Chick Flicks: A Guide to Growing a Vajayjay

This past week weatherchannel.com teased us in the 10-day forecast by saying that we would be stuck inside due to severe thunderstorms, although none of which turned out to be true, Julie and I have been preparing like it's a hurricane. What better way to spend a rainy day inside than watching something with the word "diaries" in the title? Now, I don't particularly hate girlie movies with all that much fiery passion, but given the choice between watching a 20 something go soul searching in Western Europe, swearing off men though secretly being open to accepting any native she meets as her soul mate, and explosions with a chance of nudity, I would much rather choose the latter.

The latest batch of estrogen that has been emanating from our TV set has been in the form of Grey's Anatomy. We all know the story: Girl tries to make it in the same career field as her famous mother, only to get swept up in inter-office romance with her yet-to-be divorced boss. Joining the ranks of dozens of other bubbly bright eyed nymphomaniac interns. Egos are tested as she and her friends denote nicknames to their bosses in the form of Mc(adjective). This not-so-secret slight against Irish-Americans doesn't slow the doctors down as they fall in and out of love with patients, complete their six degrees of separation of sexual partners involving their colleagues, spreading kitschy catch phrases that only get proliferated by the likes of Oprah and the ladies of The View. All while chomping at the bit to satiate their unending lust for blood and gore.

Ok maybe I give the show a little more credit than it's due. After watching four seasons of this medical melodrama I must view it on my terms. Thankfully with the recent acquisition of a Netflix account (not saying whose exactly)*1 we have many more choices of things to watch. Our current favorite being Law & Order: Special Victims Unit*2. This show is much more up my alley.

What separates SVU from the other twelve or so Law & Orders out there is that this one focuses on the particularly heinous crimes of Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (otherwise known as FU.... hey wait a minute). We enjoy the drama and the mystery of finding the perp who left a middle-aged man dead and strung up in S&M gear for his wife and daughter to find. Between this, Sex and the City, and watching Titanic for a 3rd time, it's really no contest. When watching shows about such a gritty and disturbing subject matter it's reassuring knowing that we will be leaving the city soon.

Oh wait a minute! Julie just showed me a news article about three men being found dead in a lake in Northampton. Well I guess you can't win them all. I'm just glad I won't have to hang up my tiger-print spandex super hero outfit just yet!

*1 Holla atchya S-Dub!

*2 Look to my previous post "Thanks Man: A Retrospective" and you'll know why -- smug stan

Thanks Man: A Retrospective

A few Mondays ago I aided Julie with her company's annual fundraiser. I was propositioned with the promise of free drinks and the possibility of seeing some celebrities. You think I would pass up the opportunity to rub elbows with the likes of Nicolas Cage, Christopher Meloni, and Marc Linn-Baker?! Don't be ridiculous! Ever since I saw Chris Meloni in Wet Hot American Summer I felt that he would really understand me, I mean he practically played me in the movie! I knew that if I were to meet him though I could not act like some star-struck floozy hanging all over him, I had to be presentable and stately. I would have to present myself as though I were one of the big wigs there, sure he's been nominated for an Emmy but I'm a co-author of a blog enjoyed by numerous members of my family. Whatever I said, it had to be good!

I spent hours in front of the mirror practicing ice breakers: "Hey, sup?", "Do you enjoy raising funds?", and my personal favorite "What crazy weather we're having? Yes or No?". With those winners I knew that he and I would be buying round trip tickets to Vegas before the night was out, if you catch my drift. Before heading to the venue I made sure I was carrying the biggest marker I had so that when I finally popped the question and asked him to sign my chest it would be visible no matter how small and embarrassed he wrote it.

My work started off with a twang. As I brought supplies down from the offices I haphazardly lifted a box and felt something pull in my back. I had aggravated a strain that I believed to have developed from a racing tournament I competed in on Xbox the previous week, as the pull was in my upper right ass. While at the time the injury didn't slow me down much, the following day I woke up to a demolished back and had to lay on the floor for two days.

