A Man and His Dogs:

Boudreaux

Jean Pierre

Look who just got groomed. Aren't they precious? SQUEE. :) Boudreaux and Pierre smelled so good yesterday, I wanted to eat them up!  I couldn't stop giving the furry rugrats lots of hugs and smooches.

The picture below makes me giggle. Considering all the teeth that were extracted, Pierre cracks me up with the funny face he is making:

And this one says... "I love Daddy and he loves me too!"

 

Boudreaux rolling around the backyard:

Precious Life Moments:

I have to get this off my chest. The Universe is a sick and twisted bastard who gets his guffaws in messing with me! I have no other explanations as I am pretty low-maintenance and operate optimally with a routine free of drama.

Somehow, Drama finds me! Take yesterday for example. I go to the local Fred's Discount Store to stock up on cleaning supplies. I don't particularly like going to this store because it's not the most aesthetically pleasing place to shop (store AND customers). But it's nearby and offers better prices on cleaning supplies than grocery stores.

Shopping after work in fancy dress clothes was probably a mistake. I'll wager I was the best looking thing EVER to waltz through those doors... by a mile! I mutter to myself, "It's okay to be a sparkly diamond... we are here to buy cleaning supplies... GET IN... GET OUT!"

First stop was stocking up on Febreze Air Effects "Lavender & Vanilla Comfort" and "Linen & Sky". Is it bourgeoisie to scent your home rivaling a luxurious spa? I think not!

This is when a most awkward moment for a gay man occured. A weathered old broad in daisy duke shorts makes a flirty introduction and presented me with her pushed up wrinkly boobs.(She looks like the woman pictured above -- but it's not her) I didn't know if she was a customer or a $20 prostitute addicted to Meth working the local Fred's Discount Store.

Whatever the case, she was definitely NOT my type. Oh, I can give a litany of reasons:  sun-damaged skin, bad hair, severe thigh cellulite, lack of a dental plan, poorly educated, and an accent straight out of the hills of West Virginia. Translation: a MESS!

The woman followed me all around the store making flirty comments and had something to say about every item I threw into the shopping cart. Even though I said, "No... that's quite all right...", she insisted on letting me smell her favorite Febreze scent by spraying it right in front of my nose while emitting cutesy girlie giggles. MOLLY... YOU ARE IN DANGER GIRL!

I was determined to find laundry detergent and get the hell out of there. The woman slyly positions herself in front of the Tide section. Like she buys Tide! She bends down provocatively and impressively holds the position while pretending to smile. Nobody smiles at the prices of Tide! And why was I looking?!

In a huff, I grabbed the 300 fluid ounces container of Xtra Tropical Passion and promptly made a bee line to the cashier. Am I the only one this has ever happened to?! Have any of you readers been stalked by Meth chick prostitutes? Or does the Universe just like picking on me?

Sith Holiday:

The ONLY holiday we Sith celebrate is today. I will be honoring it with a hard gym workout and tennis practice with my Louisiana Championship bound USTA Team. The wretch and dreck amongst you feel free to celebrate "Cinco de Mayo" by gluttonously drinking alcohol and consuming gobs of Nerd candy. Our different priorities make you people so easy to conquer. GRIN. :)

ARGH! I blew a 7-4 lead in the 10 point tiebreaker and lost a hard-fought singles match against my doubles partner 6-7, 7-6, 1-0 today on a Sith holiday! I am pissy, mad, and stewing. "LOSING IS FOR LOSERS!" I have two weeks to correct this!

 

In Daddy's Arms:

As you may well know, periodontal disease is THE most common disease in dogs. My youngest, Jean Pierre, has been having inflamed gums on and off for the past year. Antibiotics would clear it up temporarily, but it would always flare up again every three months.

After viewing the latest flare up, the Vet and I determined that tooth extraction would be the best option because an infection was causing a horrible tooth abscess. Antibiotics only treated the symptom, but the problem was going to resurface again and again.

Jean Pierre's bloodwork was NOT good. Considering he is 13 years old, he was not a good candidate for anesthesia. When I weighed the options, I considered his quality of life. Left unchecked, the infection could spread to more teeth, cause blindness, and eventually heart problems. I had to take the chance.

When Jean Pierre was put under the first time, the Vet saw that the problem was much worse than imagined. In all, 11 teeth were removed. There were complications, so Jean Pierre had to be put under another two times before the bleeding finally stopped.

