Mr Fixit

I have to start by giving props to Boyfriend. He bought me a smoothie for each hand. Good Boyfriend.

Sometimes it is best not to notice things. Generally, I live by the rule of not noticing anything. It's for the best because once you pay attention, you're usually one of two things: bored or driven insane which leads to She-Hulking. I RAGE! I DO NOT RIP OFF MY SHIRT LIKE BRUCE BANNER! Bruce Banner, yeah? Don't answer that, I don't care. Not too long ago, within the last few days...definitely within the last week, Muse was telling me about how she started adding up the cost of all of her makeup. That is a terrible game. Her story crept into my head when I was trying to pick out which shoes I would wear to brunch. I saw the massive stack of shoe boxes, and before I knew it, Muse had me wandering down a terrible path. I grabbed my abacus and got comfortable for a long afternoon. Adding up dollars in footwear doesn't bring the money back, it does however make me realize how many awesome pairs of shoes I own. It's never good to know more, whoever invented the phrase, "Knowledge is Power" was obviously a blissful idiot.

In our rinky-dink apartment Boyfriend and I both have our roles. I am the thinker and Boyfriend is the do-er. I conceptualize and he does the lifting or building or repairing or what have you. It's like I'm God and he's Noah. Yes? Maybe I'm mistaken. It would be fun to have two of every animal though. Well, the good animals, yes to baby chickens and no to anything that can rip my arms off my body. Plus, you know when those baby chickens become not-cute, squawking, pecking asshole birds, you can eat them. I suppose the same could be said for an evil gorilla, but that's not guaranteed to taste good. I'm sorry, what is the story of Noah's Ark? Meh, I'm over it.

I've been home a lot more lately, and my eyes have started to drink in their surroundings. I've come to an astounding realization: Boyfriend is Mr Fixit. Boyfriend is a fox. Boyfriend doesn't do the best job of fixing things. For those of you who are less cool than me and others that hail from the same place, the character to whom I am referencing is from Richard Scarry's Busytown. You know, the one with the worm in the green hat who was often an overnight guest at the Cat family's house (not in the sexy way). Whatever. Mr Fixit was hilarious, and you knew even though you never saw it in the books that he was soooooo fired from his job. Mr Fixit is probably that fox diggin' around in your garbage right now. Go look. Get back to me if you find him. He can go on my Ark.

The reason I say Boyfriend is like Mr Fixit is for several reasons. There was the time I decided I wanted the television mounted on the wall, and the only thing Boyfriend successfully used the stud finder for was to run it across his chest and say, Beep, Beep. It works. Apparently it didn't work right...after that. When I decided that I wanted to purchase a television stand and move the TV off the wall and onto that, I saw how many freaking holes were in the wall behind Boyfriend's big screen. I would venture a guess that Boyfriend's original plan when drilling the holes was to spy on our neighbours with the loud grunting noises and oh yeahs. Then, there are the photos I wanted him to hang in a line over the desk. He used a hockey stick as a measuring tape. They look beautiful when my eyes are closed. I wonder if the reason he's always filling my wine glass is so those pictures look straight? Wining not Whining, that's a line from my family crest. Another sarcastically-delightful discovery: Most of our furniture sits away from the wall as if Boyfriend wants to trick me with the size of our apartment. None of our furniture touches the walls. How did I not notice this?? Maybe we actually live in a mansion! It's a shame I'll never move the stuff in order to find out. Tragic. I also have a bamboo whiteboard that came crashing down last week. Another Boyfriend Fixit job, probably used another hockey stick to find the studs in which to hang it. The board is back on the wall on a definite slant. Maybe one of my legs is shorter than the other and that's why it appears on such a crazy angle. I know parallel, and that board is not it. Gee whiz.

Could I do a better job of these kinds of jobs? We'll never find out. I'm the brains, not the brawn. Well, not yet. I have been working out...but that's just to feel less guilty when I binge-eat burritos in my spandex. I should fill my wine glass more often so I don't notice all these things -- and so begins my transformation into an alcoholic. Just remember this when it's time for my intervention: I am not without reason.

Whining is forever, but wining will have to wait. Time for tea,

K