This Is Not a Love Story

Since when does Botox=beauty? What are we doing wrong as a society that women feel the need to go to drastic surgical measures to make themselves feel beautiful?

Oh right. Everything.

I'm listening to the radio while I'm stuck in traffic on my lunch break (I was 25 minutes late getting back to the office. Yay. Pfft.) and I hear this advertisement that says if you come to this book signing for Dr. Masters...you get 10 free shots of Botox.

LOL, wut?

It's like pretty-cookies. Party favors.

Grrrrrr.

End of rant.

...even if it was hot as Hades in Southern Oklahoma today.

My grandpa's blue and white Ford Fairlane didn't win any prizes--but the boys liked being able to climb in and check out a "super-cool hot rod."

There was even a truck designed to look (pretty much) exactly like Mater from the movie Cars. It was kind of neat, really. (And it kept The Short One from whining for...oh, about five minutes.)

After the car show was over and pretty much everyone had left, we moseyed on over to Sonic--where they were doing karaoke. Fun, right? Sing a song, get a free drink. Not a bad deal, considering EVERYONE in the Gerbil-Girlfriend family is a) musically inclined; b) a total ham; c) into getting free drinks.

I sang: Gunpowder and Lead by Miranda Lambert and That's How You Know It's Love by Deanna Carter.

The Short One sang: the Baby Bumblebee song (super cute).

And The Big One sang: Peaches by the Presidents of the USA and (all three of us chimed in...) Free and Easy Down the Road I Go by Dierks Bentley. (Whose name spellchecks to "Jerks." hehe.)

If only they'd had The Duck Song.

...if you know what show this photo alludes to.

If you don't know, I swear you're not a real lesbian. Yep.

Oh. My. [insert deity here].

The Short One has an obsession with scissors. I swear he's got some kind of spiritual connection with the things. It doesn't matter where I hide them, he still finds them. After this incident I may consider encasing all the scissors in the house in concrete and sinking them in the pond at the park. (Probably still wouldn't help.)

Anyway...a few weeks ago, the child cut a hole in a blanket...because his "foot got hot." I get it. Ventilation. Still not okay. We had a "discussion," and I thought he got it that time. No more cutting things up.

Apparently I was wrong.

Tonight, while cleaning house, I discovered my craft scissors sitting on the kitchen counter. My first thought: Mayday! Mayday! Child has destroyed something.

I looked around the immediate area. Nothing.

I looked around the rest of the house. Nothing.

I looked for the child, who was with The Big One watching a movie on Netflix for Wii (I'll tell ya'll later how awesome that is later.) I asked him point blank if he'd had the scissors.

He turned to look at me.

And then I saw it.

He had cut a huge (HUGE!) chunk of hair off, right up front. It isn't even all the way across. Just on the left side.

His reasoning for this mutilation of his adorable sun-bleached blonde hair?

It was "itching in his eyes."

His hair was nowhere near his eyes. (Sigh.) Not the first time the kid's had two haircuts in one week.

A couple months ago, not long after The GF and I moved in together, my ancient washing machine crapped out on me. It didn't just die, no. It crawled to its deathbed with an unholy stench. (My guess what that a motor or something in there went out, hence the reek if I tried to use it...)

I did what I always do in these situations--I ran to Craigslist. I found a few, made some calls, sent a few emails...and asked The GF to keep an eye on my email and maybe try checking Craigslist again laterin case someone sent word about a machine or posted about a different one while I was at work.

She didn't check my email. She probably didn't even wait five minutes after I'd left to start a search of her own.

But I didn't know that.

I came home from work like I usually do. I came in, went to the bathroom, washed up a bit, changed clothes...yadda yadda...

The Girlfriend was sitting on the couch with an expectant look on her face.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing, I guess," she said. She seemed disappointed. I was definitely confused. I got up to get my phone, which I'd left in the bathroom when I changed. Again, The GF had a big smile on her face--and, again, I was confused.

"You're unbelievable," she said.

"What?" I asked (starting to see a pattern, are we?)

She took me by the hand and led me back into the bathroom. (At this point, it would be helpful for you to know that, in our duplex, the washer and dryer connections are in the bathroom.) She closed the door, and looked at me expectantly. (Again.)

I still didn't get it.

Finally, she pointed to the washing machine. HANG ON! The BRAND NEW WASHING MACHINE!

"Whaaaaaaaat?" (That's me. Again.)

Yeah, I'm oblivious.

I didn't exactly start this whole compromise thing off on a good note. See, I stole The Ring from her because we were going to be apart for several hours (heartbreaking, I know--I even make myself sick at times). It makes me feel better, like a security blanket.

So, while I was out, I happened to be listening to a certain radio station. The stations playlist includes: 1) extremely sad songs that make me cry (because I have a vag), 2) sappy love songs that single girls cry (see #1), and, apparently 3) happy love songs that make a girl who isn't supposed to propose to her Girlfriend want to do exactly that. Really, really badly.

The offending song: Brown Eyes by Beyonce. Yep. So, when I got home (to finish dinner/feed us) I immediately fired up the laptop, brought it in the kitchen, and added this song to my "cleaning/cooking playlist" and left it going while we ate. After we finished eating our delicious dinner (of course it was, *I* cooked!), I invited The GF to dance around the kitchen with me, knowing that "the" song was next. As we danced, I sang her the song (yep, I can do that too!) and when it was over, I put the ring back on her finger and asked her to marry me.

I cheated. She didn't care. (One proposal down.)