The setting up of the event went about as well as could be coming from geriatric theater people. The conflicting personalities led to a wide array of perfect ideas for how the event should be set up. After a few hours of lifting, laughing, crying, and complaining the event was ready. I thought to myself "Bring on Detective Stabler!"

As the evening went on crowds cycled through perusing the items that were up for auction. Personally I wanted to put a bid on backstage passes to One Life to Live but Julie reminded me that $600 could be spent much more responsibly and efficiently on her. It wasn't until the later part of the evening did Meloni grace the venue with his presence. I tried to make my move when he was eyeing some Hirschfeld prints, but before I could get close enough to stroke his hair his wife pulled him away. Defeated I drowned my sorrows in Gin and Tonic.

At the end of the event I stood by the gift reception desk trying to make myself most available to work that needed to be done, when lo and behold over walks Chris Meloni to purchase the lovely quilt he had won. It was then that I had my chance! The moment I had been waiting for all week. He picked up the form he had to fill out then paused and looked around hurriedly. I knew what was up. I leaned over to the table and picked up one of the pens lying about, spun around and handed it to him. "Thanks man" he replied, taking the pen. It was pretty awesome, I'm never washing that pen again.

A.... or B?

We are amidst the personal hell that is packing and are T-minus one week until we are no longer New Yorkers but oddly fashionable backwoods Massachusetters. Lots has happened since my last blog. I am no longer employed (by choice) and am confused by unemployment. Am I supposed to wake up as if I am going somewhere? I can't seem to pull off tricking myself into waking up any earlier than 11. Beep-Beep-Beep- Oh no I'm gonna be la-- waaaait a minute! Ahhhh you almost got me, alarm clock!

Now my daily routine has gone from coffee and a bagel with endless hours of staring at a computer screen workin for the man to canned food and dry cereal staring at the new mess that is our apartment. Boxes left and right, empty, packed, nothing seems to be done but everything seems in the midst of some incomplete state. From my very organized desk at the theater to just a constant sense of chaos. Some order needed instating.

Zane and I have devised a plan that at first seemed logical, even helpful, but has become a question of social standing and guesstimating. We are only temporarily moving to the lakehouse and then off to Northampton/Amherst after a few months so we know this isn't a permanent situation. No use in packing, unpacking, then packing all over again. So we are labeling boxes according to use. A is immediate use. B for not going to need all summer.

My life is now the equivalent of an unsexy Cosmo quiz. I am answering more B's while Zane is leaning toward A's. When we arrive to MA we will have enough electronics and games to entertain all the armed forces. Mind you, most everything here is mine from the last 2 years being at this apartment. But I found it comical that on Day 1 we packed up the entertainment bookcase and all our DVDs. I packed mine into a box and he into his own (I don't want mine to get boy movie cooties). When we both finished we proudly looked at our first 4 packed boxes and smiled. Then I saw his were labeled A while I, the martyr I am, thought it was more of a B thing. Looks like it'll be a summer of Fight Club, Rock N Rolla, and When Harry Met Sally. What? It's Zane... come on.

We have plenty more to do over the next week and will be joined Monday night by my mom to help gather the last of it. Our sendoff party was a week ago at the Beer Garden and it was a blast. We're hoping to organize a cookout the weekend after we move in for all the friends and family up in the MA area. Stay tuned!

Gray Hair Watch: 38

A recent hair count conducted by Julie has revealed that I now have 38 gray hairs. This is far more than the 2 or 3 I counted not a year ago. These findings lead me to believe that living with Julie is aging me at an alarming rate! This may sound crazy but I secretly believe that she is keeping me around to steal my youth, much like in "The Picture of Dorian Grey". By the time my annual "Photo Shoot by the Sea" comes next month I'm bound to look like some withered old geezer.

I suppose all I can do now its hope. Hope that I will grow a full head of salt & pepper locks and become the middle aged sex symbol I looked up to as a child. Freshmen year of high school I tried to dye my hair gray. It was my Richard Gere-esk form of teenage rebellion. I thought that perhaps it would make me look distinguished. At least it would make me look gentlemanly enough so they would stop pestering me about an ID whenever I tried to go to my old hangout Gossip.