Today, he is safely back in Daddy's arms eating and drinking regularly. With the pain pills and antibiotics, he'll be running at 80% for a few more days. I am thankful my baby made it through the ordeal fine. He got lots of extra TLC all night and this morning. :)
 

Kissed by a Girl:

Yep. I DID IT. And let me tell you boys something. Girls kiss better!

Why did I kiss a girl? I dunno. She kept asking me if I was sure I was "gay". Not even "bi"? Nope. "How do you know you are not 'Bi'?" "Umm... BECAUSE... I... prefer MEN!" "You can't be gay... you just can't... you don't look it!"

She then compliments my beard. I thank her. Her fingers move an inch from the beard. "May I?" Despite having a BF, I didn't have an objection to someone running their fingers across my beard. "Sure, go ahead". As she slowly felt the furriness with the back of her fingers, the girl leans in and asks, "Can I kiss you?" I didn't see the harm in kissing a girl. "Why not?".

The girl plants the sweetest most gentle kiss on me. Her lips were moist... soft... and she smelled damned good! I smiled. :)

My family and Dad would be proud, but I dare not tell them. Shhhh!

Injecting Life into the Moribund Abode:

A home can be viewed as a reflection of one's inner self. What does it say about you? Is it tidy? Cluttered? Are there cans of Cheese Whiz lying around? Does it scream raging alcoholic? Do you have a liter of lube besides your bed?

In my case, it has become tragically apparent that I have very conservative, utilitarian, and minimalist tendencies. Thankfully, important people in my life are doing an intervention to de-Westin the look of inside the house. Mean Cub, the boyfriend, drove seven hours all the way from Austin, TX to the rescue with a colorful painting and framed print. (see above)
 

Mom is frantically working on a tall colorful abstract painting to go above my fireplace. I can't wait to see it, because Mom is an excellent artist. It would be meaningful too, because her painting will become the centerpiece by virtue of its location. I am giddy because moonlight comes in from an entryway window making a spiritual symbol above where her painting will be. It will be a perfect representation of what I have always thought about my Mother... an angel.

Despite a well-known hostility to alcoholism, I bought a silver tray to go over the buffet in the dining room area where Mean Cub placed various bottles of alcohol. Though alcohol is not a part of my lifestyle, I yielded so home wouldn't look like an institutionalized "NO FUN ZONE". So, it's really there for guests... not me! Loooook at me. I don't smoke. I don't drink. I'm Sandra Dee! :)

GOOD NEWS:

I was notified yesterday that my tennis team qualified for the state championship tournament May 17-20. It will be the third straight year I have made the tournament. This is especially sweet, because I switched teams before the season started in a brutally competitive 10 team division. We fought off the other teams to finish #1 and WIN Baton Rouge's division. My former team finished third. Womp. Womp.

Don't worry, I will not let this go to my head. I feel very blessed and grateful, especially considering peers that play for losing record teams, have dinky trophies, and regularly suffer embarrassing 6-1,6-0; 6-2,6-0; 6-3,6-0 defeats in a single season as part of their permanent tennis record. Not everyone can maintain the requisite mental toughness, athleticism, or smarts to win.

Which leads me to this... I am clamping down on "tooting my own horn" to prepare for the upcoming championship tournament. I will put every effort into toughening up for the next three weeks. When I come out of solitary confinement, IT will be as a deranged, rabid, and mentally abused redheaded stepchild hell-bent on delivering an asswhooping of epic proportions on the tennis courts. This may sound crazy, but this is how we Sith mentally exercise.

True Grit:

I am simply NOT a judgmental person, but inside I am seething with anger. There is a friend (Funyun) who I used to look up to, but sadly, he has become a tragic tale of woe. Once a great warrior who lived to battle on the tennis courts, Funyun now spends days on the couch lustily fingering an iPad as if it were a Lesbian lover playing games like Bejeweled while bingeing on: Skittles, Hot Tamales, and Funyuns. In a nutshell, Funyun has succumbed to a slothful and squishy bad breath existence.

What happened to trigger this horrendous calamity? Funyun fell in love. Blech! Gag. Sith do NOT fall in love. We conquer, subjugate, and rule over our Minions. We don't let our namby pamby hearts quell the intoxicating bloodthirst for victory. WE IMPOSE OUR IRON WILL ON OTHERS... not the other way around! 

Why do I care? Sanity is a slippery slope. Just look at Jimbo. Ever since Icona Pop hit the airwaves with teenage girl anthem, I LOVE IT, Cuntzilla spends countless mirror time marching in step with an imaginary microphone pretending to entertain an arena full of adoring fans. It is a travesty not knowing when you're batshit crazy. Ahem.

