Fruit Dip

I’m thinking that might be the moniker I attach to my sweetie. See, she’s been pestering me about putting up a new blog post, which I would love to do, but it’s very difficult when the day is chopped up into little bits of “we need to be doing…”

So, we’re heading up to visit friends this afternoon. When I finally got her to tell me the time she wants to leave, I said, “ok, that gives me enough time to write a post.” This seemed to satisfy her.

As I began to put fingers to keyboard, she pulled out her latest food magazine, opened it up and said, “Fruit Dip.”

Really? RIGHT NOW?!?

Fruit Dip. Kind of fitting, now that I think about it. Oh, and yes, I’ll be paying for this post for a few days. There will be pouting. It will be everywhere, getting all over everything and do you have ANY idea how difficult it is to get pout out of clothes and furniture? Man, that stuff lingers.

I am so toast.

Anyway…

We’ve been very busy lately, working on the yard. It’s not a huge yard, but it is large enough to require a lot of attention, which is something we’ve not been giving it. Neither did my ex (although he did do his share, but his share usually involved chopping the hell out of some poor plant that I wanted to keep). My parents weren’t much on yard work either, and since they lived here for 40 years before I got the place, you can imagine the size of some of the shrubs. My mother has an amazing green thumb and can make just about anything grow anywhere. I swear, she could plant palm trees in Antarctica and they’d flourish.

The one thing she didn’t do was plan well. She planted them wherever there was space, and often times it was supposed to be temporary “until she could figure out the best spot to plant it permanently.” That’s why we have the slap-happy lilac bush that stands next to the front walk. Nothing says Western Washington like being smacked by a branch of wet leaves.

But, there is a neighborhood bitch fairy who doesn’t like chaos of any kind. Thanks to my mother, our yard is chaotic. The bitch fairy hates our yard. She left an ugly note on our front door, then called the city. The city guy was embarrassed and said, “well, just trim the overgrown stuff back, tidy up the side yard, and we’ll call it good. Until the next time she calls, anyway.” I’m guessing the Code Enforcement department is very familiar with my neighbor.

Yard work rhymes with hard work for a reason. There are parts of my body that are hurting a lot. But, the side yard looks pretty damn good, and after I finish stacking the firewood, it will look even better. However, the bushes that the bitch fairy was pitching her fit about have not been touched. I have a couple weeks before the city guy will come back for an inspection, so I’m taking my time getting to the thorns in her side (yard).

Mind you, the yard doesn’t look much different than it did when my ex lived here, but now that I’m out of the closet and living with the woman I love, all of a sudden, things get ugly over the fence. She hasn’t said anything directly, and I doubt she ever will, but if she does, I have a plan.

I’m going to ignore her. Pointedly ignore her. Turn my back on her and everything. I won’t flip her off, I won’t call her “bitch” (to her face, anyway). I will give her nothing to take to any more city officials. I will, however, annoy the shit out of her by kissing my girlfriend full on the lips while standing in my own backyard.

Because the most satisfying type of bitchery, is the subtle type. Well, subtly “in-your-face.” We gays can be good at that.