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After the whole Apron Incident of last week, my Rockstar decided to pull his head out of his ass and act like he wants to spend time with me. I am not yet certain if he DOES, in fact, want to spend time with me, but he has done well at satisfying my need for attention in the last week, so we shall not analyze it.
The day after I drunkenly shoved him out of bed and cried, “Love me, dammit!”, my Rockstar decided to come home on his lunch break. Though things were a bit awkward at first, a little naked dance took care of any uncomfortableness that remained. I’m not saying that solved everything, but my Rockstar speaks Sex alot better than he speaks Love.
He DID make the effort to take the long journey with me to church on Sunday, and seemed as relieved as I to drop his drama-inducing daughter off at her mom’s house before we went home to observe the Superbowl half-time show. (It seems that the “weenie” Eli Manning is enough to sway his interest away from a football game). While we have not talked of “The Apron Incident”, it is safe to say that things, while perhaps not exactly solved, are back to normal.
Except for Mondays, which still remain our Drunken Nights, we now work completely opposite hours. This alone is potentially semi-detrimental to our relationship. I know well the results of never seeing the individual you’re in a relationship with. Luckily, my Rockstar has realized that I still wish to interact with him the remaining 6 days of the week, so he agreed to come home for lunch this day.
I may have mentioned in the past the fact that I detest cooking. However, I love a challenge (after I’ve had coffee) so I took stock of the contents of the refridgerator, intent on making a gloriously edible lunch for my beloved. My eyes fell on a package of ground pork, and I thought, “Hmmm, I should use that up. What could I make?”
After perusing the web for recipe ideas, I decided to cook a meat pie. (How incredibly medieval of me) I had no vegetables to include in my meaty creation, but I did find some leftover Potatoes O’Brien in the freezer that I believed would fill in my pie crust quite nicely. While I am not an expert cook, I pride myself at being able to make superb pie crust with just the right amount of flakiness. (Thanks to my amazing Auntie and her willingness to coach me on making quiche) My Rockstar, unfailing stoic when providing compliments, has actually commented on my pie crusting expertise in the past.
When he got home, my meat pie was not yet out of the oven, and he asked if I would allow him to quit his job because of the imbecility that goes on there. He was obviously in a depressed mood, so I let him stew while giving him a hug to let him know things will be alright. When my meaty goodness came out of the oven, he ate it quietly, but without turning up his nose in disgust. He even told me it was, “pretty good”, before returning to his Work Hell. (High praise coming from him)
I now realize his reaction to the Apron Incident last week was due to the suckiness of his job, and perhaps I over-reacted. (I’ve never done THAT before) I also know that I was put on this earth to make people happy, (even though I like to say it’s all about me) and so it is my hope that a hug and a meat pie brightened his day, even just a little.
P.S. I would have included a blow job in the happiness-making process, but he seemed to not be in the mood.
Sparklebumpsthebookwhore 