“Look What I Bought For Us.”

In the past history of this blog, there have been many confused and irrational ramblings by some girl closely resembling me. If you recall, she wanted her Rockstar to propose; but wait! She wanted to have babies and was quite certain she was willing to give up her Rockstar if he didn’t give up his sperm. For the record, you are now entering the life of a Libra. Please keep your hands inside the cart for the duration of the ride, and hang on for dear life.

It’s funny to think how different things were even a year ago. I was happily employed at a bookstore where every day was like Christmas, and would nightly go home to my Rockstar who would or would not greet me with a bear hug and a boner, depending on his mood. I spent a good deal of time waiting for him to say those three little words (I love you), or even four little words (Will you marry me?), growing increasingly preturbed by his refusal to verbally commit to me. After this weekend, I realized that all that time, I should have been dreaming bigger, and expecting even MORE words. Maybe even six whole ones. I didn’t even know I wanted to hear them until after they were said:

“Look what I bought for us.”

For those who may not have known, (or may have forgotten), it was my birthday last Friday. I cannot say I celebrated it, as I spent the entire day in a hellacious prison acting as a Pizza Slut. Luckily, my Rockstar missed me enough this week that he brought me to work at 9 AM, and came back to pick me up at 1:30 AM just so he could see me for a few extra minutes.

While I have never expected birthday presents from the man I’m in a relationship with (other than birthday sex), I cannot say that I would refuse or deny any gifts that were purchased with my day of birth in mind. My Rockstar in the last weeks purchased yellow shocks to replace the ones in my very yellow truck, and while not necessarily meant as a birthday gift, I appreciate the gesture greatly. That being said, the fact that my Rockstar took me out for breakfast at Perkins on Saturday so I could eat lunch food was more than enough of a birthday present.

When I arrived home Saturday night, my Rockstar’s Daughter wished to show me the new fuzzy blanky her daddy had bought her. After tucking her in and raining kisses upon her, I went into my own bedroom intent on plastering myself to my mattress for the next 5-7 hours. My Rockstar rudely (or so I thought at first) turned the bedroom light on and said those few words I’ve waited to hear all my life.

“Look what I bought for us.”

Without knowing my Rockstar, it may be hard for you to understand the great depth of his meaning in these words. He is forever talking about going to this race, or taking this weekend to go dirt-biking, or looking online to purchase guitar gear instead of a house. While it is unspoken yet known that I am invited to participate in these activities, there has been few or no times when he has referred in conversations (at least with me) to he and I as “us”. Him being a man of few words, (unless it has to do with Mitt Romney) I could not have been more shocked or delighted if he had said, “Here’s a castle for you and a pair of swarovski-encrusted stillettos for you to marry me in.”

If he would have put a pile of cow shit on the floor and said, “Look what I bought for us”, I would have thrown my arms around him and covered him in kisses for saying it in such a way, nevermind the dung. Luckily, he bought for us sheets, which perhaps seems quite insignificant to an outsider, except for one little detail- they were purple. Which means he bought them specifically with me in mind. Who needs a ring and a proposal when there are purple sheets to dirty? 😉

 

He Sees You When You’re Peeking…

Aright, so I am one of those people who should just be a cat, because I swear to God my curiousity is going to kill me one of these days. That and I hate surprises. Do you get where I’m going with this yet?

YES! OK? I PEEKED IN  THE GIANT SHINY BAG THAT WAS MARKED WITH MY NAME ON IT.

I can explain.

So on Wednesday

No. I must go further back.

When I was 6 or 7, (I’m sorry, I don’t remember the exact year because it was long long ago) I remember that at Christmas time, McDonald’s was selling stuffed Muppet Babies. I begged and begged my mom to buy me a Kermie, because he was just so cute and he handled Miss Piggy’s advances so well. So a few weeks before Christmas, I sequestered myself in my parent’s bedroom and dug through the closet, checking to see if a stuffed Kermit just for me resided therein. I found him and was completely thrilled beyond belief. Sadly, he ended up being a Christmas present for my cousin, and I have been jaded ever since. I suppose that should have been a lesson to me NOT to go poking around for presents.

Now we may come back to the future.

On Wednesday, when I arrived home from work in the wee hour of morning, I was pleasantly surprised to see a ginormous shiny gift bag sitting in front of our completely natural fiber-optic tree. I snuck over in the dark and was surprised to find that said bag was addressed to me. I say surprised, because my Rockstar has never found it necessary to buy me a gift for any reason since we have been… entangled.

Anyhoo, I tried to forget about it. I went to bed and didn’t dream of giant shiny gift bags, but in the morning, after my Rockstar went to work, the magical gift bag was calling out to me, whispering, “Sparklebumps, just one little peek! You know you want to…. It won’t hurt anything to look. Openmeopenmeopenme!”

I said to that bag, “NO! You cannot compel me!”

Just kidding.

I said to myself, “Self, I shall ONLY peek into the top of the bag.” My self didn’t listen.

But in my defense, the tape was not sticking on the wrapping paper.

So as I peered into the depths of the giant bag, I saw nothing.

Except a shiny-ly wrapped present that was coming unwrapped.

Let me ask you something.

Would YOU be able to resist?

Yeah. Exactly.

And so I said to myself, “Self, we will just stick our finger under the flap of paper that didn’t stick and see what we can see.”

My self really doesn’t listen to me very well.

We saw nothing, my self and I. Except a brown box that had little black writing on it.

Of course I had to see what the writing said. And so I just said, “Fuck it.” and opened the bag up wide and took the present out.

The man who has never bought me a gift spent $500+ on a bass guitar amp head so that I may plug in my beauteous purpley bass and rock out.

I don’t know what to say.

Except that the frickin’ tape didn’t hold very well when I put it back in the bag.

He knew I peeked.

Oops.

But he must really love me.