How much is that weenie in the window???

I vaguely apologize for my long absence. I could make excuses, I could lie, I could grow an extra arm...no, wait not that last one. Really, I just stopped finding myself interesting enough to write about, let alone read about. Now I'm on a better dosage of my psych meds and possibly may be humorous again. Or not. Whatever works for you.

I'm back and I've got some real ringers to share with you, involving my husband lusting for a cabinet and some weiner-related collectables to fill it with. If you read back to my post on reality television you will note that I am a true reality junkie. Recently, some of the shows have captured Das Bear's attention. One of these shows is Interior Therapy with Jeff Lewis. The most recent episode featured a couple named Adam and Yvonne. (Yeah, really.) She was gung-ho to move in after their committed relationship of an immense 5 months. Yeah, Yvonne, see me in another 9 years or so. Anyway, this jackwagon (Adam) has a curiously large collection of dicks. Yes, penises, weiners, wangs, jackwillies, etc. He had so many phallus related items that he needed to store them in a glass fronted cabinet. That's right...a "straight" man had so many dick-related replicas he had to buy them a cabinet. I wonder how it goes at his house parties. "Welcome, let me show you around...there's the kitchen, with the new stove, the dining room with the gigantic table, and my piece d'resistance- my collection of cocks.

Of course, he was totally connected to these one-eyed willies, and demanded they be carefully stored. To me it seemed he may have been a little too concerned about his penises, and not concerned enough with the (YOGA INSTRUCTOR) vagina that was willing to permanently pay attention to his (attached) flesh wand. Anyways, I commended what a dick (ironic, eh) this guy was, and my husband said something that stopped me in my tracks.

Me: That guy's a dick. I totally hate him.

Das Bear: I like his weiner cabinet. You CAN'T hate a guy that collects weiners.

It was at this point that he and I both concluded this dude was so far in the closet that he needed to collect dicks. Did I mention the dude had this really weird obsession with Mr. Rogers' sweaters and giant bowties? I can't think of a straight man who'd wear that inside his house, let alone on television. To cement our view, the camera cut to his "girlfriend" outside doing yoga. The woman was literally balanced on her arms with her legs in the air out to the side. This led to another discussion on his sexuality.

Das Bear: He's got be gay.

Me: Why?

Das Bear: If a woman like that wanted to move into my house I'd be like "and where would you like your yoga studio? My man cave? Have at. I'll build a treehouse in the back yard to drink beer and watch man shows.

Me: Wow. Just wow.

So, yes, at the end of the show Yvonne decided she really didn't like being the bitch in the relationship and ended it with Adam. I hope he's happy when he finds his true (man) love.

And also, my husband wants a cabinet so he can collect penises. Yep, that sounds good to me, as long as I get the bottom shelf for all the colorful rubbery ones....;)

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

My house isn't dirty, it's Interesting.

Ok, I admit I'm hardly an effective housekeeper, but I'm no candidate for Hoarders. My house is lived in, loved in, used, and sometimes abused. I like to think of my house as a living being in a way, an entity on the same level as Moya from Farscape. A living ship that permits our residence within.

In some ways, my house is like an archeological dig. On the surface there is dirt, but as you open drawers and dig in the closets, there are relics and treasure. When something is missing, Mike and I are like Indiana Jones searching the caves (under the bed) for the Ark of the Covenant (the object we're searching for).

The house talks. It groans, it whistles, it even chirps sometimes. And of course, there's George, our friendly house spirit that keeps the cats active and even gets them "talking" sometimes.The house has it's own lived-in feel. It is over 100 years old and has been lived in for nearly every one of those years.

My house has character. Unlike the new box-style houses, each room is slightly off square, the walls are plaster, and the floors all slope gently toward the east side of the house. But it's MY house. I love every crack, crevice, cobweb and closet. Because it's MINE.

From the garden tub to the 6 foot tall windows to the weird passageway from the bedroom to the laundry room, it is a unique and comfy place to live. My friends all joke that my house puts them to sleep, because they relax when they come over. Even though my house is usually a mess, my friends choose MY couch to crash on, my floor lay out on, and my old clunky bathroom to clean up in.

So tell me...why would I ever want my house to be a spotless, pristine wonderland, when it could be all that it is? I'll live happily in my cluttered house with my love, my friends, and even George.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady