Man if only my special one were with me now, I could spend days talking about the glory of my matrimony at the I LOVE MY WIFE CONFERENCE. Apparently God (not my god/dess, but the one with the beard and the smiting and whatnot) wants you to do marriage a certain way, and then get together with a bunch of other happily marrieds and talk about the grandeur of their joyous unions with their righteous wifeys.
For realz.
Not only that, but they made a day just for lovin' on your little legally bound muffin: October 15 is "I love my wife day". Now I doubt I'd be welcome at the con, and I know everybody loves to hate on the forced attention and emphasis of love-related holidays (as one parent of a friend, long un-married to his life partner said: "I don't need the man to tell me that I'm in love"), personally I believe that the wives of the world probably need a little more love and attention, and don't give a shit that such a thing calls attention to my wifelessness. In short, screw the wackjobs, but I think their "I love my wife day" is a sweet idea.
I may also be a wackjob though, depending on who you ask.
Showing posts with label wifey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wifey. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Lactose, Legal and 'Lyst Free
Well good ol' snake-loving redheaded ice cream scooper never wrote back.
Neither did the hot cop (!?) who elicited dazed tingles from the top of my pigtailed head up and down my peace loving, hippie skirt clad body to the rings on my toes in the produce section of Trader Joe's. I know... a cop!? Who knew? But it's cool; she's exempt because:
A. She is the Capulet to my anti-authoritarian Montague, cop love would be so star-crossed for me I'd need the Enterprise to get me to a date.
B. Well, we just looked at each other. She never actually got any information with which to write me in the first place.
Nor did the gorgeous queer writer from LA, who though male-bodied could totally pull-off some sick bastardization of wifehood. Which would be great by me. I think we'd make a gorgeous Todd Haynes flick. (And now that gays can get married in CA, he and I could even make it legal!) But he's famous and lives in L.A. so he's also exempt. Plus he *did* give me a free copy of his book and a spontaneous hug upon first meeting, so I feel pretty special about all that already.
Anyhoo, the good news is, I'm actually kind of trying. I took a little winter slug break from ye olde wifey chase, but now; well I may not be back in the saddle exactly, but I'm at least in the stable and giving some of the horses the eye.
Yee-haw.
Neither did the hot cop (!?) who elicited dazed tingles from the top of my pigtailed head up and down my peace loving, hippie skirt clad body to the rings on my toes in the produce section of Trader Joe's. I know... a cop!? Who knew? But it's cool; she's exempt because:
A. She is the Capulet to my anti-authoritarian Montague, cop love would be so star-crossed for me I'd need the Enterprise to get me to a date.
B. Well, we just looked at each other. She never actually got any information with which to write me in the first place.
Nor did the gorgeous queer writer from LA, who though male-bodied could totally pull-off some sick bastardization of wifehood. Which would be great by me. I think we'd make a gorgeous Todd Haynes flick. (And now that gays can get married in CA, he and I could even make it legal!) But he's famous and lives in L.A. so he's also exempt. Plus he *did* give me a free copy of his book and a spontaneous hug upon first meeting, so I feel pretty special about all that already.
Anyhoo, the good news is, I'm actually kind of trying. I took a little winter slug break from ye olde wifey chase, but now; well I may not be back in the saddle exactly, but I'm at least in the stable and giving some of the horses the eye.
Yee-haw.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Momma says....
Today during a scattered phone conversation with my mother she suggested I find someone (i.e. a partner) I can "do things with", in other words collaborate. Well, gee, why hadn't I thought of that? This whole time I've been hoping for a mate, but I should've been hoping for a mate *and* a co-producer. This is like the apple of knowledge as far as I'm concerned, most tantalizing and most terrifying. It's like the dirty fantasy I can't even really admit to myself I have.
Oh, what of the potential emotional carnage!? It's best not to envision. At this point, I will be pleased as punch if I find a nice wifey and some artist types who want to work with me and leave the rest up to.....well hopefully something with a good sense of humor.
