There is a lot going on in the world of Julz, not the least of which is that Rick’s sister is in the hospital. Her cancer came back, and then she came down with pneumonia and sepsis on top of it. She is not doing well, and my thoughts are in Massachusetts with her and the family. If you could send your good vibes that direction, too, I’d appreciate it.
Category: Rick
Julie: So is it wrong that after I had a pelvic exam I was thinking of you?
Rick: Um………….I hope that the pelvic exams I give you are more pleasant than the one the gynecologist just gave you.
Julie: Definitely.
Rick: Okay then.
There are no pictures of Rhinebeck here today because…well, Rick and I went to our favorite Mexican place in the city and our friend Sergio is now head of waitstaff and made sure our margaritas were strong. And then he got us free shots of pineapple tequila. We love Sergio.
Conversation with Rick this morning about my matching yellow bra and unders (I never ever have matching undies. I basically make sure the that bra isn’t going to show through the shirt I’m wearing and grab whatever unders my hand meets first in the drawer.):
Rick: Wow, that’s nice! You look kinda like a banana. (Realizes that this is not, in fact, a compliment, and tries to rectify it.) You know…in my imagination.
Julie: That is so not sexy. That is perhaps the least sexy comparison I’ve ever heard. Bananas are not sexy.
Rick: Well, you look like a hot banana!
Yes, because that made it all better. I only wish I could blog the earnest look on his face as he said this, trying to make amends.
Rick and I spent an unholy amount of time this weekend flipping back and forth between VH1 Classic and Fuse. On VH1, we found Metal Mania, where I could relive my misspent youth. (I know he was awed that I still remember all the words to “I Remember You,” and I’m pretty sure he was impressed that I still have Warrant’s Cherry Pie on cassette. Try as I might, I could not lay hands on Poison’s Flesh and Blood. It has to be around somewhere, I would not have thrown that gem out.) On Fuse, we found a treasure trove of catchy songs and Rick learned about emo (he saw his first My Chemical Romance video). I have been alternating between singing MCR’s “Teenagers” and Killswitch Engage’s cover of “Holy Diver” all morning.
What did we learn? That music videos are still completely overblown. But now they can do the overblowing with computers and it doesn’t look like the video cost $5 to make. Ah, technology.
Rick puts toilet paper on the roll so that the end of the roll hangs down the back. I put toilet paper on the roll in the correct way, so that the end hangs down the front and is easy to access. When we’re at his house, I play by his rules and don’t say anything about the bass-ackwards way the toilet paper hangs, and at my house, he should respect my superior toilet paper replacement skills and leave well enough alone.
I came home the other night to find a new toilet paper roll had been placed on the holder, and after I was done with my business and replaced the damn thing correctly, I confronted the boy.
“Okay, one, who the hell taught you to replace toilet paper?” I asked, because subtlety has never been my strong suit, and maybe he didn’t know how much it irritated me before that. “The flap goes in the front. And two, did you not see that I stuck a four pack of toilet paper under the sink for you to use?” (This much was clear, he hadn’t. The stuff under the sink is our first foray into recycled toilet paper, and the stuff hanging on the roll was still Quilted Northern, obviously gotten from the hall closet.)
Rick gave me a “What are you talking about?” look and went back to fixing his tea. No more was said about it, and the next morning after he’d gone off to play golf, I find out the bastard has flipped the toilet paper again just to be contrary. I flipped it back, not to be contrary, but because it’s my house and I am right. And even if I weren’t right? It’s still my house. War is on, people, even if we laughed about it on the phone later.
And seriously, how do two people go through toilet paper so much faster than one person? Is there some obscure law of physics that covers this? What the hell?
Rick: We could go to Nova Scotia.
Julie: I’d like to go there. And Prince Edward Island.
Rick: I have no interest in going there. It seems too touristy.
Julie: I want to go see the Anne of Green Gables house.
Rick: Wait, that story was on Prince Edward Island?
Julie: Yes…
Rick: I thought that was in France.
Julie: No.
Rick: I thought the movie was just Americanized.
Julie: Dude, Gilbert say “I’m soorry, Anne!” They said “aboot”!
Rick: Oh. Soorry.
I don’t know which one of us comes off stupider in this conversation – Rick for thinking Anne of Green Gables was set in France, or me for my Anne liking.
Last weekend, Rick and I went to the grocery store to pick up something for a barbecue at his cousin’s house. Vanilla Ice came on the grocery radio. Rick started bopping his way through the produce section. I laughed at him.
Rick: “I can’t help it, I have to walk like this when this kind of music comes on. Why don’t you?”
Julie: “I dunno, maybe because I’m not a dork?”
…I was riding the bus into work when I got a call on my cell from an actor who had played Custer in the reading I coordinated two days before. He and I had hit it off at the bar we all went to after the reading, so I agreed to go to see a movie with him. Five years ago this evening, we saw that horrendous movie (Mel Gibson’s “Signs”), then went back to his place and made out.
Last night when we were awake in the wee small hours of the morning, he told me that the first date make out session (which was totally uncharacteristic of me) went a long way towards getting him to ask me out for a second date. I hit him when he said that. He laughed.
That actor of course was Rick. Because our anniversary always falls smack in the middle of the Youngest’s time at circus camp in Massachusetts, I rarely see him on our anniversary. He called me out of the blue late yesterday afternoon to tell me he was on his way to see me, and he would probably have to leave in the middle of the night so he could get back to Massachusetts in time to take the Youngest to camp, but at least we could have some time together. I was happily surprised, to say the least.
Happy Anniversary to the best man I know, the one who can always make me laugh, the one who infuriates me at times but always knows how to get back on my good side, the one who is equally good at the physical, emotional, and intellectual sides of our relationship, the one whose knowledge, combined with mine, encompasses everything in the world. Five years together, Weet Boy. How the hell did that happen? However we managed it, I’m glad we did. I love you more than Mr. Darcy, Doctor Who, and Harry Potter books combined, and we all know that’s saying something.
Because that’s what I am lately: peripatetic. On journeys to and fro. Friday night Rick and I drove up to Woodstock, Saturday morning we drove to Pittsfield, yesterday we drove home, tomorrow night I will take the bus back to Pittsfield, and Friday afternoon we’ll drive back to the city. I’m starting to feel like a bit of a gypsy, but on the whole it’s worth it. This weekend we brought Maynard (Jeffrey’s ancient cat) back to Pittsfield, which is going to be Rick’s base of operations from this point forward. Maynard is happy to be home, although he keeps walking in and out of rooms like “What the fuck, man, where did all the furniture go? Am I in the right room? Where’s my couch?”. Little kitty, your furniture got pitched because it smelled of centuries of smoke, and we have not yet moved Rick’s in. The set up we have now reminds me a lot of college, actually. Big freakin’ TV, and a couple of dining room chairs.
Wednesday is Rick’s birthday, so I am making a huge demonstration of how much I love him by taking a 4+ hour bus trip from New York City to Pittsfield. It’s basically the milk run, stopping at every little hamlet on the way. After a half day at work, a subway trip into Manhattan, and a 4+ hour bus trip, I think my ass will feel like I have drown roots by the time the bus pulls in at 9:20 tomorrow night. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. Happy birthday, honey!