March 24, 2004
We spend our evenings watching Lloyd's favortie "Eastenders", which is this English soap opera in which everyone has slept with everyone, hates everyone, or plans on chopping up and cooking everyone, the boys talking about the brilliance that is Jeremy Clarkson (an uppity guy with a Brillo pad for a hairdo that reviews cars and loves to make fun of Americans, all done while trying to fit his gut in under the steering wheel), or one or another of us having to pay up on bets we have had in which we have checked a word in the dictionary and proved ourselves triumphant. They especially like to make fun of American terms and phrases.
Yeah...cause that never gets old.
Losers.
Friday is my night. I claim the TV then. It's my American TV, beer, and pizza night. I have one hour of "Friends", some "Will and Grace", and (up until last week), "Sex and the City". They showed the last episode of that last week, and I cried like a baby.
I also seem to be cleaning a lot-not because they make me, but since I hate clutter, I hate dirty dishes, and I hate not having things in their proper places. That, and I think that loose hairs should be moved out of the bathtub, peach toilet paper should be illegal, and meals don't have to be eaten over the sink.
The boys are a great laugh, though. I really love them.
A bit about Lloyd-he's 30 years old (only just), of Indian descent, and very discreet-he only just revealed that he has recently split up after a long term relationship. He and I went and saw "Starsky and Hutch", we watch terrible TV when Mr.Y is away, and we discuss the pros and cons of the death penalty while knocking out a bottle of wine (I am pro, he is against.)
But sometimes the boys come through in a startling round of sensitivity. Mr. Y gets sensitive to me doing too much washing up, and we truly do take turns making dinner. Lloyd likes to re-adjust the lilies I have bought, making sure they all get equal time in the sun, and he likes to sit beneath them and just take in their deep, woody scent.
And one thing that they have stunned me on is the refrigerator poetry.
You know those stupid magnets that are used to make poetry, all in cheesy Times Roman type on white blocks. I actually hate those things, since (to be honest) I hate clutter. But the boys have these things, and from time to time, I walk into the kitchen and find a new phrase on the fridge. These, to date, are what I have found:
-She blows like a mad dancing queen.
-Sit on my face and drink the lust cup.
-Don't go for my ass you uphill gardener.
-Stop mooning at old boys in the jungle.
-Lick white glory hard from behind and she is in heaven.
But sometimes the boys can be sensitive. So last night I stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water, and turning on the light, I saw:
"Memories crowd a lonely heart."
Sometimes the boys can touch me with their sweetness.
But once I get all soft on them, they make fun of the way we say Birmingham, Alabama, and then I hate them all over again.
-H.
PS-Happy Birthday, Best Friend. I miss you!
PPS-Abs, thanks for the wonderful card. I loved it!
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
05:27 PM
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