER

Well the posting strike has already come to an END. Sarah is a fucking NAZI (she is German, so I am not at all shocked). As I fucking write this she has already deigned to correct my comma usage. Jesucristo, I haven't even gotten to the reason for the posting strike's end for fuck's sake. As I was spellchecking the LAST post, she was giving small "hints" a la - "use another l there or the word (that I made up, mind you) will be read as ma-hailed, rather than your intended ma'halled. IRRITATED. Does she not understand I feel the dumbest in this quad of readers/non-posters (Sarah, JC, NARL, me) and she is correcting me??? How will I ever have the balls to post again?

She'd like you all to know that she was not only DRUNK while able to correct my stellar grammar, Lou was also humping her leg. Multi-tasking much??

Gotta go cry. (And reconsider looking for a job as a technical writer) - she corrected this sentence too before it was perfected. I declined her edit. She's just about dead to me. And the least pure of the triad. At least she's a smart HO.
xo,J

Tonight's Festivities

So the baby girls are gone, my first night of freedom in two weeks, and Sarah and I are ready to party. It's a bit cold out, so we opt for a stay in night. I can't stop until the Taj Mahal is mahalled, if you will. So, I decide I must complete the tweaker pink paint job in my youngest daughter's room. So, the vodka is flowin' and so is the paint. After Tuesday night's disaster, I am taking the booze slow, Sarah not so much. I'm still gun shy after puking in the public restroom on company time. Anyway, as I reflect during my paint party, I realize that we all (my two readers and I) await Sarah's first post. Still waiting beeotch. Apparently she is playing the role of a teenage penis in its first voyage to the promise land. SCARED! (She's always been a bit hipper than I am, so I don't know what's up with this). My resolution? I may just have to go Gandhi on her ass and go on a posting strike until she gets her sweet little ass in gear (not gay, I swear). So brush your tears, you may not hear from me in a while as she is apparently stuck in the 20th, century that is.

I bid you adieu as I continue on my journey being the change I wish to see in others. Or whatever Gandhi had to say about that. It was a topical reference, NARL. That 's your first shout out, BIG BOI. :) xo,J

We feel a little gay (not that there's anything wrong with that)

Now, if you know Sarah or me at all, you know we are down with the gays. (Some of my best friends are gay - isn't that what everyone says?) Anyway, lately we've been doing some around the town stuff with the girls - dinner, shopping, etcetera. We are both convinced that we look like two mommys and that any day one of the girls will begin calling us Mama J and Mama S. Neither of us is particularly girly- I've the shoulders of a linebacker and the hips of a pre-pubescent boy. Sarah throws down with a cardigan and thinks she's the lipstick. But she is TALL. Either way, shopping for a bed for Sarah together at Pier 1 MV was the coup de gras. I knew it was going downhill fast when I inquired as to the availability of bed rails and the sales gal asked, "What size is the bed you sleep in?" I felt it necessary to shout out, "Hey Sarah, what size is YOUR mattress?"

Not sure she was convinced as I traipsed across the room in my wifebeater and bermudas. I'm just sayin'. Which leads me into my next blog...My Best Friend, My Dyke Drill.

xo, J

The Beginning

We had such good intentions last night when we decided to set up our blog. WE composed a beautiful intro, only to be shut down by a weak signal from Cox. So now the mood is gone. All I can say is that we decided to get hip and start a blog that will serve as a roadmap of our progress at Mewall and settling in as domestic "partners". I can't promise much - just an intimate view into the lives of two semi-cougars (JC claims we are Pumas at this early age - thank you JC, you always have my back) who are cohabitating in the most innocent sense, raising two crazy monkeys, a wayward bunny, and Lou, the Patriarch Pooch.

We have so much to fill you in on - we've been here nearly a month, and the adventures began with the first stroke of a paintbrush.