Unfortunately the woman I turned to to help me in my transformation told me that they didn't make any such hair coloring. Her attempt to grant my wish consisted of bleaching my hair to baby chick yellow, and after I saw myself as the cartoon version of James Van Der Beek, I knew that this was not going to end well. She then turned my hair into a sort of metallic black, which ultimately took on an unexpected purple tint. Fortunately at that moment in my social life I was seen somewhat of a hip trendsetter.... *coughs* no one really seemed to take notice.

As I draw nearer to my lifelong goal I find myself at a pass, do I shun Julie for performing such superficial witchcraft on me, or thank her for giving me that which I have pined for my whole life. On second thought, I'll just let her go along for it. The reaction I get from all the neighborhood cougars should be punishment enough.

Adventure Time!

Whether it be rollerblading by the con ed building, watching Zebras do it in East Midtown, or haggling the price of chopsticks in China Town, the foundation of our time outdoors has been spent on what we call "adventuring". Usually these adventures constitute nothing more than aimlessly wandering, but sometimes they can be educational, and eye opening.

One evening early in our relationship (before this whole moving in cr.... lovely situation) we wandered around central park. It had just rained so everything was still moist. It was dusk, and while this was before the weather got too cold out, there weren't that many people around. As we ventured deep into the park we heard the sound of a saxophone playing. Initially we thought it was going to be some lowly street urchin seeking our pocket change, so we began work shopping some snide remarks to dispirit the struggling performer. Just as I had formed the perfect zinger "Nice instrument jerk!" he stopped playing and a large crowd seemed to be applauding. Then suddenly we heard a person come on a loudspeaker to introduce musicians. By the time we got in sight of the origin of this music the band had been well into their final song. Curious as all hell we ran up to try and sneak a peak at this late afternoon concert, but by the time we got to the gate they had strung their last chord. Such was the kind of disappointment the rest of our time together was founded on.

The first adventure we ever took was the first time we hung out exclusively. With the absence of people to get offended by our cursing and dead baby jokes we were free to express ourselves fully without inhibition. Our plan was to explore the lower east side, from Union Square to the Brooklyn Bridge. I was placed in charge of acting as tour guide for an area I had never been before. As we descended beneath the numbered streets it was clear that I was no longer tour guide and more in place as a guesstimating compass. We traveled from one place I thought I'd seen before to the next.

When leaving the Bridge we attempted to go down a stairwell that was sure to bring us right back to the street. Instead we wound up in a small park. There was a family of four walking around and a heavy aroma of pee. No direction seemed to lead us in the right direction so we hopped over a barrier and began walking up a ramp. The ramp was connected to the bridge yet seemed to be long out of service due to the large overgrown grass emerging from the pavement. We proceeded past a guard booth at the foot of the ramp and made our way up. With seemingly nothing to do the female cop perked up at the sight of us. "You can't go up there!" She shouted and motioned for us to go the way we came. We made our apologies and tried to figure out which way we should try next. Each avenue seemed to lead us in the wrong direction and we ended up walking in circles in the impromptu public restroom. Seeing our complete hopelessness the guard of the forbidden ramp lent us a hand and pointed out which way to go.

We made our way to the south eastern seaport and made ourselves comfortable on one of the many benches that lined the balcony. We gazed out at Olafur Eliasson's Waterfalls, the artwork that combined the wetness of waterfalls with the allure of scaffolding. It was there that we began sharing all our dirty little family secrets. I knew that if she decided she didn't want to be around me any more I could easily toss her in the East River and be done with her like so many other girls before. But, as it turned out she not only met my quirks but raised me a few skeletons.

From there we went and dined at the finest restaurant in all of Manhattan, Wendy's. Riling from the high of the godlike meal we decided to board the first bus that arrived at the nearby stop. With the promise of possibly finding ourselves in a part of Battery Park we journeyed on. As it turned out the bus was heading back towards Union Square so we neared the end of our journey. Once there we agreed that it was too soon to say goodnight, so we sat on a park bench and talked some more till we got our fill of crazy hobo fights. All in all it was a great day: I found someone I really connected with and Julie thought she finally found her new gay best friend.