In the meantime, I vow to fight the distractions of LOVE. I have a life and my priorities are right as I have just wrapped up playing the 21st tennis match in the last 30 days. The reward for such dedication is a possible third straight appearance in the Louisiana State Championship and a size 30 waist without any embarrassing jiggly parts. Look at me tooting my own horn like Moby now. GRIN :)

 

    

 

Even though I live for the adrenaline, one may sometimes catch a glimpse of me giving Boudreaux and Pierre sweet kisses. Shhh.... it's a rare and weak human-like thing I do: 

SMOOCH!

My Elixir:

Sixteen tennis matches in the last twenty-five days. That's the brutal schedule I have completed thus far as the tennis season is winding down. With sore joints, various muscle sprains, and overall fatigue, I have basically become THE WALKING DEAD.

Although I am cranky and tired, I can smile as I have racked up glorious victories with only a scant few losses across four tennis leagues this season. Not bad for a 42 year old body, eh? Miraculously, I have become less squishy. A luxurious hot bath infused with eucalyptus epsom salt and lavender is a tennis player's elixir. Ahhh....

Easter:

As I dressed up for the family Easter party at my cousin's house, I pondered the following two thoughts: (1) Will I look too fruity with this very colorful shirt?  (2) Will my nerves be frayed from children screaming and running around?

Fortunately, there were many others decked out in bright Easter egg colors. Whew! Even though four young girls were present, they were amazingly QUIET, well behaved, and raised right! The flowers in the above pic is what I gave my Mom for Easter. She liked them.

The food, company, and conversations were great. What I enjoyed the most was playing ping pong and croquet. Unfortunately, I sucked in both. Apparently, being a stellar tennis player does not translate to ping pong. I had some great hard hits, but my patience would always do me in.

In croquet, it took me a while adjusting to hitting the heavy ball hard enough to substantially go anywhere. Family laughed at my initial ineptitude, but I came on strong in the end. Third place was within my grasp as I passed up my evil twin brother and his demon spawn child. All I had to do was hit the last stake. It went wide right, knocking me all the way down to 5th place (out of 6 participants). CURSES!

If the skies wouldn't have opened up with heavy wind, rain, and hail, I would have demanded a rematch. LOL. Oh well. Next time Bart and Mason! Grooooowl! Something tells me that I'll have to buy a croquet set for my housewarming party. #revenge

Neighborhood Gossip:

Yesterday, I was minding my own business moving a sprinkler around the front yard when I heard what looked like a 5 year old African American boy. He excitedly chirped to his parents, "LOOK! That's the gay guy that moved in the neighborhood! That's him! I bet it's him."

Mom and Dad were pulling the little boy and his younger sister in a wagon on the street in front of my house. I was stunned from the awkwardness of it all. I didn't know quite what to say or do, so I just smiled and waved "Hi". It was definitely a weird life moment. The Dad shushed his son and said "hey" half-heartedly. The Mom studied me carefully as they kept moving.

I went back into the house and told the boyfriend, "You are not going to believe what just happened to me!" At first, Mean Cub questioned my hearing. "Are you sure that is what happened?" Son of a Bitch! He doesn't believe me. He could sense I was genuinely upset and offered, "Well, you are always walking around your two gay dogs. You have only yourself to blame!"

Daschunds are NOT gay dogs, I protest. They are ferocious bullies of the dog park:


I fingered the blame on Mean Cub's "HRC" sticker on the back of his gay car for outing us to the neighborhood. He was all defensive, "Nobody knows what 'HRC' stands for here Dumbass. It's your gay dogs!"

For the next hour, I mulled over the repercussions of what transpired. Obviously, I was stereotyped by neighbors because I am the ONLY person living alone in the neighborhood with no wife or kids. Okay, I get it. It's normal for parents to get curious about anyone NEW moving into the neighborhood. Protecting children from strangers is instinctual and they were probably just trying to figure out my story. (FYI to Parents: Gays are not attracted to children. Eww...)

The more I thought about it, the less bothered I became. I don't flounce around, wearing Scottish Kilts and Renaissance Drag, or fly the rainbow flag. The neighbors only see me dressed very well walking two small dogs. They sized me up based on a stereotype and accurately guessed that I must indeed be a gay man. Whoopty Doo.

As I told this story to co-workers and Dad, they chuckled. They are pushing me to mess with the neighbors by having a female co-worker spend an hour at my home everyday this week to confuse them all. LOL.

In the meantime, I am hitting the gym hard. RAWR! I'll be damned if anyone thinks I am gay gawd dammit! Ohhh..... wait a  minute.