People make mistakes.
Ok, more specifically Beloved made a mistake. My question is, how can you tell when the mistake is a one-time transgression or a major flaw in their character?
Do you look at past history? At their childhood? At their current situation?
'Why?' I asked point blank. Trying to understand something that completely made no sense to me.
'I don't know.' Such a simple reply. Some say it's a cop-out, and I respect that view. But what if you really don't know?
Was it a brain fart?
A one-time lapse in judgment?
Or a glimpse of one's true character (or character flaw, depending on how you look at it)?
I wonder...
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Homestead
Did I mention this is my first apartment? I've lived in a single mobile home, a few doublewides and 'stick-built' homes, but this is my first apartment.
I like my little apartment. She's not bad. She's small, but she's clean and in a good neighborhood. And I have nice neighbors. No one is loud or obnoxious. Everyone I've met so far is courteous and friendly. Not that I'm overtly friendly with the neighbors, but you know what I mean. I find it encouraging they must think the same thing about me because none of them has yet to ask me to be quieter when I'm having sex. I think that is a good sign.
When something breaks my apartment I get to call in Maintenance Dude to fix it. He is also very nice. He is the grandfatherly type who has the patience of a saint. It shows when he has to explain to me that the commode is not broken and will stop running if I just jiggle the handle. I almost expect him to pat me on the head and tell me it's going to be alright. Strangely, I would not find that offensive.
What I don't like about my apartment is I have no yard. No ground to plant stuff in and watch them grow. Stuff like flowers and bushes and flowers and bulbs and did I mention flowers?
Do not confuse stuff with grass.
I.DO.NOT.MISS.MOWING.
My last home sat on 2 1/2 acres of heavily wooded ground. Mowing was still a hassle because of all the trees I had to maneuver around and the weed-eating was a biotch (weed-eating...is that a word? Trimming, perhaps?). The house before that sat on 5 acres and I mowed every inch of it as well. Mowing was a chore. A tedious, hot and boring chore. Something I had to make sure got done because Misunderstood was too lazy to do it. He was too lazy for a lot of household chores, but that's a topic for an entirely different post.
Beloved's house sits on about half an acre. His yard slopes slightly down hill and only has about 3 mature trees on it. It takes him a few hours to mow and weed-eat (ahh...I m
ean trim).
For him, it's 3 hours of heaven.
He likes to mow. I do not understand this.
He says when he's on the mower he's a 'free' man. Unreachable is the word he uses. He can't hear to answer his cell phone (even if it's on vibrate he doesn't feel it in his pocket). He also takes great pride in the way his yard looks. Apparently all that evenly cut grass is soothing to him.
When I think about combining the words mowing and soothing into the same sentence it makes me cock my head to the side and give the same look dogs do when they hear a high-pitched noise.
I used to semi-enjoy mowing when I was a teenager and Mom brought our first riding lawn mower. I could pop on my headphones and jam to the music from my Walkman while working on my tan (the kind of hillbilly tan you get from mowing: tops of the shoulders, the back and thighs got burnt and maybe if you're really lucky also your forehead). I didn't have any worries then. Not real ones.
Back then, mowing was my meditation (without the candles and incense). Going around and around in circles that got smaller and smaller. I could damn nearly put myself into a trance. I didn't have to think. I didn't have to do anything but steer and avoid the occasional sinkhole.
If life were only that simple now.
I like my little apartment. She's not bad. She's small, but she's clean and in a good neighborhood. And I have nice neighbors. No one is loud or obnoxious. Everyone I've met so far is courteous and friendly. Not that I'm overtly friendly with the neighbors, but you know what I mean. I find it encouraging they must think the same thing about me because none of them has yet to ask me to be quieter when I'm having sex. I think that is a good sign.
When something breaks my apartment I get to call in Maintenance Dude to fix it. He is also very nice. He is the grandfatherly type who has the patience of a saint. It shows when he has to explain to me that the commode is not broken and will stop running if I just jiggle the handle. I almost expect him to pat me on the head and tell me it's going to be alright. Strangely, I would not find that offensive.
What I don't like about my apartment is I have no yard. No ground to plant stuff in and watch them grow. Stuff like flowers and bushes and flowers and bulbs and did I mention flowers?
Do not confuse stuff with grass.
I.DO.NOT.MISS.MOWING.
My last home sat on 2 1/2 acres of heavily wooded ground. Mowing was still a hassle because of all the trees I had to maneuver around and the weed-eating was a biotch (weed-eating...is that a word? Trimming, perhaps?). The house before that sat on 5 acres and I mowed every inch of it as well. Mowing was a chore. A tedious, hot and boring chore. Something I had to make sure got done because Misunderstood was too lazy to do it. He was too lazy for a lot of household chores, but that's a topic for an entirely different post.
Beloved's house sits on about half an acre. His yard slopes slightly down hill and only has about 3 mature trees on it. It takes him a few hours to mow and weed-eat (ahh...I m
ean trim).For him, it's 3 hours of heaven.
He likes to mow. I do not understand this.
He says when he's on the mower he's a 'free' man. Unreachable is the word he uses. He can't hear to answer his cell phone (even if it's on vibrate he doesn't feel it in his pocket). He also takes great pride in the way his yard looks. Apparently all that evenly cut grass is soothing to him.
When I think about combining the words mowing and soothing into the same sentence it makes me cock my head to the side and give the same look dogs do when they hear a high-pitched noise.
I used to semi-enjoy mowing when I was a teenager and Mom brought our first riding lawn mower. I could pop on my headphones and jam to the music from my Walkman while working on my tan (the kind of hillbilly tan you get from mowing: tops of the shoulders, the back and thighs got burnt and maybe if you're really lucky also your forehead). I didn't have any worries then. Not real ones.
Back then, mowing was my meditation (without the candles and incense). Going around and around in circles that got smaller and smaller. I could damn nearly put myself into a trance. I didn't have to think. I didn't have to do anything but steer and avoid the occasional sinkhole.
If life were only that simple now.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Dead On Peeing my Pants Laughing
Stolen from Trueself...
Normally when I take these things I find them too general and ambiguous to be considered interesting. However this time I was very surprised at my own results...
Also...on a lighter note....make sure your volume is up!
http://sjl.funnyordie.com/v1/view_video.php?viewkey=3efbc24c7d2583be6925
Normally when I take these things I find them too general and ambiguous to be considered interesting. However this time I was very surprised at my own results...
 | uhavegot2bkidn took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Seeks an affectionate relationship, offering fulfi..."
|
Also...on a lighter note....make sure your volume is up!
http://sjl.funnyordie.com/v1/view_video.php?viewkey=3efbc24c7d2583be6925
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