Dont Mince Words

In my next life, I want to come back as a gay addict.  The habit is TBD.  All I know is these 12-step meetings are one-part sobriety maintenance and three-parts hookup.  The gays in West Hollywood don’t need to online date.  When they have free time, they go to a “meeting.”

My Main Gay is constantly in and out of relationships.  I sit on the sidelines feeling tragically single and heterosexual as I hear about his exploits. Today we met for lunch and I got the ga-ga eyes and “oh, this one is for real” speech.

“This isn’t fair.  Is this another friends-of-bill hookup?” I whined.

“Yes, we met at a meeting.  We are so in love,” he proclaimed.  “He’s mine.”

I can’t even meet a straight man at the grocery store and Main Gay is seeking my advice on Valentine’s Day.  Fanfuckingtastic.   He’s thinking about a long, romantic weekend up in Santa Barbara.  I told him I wasn’t the girl to ask Valentine’s day advice from – it has probably been more than 15 years since a man planned more than a simple card and chocolates for me.

“Aw, my hag needs a real man,” he said.

Right.  We’ve seen how well that’s worked out for me in southern California.  I think it is easier to just plan on being gay in my next life – with a severe addiction to beer.

I’m pretty sure I’m never getting laid again, and I’m ok with it.  Here’s why.  My dog is in love with me.

It was a long courtship of walks, parks, car rides, and movies on the couch.  He waited to sleep with me for six months.  Then one day when I came home on crutches from foot surgery and he sprung into action.  While I was konked out on painkillers with my iced foot propped up on the couch, he climbed up and laid on top of me, like a hen on her chick.  I woke up when my dog walker came in and exclaimed, “oh my god Marna, are you ok?”  He reluctantly left for his walk.

Later that evening, my K9 nurse climbed into bed with me and slept with his head on my stomach watching me.  We’ve pretty much been sleeping together ever since – me and my 85-pound dog in a queen-size bed.

After Christmas, our relationship went to the next level.  He now wants to put his head on my shoulder and the pillow.  I was too tired to protest and move him the first night, then I realized his light snoring (similar to this dog) puts me to sleep faster than a wave machine.

I’m not sure what I’m doing right in this relationship, but it’s working.  I’ll take an old, rescued dog over a middle-aged man with baggage any day.  Tex is in it for the long haul.

I realize for most parents, one of their early happiest days are when their kid can wipe their own ass and make a meal.  For me, it’s the two- to three-year old age bracket when they’ll repeat a cuss word unexpectedly.  I laugh, the parents cringe.

Today I was in Petco with Tex, my only begotten son.  We were on a quest for pumpkin-head sized reindeer antlers.  I know, it’s gay and he’s going to kill me in my sleep, but I live in West Hollywood where the average dog weight is six pounds.  This 85-pound American Bulldog can’t compete with the sweater-wearing purse puppies except with seasonal accessories.  So we were in the aisle with the pet pee squirt bottles, rug piss shampoo, smell be-gone, etc.. My dog lifted his leg and pissed on the bottom rack of urine sprays.  Ironic, I know, and glorious at the same time.  I began laughing, then I quickly looked to see if anyone saw.  I thought about cleanup, for two seconds, and then figured someone else would enjoy the pee puddle irony and laugh too.

My dog doesn’t bark or cuss, but it is little things like this that make him more fun than a toddler.