Sunday, May 20, 2012

Kitty Porn

I didn't realize the cat is lonely.

She sleeps 22 hours a day, which I assumed was laziness but it must be a symptom of her depression.

Gabby always watches us when we wiggle on each other, but I figured that was simply so she'd know when we're done interrupting her quality time in bed.

On Friday I made Mark do yoga with me - every man's dream. Just a series of deep breathing and stretches and some soft music.

I found it very relaxing.

Mark found it an excuse to look down my shirt when I bent over.

And Gabby? Gabby found it a turn-on.

I upward un-dogged to see her getting tenderly to second base.

With my Chuck Taylor.

As she ardently made out with my shoe, the strains of The Pretenders can be heard in the background. I'll Stand By You, in fact, the song to which I came down the aisle. Our wedding song...defiled by the cat.

Mark intervened before she got to third base, though. She's only six.


Friday, May 18, 2012

The Crabass and the Crabapple

Turns out I'm not a princess.

I figured this out not because I don't wear dresses, not because I don't have a royal family and not even because I'm pretty much a slob, but because of a motorcycle.

Mark borrowed his dad's cruiser last weekend and took me for a ride and frankly it's scary riding bitch. I thought it was because of the utter trust it requires you to put in the driver, but actually it was just the apple.

I didn't paint this shit. TJ Lubrano did, and someone else
whose image I jacked. Then I just played cut and paste.
And drew googly eyes because googly eyes rock.
Up my ass.

We blew around the back roads for a while before stopping for a break. When I hopped off the bike, Mark looked at it quizzically. My seat had a neoprene cover and there was a suspicious bulge. Digging beneath the cover, he extracted an apple.

I rode all around the south side - yo! - with AN APPLE in my crack.

And had no idea.

This definitely confirms any suspicions you may have had that I was a princess.

This also definitely confirms the gargantuan size of my ass.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Houses and Homes

The shithouse next door is being sold by the bank and the asking price is $40,000 so there have been people crawling over the house like ants on sticky. Mark stands outside on the porch smoking cigarettes and telling stories to anyone who asks - and they do.

"It was fine, I think, except for the meth lab."

"There was a domestic. He shot her in there, that's why the bank seized it."

Or he just dances on the porch in his ratty HELL YEAH t-shirt with the sleeves cut off down to the navel circa 1988. Either way, he's determined that nobody move in next door. He probably shouldn't worry - nobody is going to live there for ages. These vultures want to buy it and flip it for a quick buck.

I hate our neighborhood. It's dead and reclusive and I'm a west side girl anyhow. It's just a river, but I feel divided from the rest of the world living here. We're sandwiched between our landlord's house and the abandoned one and until recently the one across the street was long vacant, too. I have grown no attachment to this place, there are no roots.

Location, location, location, right?

I've lived in worse houses. This one's all right aside from the bedroom, bathroom, closet, parking and scary basement. But if we didn't have our wife Leslie on the other side of the duplex, I may have hung myself in our tiny closet by now.

The wife and I are off to the farmers market now. I'm going to help her plant a tiny garden smack in front of the sidewalk. This street could really use a little color.

Friday, May 11, 2012

My Dom

Have you read 50 Shades of Grey? Don't. It's terrible.

But the reason I mention it is that is centers around a young dumb girl who gets involved with a dominant guy (who of course is devastatingly handsome and ridiculously wealthy) and she learns to become a submissive.

I was very excited to reclaim my life after last weekend. Me! Mine! Time to get shit done. The Big Fat Indian Wedding is over, Mama Bird is walking on her broken ankle, it's my turn now. I have a book to finish editing, I have a release party to plan.

My life!

My way!

My time!


Except here I sit as I write this, contorted into a pretzel in order to keep the laptop off to the side while I as not to disturb the cat who is sleeping smack in the middle of my lap - exactly where she chose to be.

I am a submissive. I'm just as much of a sucker as the girl in the book.

Everything I do in my own home, I do to make life better for A CAT. I sleep in the positions she favors for maximized cuddling, I massage her daily, and I lavish her with love and affection. In returns she kisses me when she deigns to.

Hello, my name is Tricia and I'm a lesbian, bi-species submissive.

The cat is my dom.

And true to the real world, she's not devastatingly handsome - or rich. She's just bossy.


Why was I in such a rush to reclaim my life?

Monday, May 7, 2012

Bindi, Mehndi, WOWIE!

Have you been to an Indian wedding?

If not, please do so as soon as possible. 
Don't have any Indian friends? 
Make some.

Trust me on this.

If peacocks exploded in a sequin factory
and Vanilla Ice sang Indian rap about it
while everyone ate the best food ever
and danced like maniacs, that would
perhaps begin to describe the day.

This weekend I got a new sister. She's smaller and prettier
than I am but I love her anyhow.

The baraat was supposed to take place outside, but 
there was a temporary monsoon. We hung in there for half an
hour while everyone danced around us getting soaked
and then we moved the madness into the hotel lobby.

My job as sister of the groom included
shaking a rattle behind my brother for an hour.

To keep him awake.

Apparently this is tradition.

I apologize to everyone who had to see my
arm wattles flap for 




During the ceremony, my duty was to 
tie them together and pray to the goddesses.

Then my brother slipped me money,
which was appreciated.

Especially after the hour-long shake weight session.

Courtney Conk & Amber Procaccini took the photos -
we've only seen these three teasers so far.

After the ceremony, where everyone cried like bitches
and told Reena (honestly) that they'd never seen a prettier
bride, she changed again. Just to upstage the first sari.

We all bitch-cried some more during speeches
and then decided the crying was done for the evening.

Let the party begin.

No drunk fest is complete without an
appearance from Neil Diamond Lorntson.

He sang to his new wife.


Siblings mugging before the reception.

We're still waiting for more pictures to surface
from the reception. Turns out I cannot hold a cocktail,
shake my shit and take photos at the same time.

 My updo survived the tsunami outside as well as
the sweat tsunami that followed.

My sari survived 18 hours of abuse.

Neil survived the longest wedding 
day I've ever seen.

Reena has survived our family 
well enough to marry him. 

Congratulations to my brother and my new sister.
I love you both and I'm so happy* to have been
a part of your wedding day.

*Except for not getting to ride in on an elephant.
I'm still pissed about that.

Related Posts with Thumbnails