- Go away for the weekend.
- Buy manfriend an awkward shirt.
- Be really proud of yourself.
- Instruct manfriend to photograph himself wearing awkward shirt.
- Receive grainy phone photo from manfriend (iPhone cameras are great, my ass)
- Dick around with photo and apply many Photoshop filters that you aren’t quite sure about.
- Share with world.
I’m watching Lindsay and her sister Emily watch HBO’s “True Blood” and it is the saddest/most adorable thing I’ve ever witnessed, because I think this show is ridiculously bad, but I also think Lindsay is ridiculously cute. Apparently, I don’t have my finger on the pulse of what young, attractive 20-something women want to watch on TV. If you had told me that this hunk of corn-laced poo would be popular, I would have called you liar. Vampires & werewolves in a Louisiana swamp…AND there are love stories! Holy Jumpin’ Jesus! “Stop drillin’, we’ve hit oil!” I guess lighting can strike twice. Remember how people made fun of Star Trek fans? Those people just believed in space travel; not blood sucking vampires and their issues with monogamy, the dark lords of the underworld, and how difficult it is to find a nice blood type to drink.
This is an incredibly dramatic story of heartache, technology, violence, premarital sex, and drug use.
Actually, its boring and may have happened to you….
Lindsay: After about a month of dating, I didn’t hear from Jay for three days. That is what this story is about. As I’m sure you’ll be shocked to hear, Jay and I had different opinions about what this meant. At this point in our “relationship” (do you call it that after a month?) we’d been seeing a lot of each other but weren’t “official,” yet Jay had started calling me his girlfriend to his family and friends. He liked the word and liked me. I liked him but was scared of the word.
Jay: The word “girlfriend” sounds nice. It implies so much, like, “I’m a winner” and “I get to see her naked.” It just makes your heart feel good to say that word. However, at no point does that word make me want to call/text small talk to a person I don’t really know that well yet. Plus, I’m a rebel. Isn’t there a rule about waiting 3 days to call anyway? I’m almost positive of that.
Lindsay: So, the weekend began and I heard nothing. Now, Jay works on the weekends and I work during the week, so I had figured that I might not see him. However, once someone starts calling me their girlfriend I expect that 1. If I’m not going to hear from them I’ll know about it in advance and 2. If they’re on their couch with their dog playing video games they can take 30 seconds to text me and say they’re thinking about me. I’m picky that way.
Jay: Now I know how picky Lindsay is. However, at the time I was under the assumption that she was not picky(HA) and needed “Me Time” like I was enjoying. Boy, have I learned a lesson! (Also, let the record show that I did call her. However, it was when she and her sister were in a bar and it was loud and I got off the phone quickly because bar conversations are horrible to yell through a cell phone.)
Lindsay: After three days of radio/phone/text/Facebook silence, I begin to become mildly irate (to put it nicely). WHY would Jay put me through the trauma of being called a girlfriend if he wasn’t prepared to act like a boyfriend? He was the one that wanted to be “together,” and after feeling rushed into THAT I now felt uncared for and unimportant, like an afterthought that was handy to have around, but only when it was convenient for Jay.
I tend to get a little bit dramatic when things don’t go my way.
My girlfriends said I should wait until he contacted me so he’d think I was having an amazingly fabulous weekend with so many fun things to do that I didn’t even have time to think about him. This was the conclusion after hours of hashing and rehashing every single minute detail that had occurred between us since the day we met. What had I done wrong? Had I misunderstood? Did he think he was a large black woman and wasn’t calling me his girlfriend, but merely “girlfriend?” I was at a loss. A sad loss.
