Syrup Shampoo

Yesterday I jumped in the shower but forgot to grab the new shampoo - I'd left it in the kitchen with the other Trader Joe's stuff.

David came into the bathroom to wash his hands, so I asked him if he could bring me the shampoo off the kitchen table.

He came right back and handed me this:

Zero to 60

Been a while... sorry about that. Got busy - quick.

Last week we had a marvelous AmeriCanadian holiday with friends from SF. Had to clean up a bit, make the loft into a suitable guestroom, gather up the requisite groceries and run a kajillion errands.

Shopping on Robson, suspension bridge fun @ Capilano, Wii, tasty dinners out, Thanksgiving dinner at home and of course, Tim Hortons goodness. Good times - very good times.

Unfortunately, it rained like a bastard the whole time with dense clouds that obscured what would have been lovely snow-capped mountain vistas all around us. Instead, it looked like any damp, rainy area anywhere - say, New Jersey maybe, with a little less mob activity and quirky Pacific-Northwest architecture.

I wanted to post sooner - I've missed you - but my head's been full of syrup. I've been homesick, yet still happy to be here. I know we're where we're supposed to be, but my whole life is somewhere else.

Well, not my *whole* life - most of it's right here in this house. But family, dear friends and favorite haunts are all far away. It's difficult to start over when you're in your early fogey years.

I get by with email, a brand new magicJack and... Facebook. For reals. It really helps. I don't feel so disconnected from everything. Fun photos of friends (alliteration rules!) in festive situations, silly status messages... if only Scrabulous was still there... fugging greedy licensing bitches.

Driving back from Seattle last weekend where I dropped off our fabulous house guests, I felt torn. Part of me wanted to turn around and keep driving to California, but the pull was much stronger to keep going north, back to my little family.

I feel unsettled rather than settled. It feels like I'm dating two guys at once. Both have fun qualities and annoying flaws, but one is the guy I know a lot more about - the one who feels comfortable. The other guy *seems* nice & interesting and may be a refreshing change of pace, but his pants don't fit him quite right and he talks funny.

I don't think I can break up with America. Definitely not San Francisco. There's no leaving the Bay Area without regrets. The food, the wine, the Peet's, Target, North Beach Pizza, and the fantastically liberal, accepting, bubble... god I love that bubble. The dark blue, No-on-8, I'm Getting an Abortion at Lunch bubble. That's my home. And I miss it. I cannot wait to get back to it. There, I said it.

Right now, I miss it more than Thin Mints when the freezer stash runs out. I know I was ready for a change and I couldn't wait to get here, but now I think what I couldn't wait to get to was David. I need to be wherever he is, and I hope one day it'll be back in our Bay Area bubble.

Happy Birthday, Smack Jackson

I know how you all love reading about me and all the riveting things that happen to me and my brilliant ideas about the world - I know it's the best part of your day to stop here and get your Nootsmaak fix. You don't have to thank me... although you could. I wouldn't stop you.

But today we're going to take a brief - BRIEF - break from the gift that is me and wish my hubby a happy birthday. He wasn't ecstatic about turning 40, but maybe after a little while he'll realize it's a meaningless number. Except when it's time to renew the health insurance.

Smack is a Midwestern boy and I'm glad he found me. It's difficult to find quality mates in San Francisco. My single girlfriends will back me up on that. Lots of self-absorption and "you're so lucky to know me" going on. And I should know since you're soooo lucky to know me.

Bear in mind, I'm not dissing all potential partners, just some. Or most - your mileage may vary. By the time Smack hinted that he might want to be more than friends, I'd given up on dating in SF. Taken myself off the market. I'm a terrible dater.

When Mr. Man sent me that email (we're both geeks) about maybe going out sometime, I sort-of became Kristen Wiig's Excited Sue character.

I'd known him for a year or so - we were both involved with other people most of that time - but even when I first met him, I instantly respected him. That's rare.

He's a good person, through and through. And so damn funny. The shit he says kills me. And omigod, he has such a fine ass. I can't not mention that. Dreamy. And he loves cats. Loves them. He's the reason we have THREE of them. And I love the little lines around his eyes when he smiles. Gorgeous.

And it's not just me who thinks he's great - my family prefers him over me most of time. I don't think he realizes how great he is, and maybe that's another thing to like about him.

So, Happy Birthday - I love you and can't wait to see what the next 40 years has in store for you.

Someone For Everyone

I love my husband - I really do - but I really don't want him using my toothbrush. It's not about germs, it's about how he creates a wild froth of toothpaste and spit that drips down the entire length of the thing, dropping giant foamy globs into the sink. He seems to love doing this but I think it's disgusting.

Just the thought of that all over *my* toothbrush grosses me out. He knows this and it's why we use the little color-coded thingies on the attachments. But he's color blind, so I use a darker red or pink one and he gets a lighter one - something that can't be confused for the darker color. It's a good system and it usually works.

The other day he came home from the store with off-brand replacement brushes. They're color-coded, but you can't interchange the colors - they're built into the stupid brush.

Knowing there wouldn't be any way to tell our brushes apart, I went to the trouble to mark my brush with a handy code - my initial - and a smiley face decoration. Proud of myself for solving the problem, I went to bed assured that I wouldn't find my brush in the shower the next morning sitting in a pool of slimy foam.


The next morning my brush was right where it should have been, on the charger, and his stood right next to mine with its own new decoration. Is it weird that something like this makes me love him even more? Because I do.

Husband = Pet

Or giant kid. If you see this post David, you know I'm right.

Guess who left the country and took his car keys and the key to our bike lock with him? Go ahead and guess - I'll wait.

Here's a hint - he doesn't have his car or our bikes with him in Merry Ol' England. If you guessed Your husband - you're right!

Let's see what you've won! A bike you can't ride and a car you can't move. Congratulations!