On that note, I am jealous of and impressed as fuck by The Wasteland Comedy Hour, with T.S. Elliot which was directed last winter by my friend Jason in Boston. I always get a little envious when I see groups of collaborators that obviously work tremendously well together.
Someday, my collaboratrices will come.
Oh, what of the potential emotional carnage!? It's best not to envision. At this point, I will be pleased as punch if I find a nice wifey and some artist types who want to work with me and leave the rest up to.....well hopefully something with a good sense of humor.
On that note, I am jealous of and impressed as fuck by The Wasteland Comedy Hour, with T.S. Elliot which was directed last winter by my friend Jason in Boston. I always get a little envious when I see groups of collaborators that obviously work tremendously well together.
Someday, my collaboratrices will come.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Little Songs
I am a little song maker-upper and without a doubt a little song singer. I remember little songs composed as far back as high school. My deepest, most influential loves have been little song singers too, as love is the true medium of the little song; it generally requiring a light, open, fool-happy heart and an appreciative audience to fall to the ground in hysterics. I do make up little songs out-of-love, or outside the direct presence of love, but generally those songs are to and about myself; darker and less shareable. Rev. Dr. Splashy Pants and I have been singing some of the same little songs for years. Other little songs invented, altered or customized, will forever bring on a fond reminiscence of a once or always beloved. Little songs are always from the best of times, even amidst the worst of times, even the bad relationships can breed little songs full of joy. If I can't remember why I ever put up with that jerk; if I *can* remember them singing a little song, my heart immediately tenderizes with a blushing "awww", and *then* I can remember why I put up with that jerk.
So most likely my wifey in potentia will be a little song creatrix and warbler when found firm in the flesh. A little song about a phone, or a friend, or our favorite shared beverage. A little song about yoga, a little song about peeing. A little song about a trip, or a street, or the time one of us (probably me) was late. A little song to greet the moon, or wake you up, or mock your boss. A little song to bring unstoppable tears of laughter to Rev. Dr. Splashy-Pant's eyes, and encourage him to encourage me to dance the naked hoochie-coo. (And tell you the story about how unhelpful I was at helping him attain employment when we first moved here.) A little song about our bed, our cat (can we have a cat!?) and the kitchen while we cook. I look so forward to finding our little songs together, to teaching you the songs from my past, to telling you all the stories that dangle from the little songs' noses, to kissing you after you humor my storytelling, to one day introducing you to people you already know through their songs and stories.
A little song for you, dear one, made up on the spot:
Wifey Wifey, put down that knifey,
its time for love!
Oh that's what you meant!
I see you're bent!
and that must be
why_I _call_ you_
Wifey! Wifey!
You make my lifey
so very happy
when I feel crappy
you dance and kiss me and say you missed me!
Wifey Wifey, whee whee whee!
So most likely my wifey in potentia will be a little song creatrix and warbler when found firm in the flesh. A little song about a phone, or a friend, or our favorite shared beverage. A little song about yoga, a little song about peeing. A little song about a trip, or a street, or the time one of us (probably me) was late. A little song to greet the moon, or wake you up, or mock your boss. A little song to bring unstoppable tears of laughter to Rev. Dr. Splashy-Pant's eyes, and encourage him to encourage me to dance the naked hoochie-coo. (And tell you the story about how unhelpful I was at helping him attain employment when we first moved here.) A little song about our bed, our cat (can we have a cat!?) and the kitchen while we cook. I look so forward to finding our little songs together, to teaching you the songs from my past, to telling you all the stories that dangle from the little songs' noses, to kissing you after you humor my storytelling, to one day introducing you to people you already know through their songs and stories.
A little song for you, dear one, made up on the spot:
Wifey Wifey, put down that knifey,
its time for love!
Oh that's what you meant!
I see you're bent!
and that must be
why_I _call_ you_
Wifey! Wifey!
You make my lifey
so very happy
when I feel crappy
you dance and kiss me and say you missed me!
Wifey Wifey, whee whee whee!
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