Men, don’t be alarmed that girls talk about you lots with their bffs. In fact, be grateful, they’re doing you a huge favor. I believe that for every “issue” a girl has, she has a required amount of discussion time for that issue. What to wear on Friday night, for example, might require 30 minutes of discussion time. What to do about the issue of whether or not to tell you that yes, she really does care that you still talk to all three of your Playboy-model-looking exes on a regular basis might take 5 or 6 hours to hash out. Suppose she talks to her bff about this for 4 hours. That only leaves you 1-2 hours of discussion time on the topic. THANK YOU BEST FRIEND! It’s math. Be thankful. The end. …
Callie is a great dog – if you ask Lindsay. If you ask me, Callie has minor personality flaws that stem from being the product of a broken home and having a mother that works full time. You mix that with the fact that she isn’t a pure bred Labrador (unlike my dog, Jake), and you’ve got a whole other mess of issues that even Cesar Milan couldn’t work through. However, Callie is a sweet dog. She’s got a good heart and means well. The only time I really get agitated with her is when she whines in the morning to be let outside. I just want her to be like Jake. Jake will silently sit in the corner until I wake up and then wait for me to ask him, “Wanna go outside?” But, not everyone’s dog can be rescued from an abusive family like mine was. Jake has the self-esteem of a woman from the Lifetime Channel and I love that about him.
Shortly after Lindsay and I started dating she spent the night in Clemson in order to cut down on the travel between work and school. She left for work bright and early and left me to take care of the dogs. My inner stay-at-home-mom reared her ugly head and I got motivated to clean house. This happens about twice a year. I got out the vacuum cleaner and proceeded to start vacuuming. No dog likes the sound of a vacuum. Jake hates it and does the normal thing of simply walking into the next room. As soon as I turned the vacuum on Callie went bonkers. She froze with a look on her face that said, “Hey, does no one else hear Satan’s army marching towards us all right now? We’re screwed people! Run for your lives!” She bolted towards the bedroom scared out of her mind. Because I am an ass and found this hilarious, I may or may not have run after her with the vacuum cleaner. Anywho, I finished vacuuming the living room and headed towards the bedroom. I got to the doorway and that’s when I saw Callie crouched in the corner shaking like an addict with DT’s. For a split second I felt sorry for the dog, but that feeling quickly vanished.
Before I realized what was going on Callie sprang into action. Like a bullet from a gun she pounced and headed right for me. Now, I’m standing squarely in the doorway. I maybe have 6 – 8 inches of space on either side of me. Callie leaped into the air (at full speed, mind you), and attempted her Great Escape. That is when the shit, literally hit the wall. She decided to try and pass me on the inside when her momentum was stopped by my left leg and door jam. Her hind-end whipped around and slammed against the wall, where upon impact she vacated her bowels. She sprayed a stream of shit against my wall that I’d say was a good 5 feet long. Oh, but it didn’t stop there. If you’ll remember Sir Issac Newton’s claim, “every action has an equal and opposite reaction,” you’ll know what happens next. “Look out boys it’s comin’ back around!” Her ass recoiled from the violent whiplash it had just incurred and now faced my chest and legs. Unfortunately, her asshole was still wide open and still in the process of poo’ing. I got covered in a healthy, liquid shit-mist from my navel to my knees. Much like a citizen of Iraq, I was in full Shock and Awe.
You know that reaction we all have when we smell dog shit? Well, I almost broke my neck due to the violent dry heaving that instinctually kicked in. I start jumping up and down and waving my hands like a schoolgirl that has just witnessed Miley Cyrus getting shot in the face. I did the only thing that makes sense to me at the time: I removed my shorts and started freaking out in a half naked, penis flapping, shit-stained daze. I called Lindsay at work hoping to gain some sort of support.
At this point in the story, Lindsay would like to recount her version of the Call of Doom. Let’s all remember that it is 10:30 on a Tuesday morning and Lindsay is working and not expecting calls from anyone.
Lindsay: Hi, how are you?
Jay: Uh, I’ve been better!
Lindsay: Oh no, what’s wrong?
Jay: Um, Callie is afraid of the vacuum.
Lindsay: I know that, and so do you.
Jay: Well, she just had diarrhea all over my house.
Lindsay: WHAT?!? What did you DO to her?!?! Is the ok?!!?!
Jay: Nothing! It was the vacuum! She’s outside on the porch right now travelling down a shame spiral, and I’m doing NOTHING to make her feel better.
