A Blow-Dried Ass

I figured it out! NOBODY can fool me!

My Rockstar blow-dries his ass. (Technically, I guess you could say he blow-dries his entire nether-region.)

I will tell you how I came to figure this out.

My Rockstar gets up at the God-awful hour of 5:00 AM every morning. As I am one of those individuals who sleeps like the dead, I am unaware of his getting up, even when the alarm clock goes off. There have been rare occassions when his easing out of bed has awoken me. During these times, in my sleep-induced haze, I imagine what he does to get ready for the day. This is how I discovered the truth about the blow-dryer.

I hear him go into the bathroom and flip the light on, which includes a completely obnoxious fan that is reminiscent of blustering hurricane. (I DESPISE it.) He then turns the shower on to let it warm up, (because we live in an older than dirt apartment building with timeworn pipes.) He then takes his morning dump, (which I am glad does not include reading material.) and flushes before he gets in the shower.

In the shower, I imagine he uses only shampoo (as men are wont to do,) even though I have supplied minty scalp-tingling conditioner for him, he uses the razor I used on my bikini area on his face (which he has readily admitted) and then he jacks off . (while thinking of me, of course) I do not know that last part for a fact, but I have been told that ALL men masturbate, and the ones that deny it are lying, and unless he is doing it in the middle of the night while I am in my mummy-like state, this seems to be the probable time when he would do it. (As far as thinking of me- this is MY story, so if Megan Fox and her weird thumbs make any appearances, I will be very upset.)

After getting out of the shower, my Rockstar grabs a towel while his teeth chatter with cold and his balls shrink to the size of raisins. (I have seen him get out of the shower after we have….tussled, and he is always shivering with cold.)

After he dries off, he brushes his teeth with his turbo-charged toothbrush (which I suggested he buy) and then he uses the blow-dryer.

The blow-dryer has been a source of confusion for me since we began dating (and tussling) 2 years ago. It seemed odd to me that a single 39 yr old dad came complete with a blow-dryer. I wondered if this was God’s version of a Howard Johnson’s. (free sex and blow-dryer included!) Of course, I suppose it makes sense that a man having shoulder length amber tresses would have a blow-dryer, but when I asked him about it, he claimed he had one because it warmed him up when he got out of the shower. I did not think about it again, but then my imagination and the clues got the better of me.

Every morning, the blow dryer wakes me up. Not enough to merit getting out of bed, but enough for me to wonder why the hell he has it on for so long.

Clue #1 He has the blow-dryer running for so long, yet when he hugs me goodbye, his hair is still wet when it falls into my face.

Clue #2 He is thin, so unless he takes extra care in drying only his private areas, it shouldn’t take him THAT long to blow dry his self.

Clue # 3 He is incredibly fresh-smelling down there. This is the biggest clue that tipped me off. Not that I go around sniffing other people’s privates (because that’s just weird) but I have , on occasion, found my skullage in a few men’s privatal areas. (Stop your wild thinking- one at a time) My Rockstar happens to have no smell in his boxers that is reminiscent of  sweat, un-dried or un-washed junk, etc.

THEREFORE, it is my suspicion that my Rockstar blow-dries his pudenda and other assorted lower areas, including his ass.

 

 

Comfort

Yeah, there are days when I just want to say “Fuck it” and permanently wear only yoga pants to work…. like the days I’m cursing myself for wearing a fun flarey jean skirt that leaves welt marks on my belly, and a sequin cami that rakes across my armpit fat, EVEN THOUGH I’m having a skinny day. Fuckin’ A.

Secret Keepers

“Can you take Em to school tomorrow?” My Rockstar asks.

You have no idea how I have come to dread these words.

No, it is not because I despise his child, or because I have a crippling phobia of school grounds (although groups of kids scare the BeJesus out of me). No, it is for the simple reason that the last 3 or 4 times I’ve taken his daughter to school, I’ve had to hear this repeated in various and still-hurtful ways- “Everything was better BEFORE you were around. Why don’t you go live somewhere ELSE!” Yes, a 9 year old can hurt my feelings.

My Rockstar’s Daughter does not despise me either, but I’m beginning to wonder if she suffers from bi-polar disorder. This morning was a prime example of why I suspect so.

I am NOT a morning person. Honestly, I could probably say I am not even a PERSON in the morning. I more closely resemble that scary Excorcist chic (when she was possessed) or any other frightening monster you only wish to meet never. So getting a kid up and ready for school in the morning is decidedly not my favorite thing to do. Luckily, I got laid last night, so I wasn’t in quite as terrible of a mood. Normally it takes every fiber of my being to retain my morning angst to narrowing my eyes at any unfortunate soul who happens to pass by. This morning, the Daughter woke up, got ready, and proceeded to ogle me as I slapped on my normal poundage of make-up. (I wear make-up as an accessory only- there’s no reason to cover up my face). Traditionally, being so inspected irks me, but this morning I simply asked the Daughter if she wanted her hair done. She requested curls, so off I went, posing as a hairdresser.

On the way to school, she rambled on about age, and how funny it was that I am now 30, my Rockstar is 40, and she shall be 10. She asked when her dad’s birthday was, and informed me that she was thinking of saving her money to buy him a black-and-white guitar for his 41st. The following is the conversation we had after that statement.

Me: That’s very fun. Maybe I can throw in some money for that if you let me put the name on the card?

Her: Ok.

Me: I was actually thinking of buying him a gold guitar for Christmas; you could help me buy that instead if you want, and we could give it to him together.

Her: Ok.

(I do not really know what possessed me to tell her the following- the only thing I can think is that I was so thrilled to be NOT hearing how I should move to another continent.)

Me: Do you want to know a secret?

Her: (perking up) YES! Tell me!

Me: I will, but you must promise NOT to tell ANYONE. I mean, ANYONE.

Her: Ok, I won’t.

Me: Pinky swear? (as any smart person knows, this is the most important binding oath)

Her: Pinky swear. (we actually shook on it.)

Me: So I’ve been thinking, if I give Daddy a guitar for Christmas, that I might ask him to marry me. (To be clear, the guitar is supposed to replace an engagement ring, and if I am to do the proposing, I will do it in style.)

Her: (eyes  widening) ( and silence- but a smile working it’s way to her face)

Me: DON’T tell ANYONE!

Her: I’m going to tell Daddy! (I was afraid of this)

Me: NO! YOU CANNOT! You pinky swore!

Her: Ok, I won’t.

Me: But you never know, he might say no. So maybe I won’t ask.

Her: Well, I should tell him he should ask YOU.

Me: That would be preferred. But you can’t tell him I had anything to do with it.

Her: I could just ask him if he likes LIKES you, and then he could say yes or no. And then if he says yes, I would say, “Well, you should marry Sparklebumps, because she is a very nice woman. And she is poor.” (True, but I’m not exactly sure why this should matter, as we are not living in the 18th century.)

Me: (laughing) Yes, I suppose you could say that.

Her: I asked someone to marry me once.

Me: Oh? And what did he say?

Her: He didn’t say anything, because he was a gingerbread man. Will you make me a gingerbread man someday?

Me: Yes, of course.

Her: I have a secret. But you can’t tell ANYBODY.

Me: Ok, I won’t unless you tell my secret. Then I’m allowed to tell yours.

Her: Ok. (leaning in to whisper) I’m half human and half werewolf.

All I can say is this ride to school was infinitely better than the last few. Even if I DID have to share secrets with a werewolf girl.

P.S. XOXO to everyone who read my blog this weekend! I was more popular than ever!