Lindsay: Ok, well, I can leave in half an hour and come help you clean up. I’m so sorry!
Jay: Its not your fault, I just needed to tell someone. Well, I’m a shit-covered bald man naked from the waist down, and I’m kind of scared, so I should go.
Lindsay could not have been more helpful. She volunteered to leave work and help me clean up her dog’s ass residue. However, when she found out that I was half naked, and covered in shit, she lost it and started laughing in my ear. We both started laughing and that’s when I knew I could really start calling in favors and hang this over her head for quite sometime. I’ve gotten some good mileage out of Callie crapping on me, but it also let me know that Lindsay is the type of person I love…one who laughs at others’ misery and misfortune, but is happy to help get you out of said misfortune. It’s a great quality to find in a human being.
There is no good way to wrap this story up. I got pooped on. It was horrible. I still resent Callie for doing it. I’m glad I got a good story out of it though.
Oh, hi! I’m glad you’re here. If you aren’t bored of reading about Jay yet (I’m not, either), now you get to hear about me.
I do lots of things. There’s no other way to put that. I don’t do any of them particularly well, but I love singing, cooking, dancing, entertaining, and, these days, hot yoga. I love that A LOT. I’ll tell you all about it sometime and why you should do it too and make your body all sexified. Besides the things I like to do, I also work at a Corporate Computer Company, produce singing competitions, and am a student working towards becoming a therapist. Those things are fun too. We’ll talk about them later, if you want. My workplace has lots of incidents that make us great candidates for the reality version of “The Office,” so it’s never dull.
Apparently Jay and I met at lunch one day last fall in Clemson. I barely remember this. I barely remember anything, as a general rule. I DO remember a man that I didn’t know there carrying an absolutely ridiculous and horrifyingly unstylish doctor’s bag. I made fun of it. I remember that. Interestingly, said bag makes its way into my house lots of weekends, and I’ve never said anything about it until now. If it one night gets covered in peanut butter and the next morning the dogs have chewed it to shreds, well, then, you can’t really control dogs, can you? I had actually seen Jay perform in Greenville a few years prior, and he was moderately funny. I laughed a little, so that’s a good sign. On the way back from lunch my coworker/friend Austin told me things he knew about Jay and the other guys there since I only knew one of them. Austin drives a BMW and doesn’t ever carry a doctor’s bag, but he’s a butthead (sorry dude, you know it’s true). I blame the car.
So, we met. And then, a few months later, we met again, through Jay’s bff/life partner (Jay, do you think Adam knows we’re talking about him here?), who I went out with once. I’ll tell you all about that some other time. Luckily, Jay’s bff liked me SO much that he decided to save me for his best friend Jay (I just know it), and never called me again. So, Jay and I met, had some drinks in Clemson when I was there for work or school, talked a lot, laughed a lot, talked some more, laughed some more, and started spending lots of time together. I loved how easy it was for us to be together and how much we had in common. It took me awhile to catch on to the fact that he was interested in me, but I was super psyched when I figured it out, for several reasons. 1. He’s cute. 2. He’s funny. 3. I wanted to kiss him, and that’s weird if the other person doesn’t like you that way. Immediately after we started telling our friends that we were together, everyone informed me that he was/is Atheist, which is mildly problematic for a girl who spends lots of free time at church singing and worshiping and fellowshipping. But, due to the three aforementioned reasons I ignored them and we started dating. We’ve had some…issues…separations…fights….breakups…and other road blocks, but we like each other enough that we’re working through it, due to the three aforementioned reasons that have now been mentioned thrice.
So now we’re together and navigating lots of changes in our lives that we’ll bore you with on another day. We think we’re pretty great together, and I appreciate that he puts up with my nagging, crazy-girl episodes, drunk texting, and general bossiness. I bring very little to the table other than the ability to test someone’s anger management, so I’m glad he’s put up with me this long.
We’re going to Asheville this weekend to see some comedy friends, so I’m sure we’ll have lots to tell you when we get back.