If I were stuck on a Pastry Island

Once again it seems I will have to teach Julie the difference between 1 and 3.

If I were stuck on a deserted Island with this one thing I'd need to bring would be: My Therapist.

Though I suppose for the sake of mediocre literature my 3 runner-up choices would be:

1. My two piece bikinis
2. Time Life's Romancing the 70s CD collection.
3. A deck of cards and this useful contraption:

viewers choice award

wow. we got our first comment and i didn't even notice! yayyyyy katelyn.

sidenote: we were asked a while back by an anonymous reader to answer the following question:

"If you and Zane were stranded on a deserted island and had one item you could each bring, what would it be?"

i have come up with a few options, here are my top 3:

1. anti-zane spray.
2. a spoon. wait... ohhhh deSerted.
3. a boat.


...zane?

...

wtf zane.

those were my things.

that's just mean.

it still would have been funny if you just pretended to do it like every other thing you write.

geez.

The End of An Era

Now what I'm about to share with you is in no way connected to the date, despite it seeming like such a coincidence. The reason I haven't posted in a while is all thanks to Julie. Weeks ago she switched my computer with a carefully reconstructed box of Apple Jacks cereal, which I have been trying to get to work for the past few weeks now. I have been in a cripplingly depressed state thinking that my once omnipotent computer had become nothing more than an empty cardboard shell in it's old age. It is because of this slight that I have decided to end things once and for all!

When Julie comes home from work she will find her stuff in the 2' x 5' patch of yard and the locks changed. From this moment I am taking soul ownership of "Hers and His" and after I figure out how, will be renaming it "Mine". I will then be charged with the difficult task of finding a replacement for Julie as my blogging co-author. Bidding will start at $3.75 and I will accept all major credit cards. This is a few in a lifetime chance to be a part of something amazing. So for whomever is reading this, please comment with your bid and you can start your very own post about me. As an added bonus if you bid anywhere over $900 you can actually move in and get the whole A1 experience!

9 truths and 1 lie

In honor of April Fools I am presenting a list of 9 truths and 1 lie about Zane..... enjoy! Happy guessing!

Zane likes to dance like Elaine Bennis.
Zane fathered a child with a former Playboy playmate.
Zane has been the happiest of his life since finding me.
Zane has 2 belly buttons.
Zane likes boys.
Zane rollerblades poorly but talks about it skillfully.
Zane really likes dogs without wrists.
Zane invented a burger and calls it "The Zane Gould."
Zane has sworn to never work with me again on any future projects.
Zane was abandoned as a child by his imaginary friend Macky Sasser.

out like a lamb

It's hard to believe March is almost over already! As you loyal readers may have noticed, posts have gotten fewer and fewer as Zane's and my schedules have gotten more packed. Let me offer a brief recap:

• Zane continued to wish me a "happy birthday" every morning in the month of March until March 23rd. Job well done!
• Zane is on a winning streak for gifts. For christmas: Diamond Earrings. This past birthday: wine fridge. I'll keep him!
• We were able to host an assortment of family members between March 21st and March 28th. They all seemed to not mind Zane's dead bug collection he has started in the bathroom.
• No one found our under the bed dust bunny. He's been fed nothing but bathtub wookies since January and has become quite the loveable friend.
• One night I curiously went to inspect an odd grunting noise coming from the back of the apartment and found Zane almost fully enclosed in his rolling suitcase just because he wanted to see if he could fit.
• I couldn't fit either.
• Continuing my "everything you bring into this house you must use before we move" movement, here is a list of items that remain to be used: Zane's snazzy cookbook he got for Christmas from Santa, anything in that third bucket on the bottom of the tower, neckties from Mom.
• And here is a list of things that Zane has unfortunately used: my footie pajamas, my hair curling shampoo (he shaved his head!), Kid Sister, that furry piece of fruit in the back of the fridge.
• In an effort to prove a point I told Zane to show me one piece of clothing he bought himself. Insert 3 day pause. Resume that following weekend at his parents house when I get a response "Oh wait, wait.... Ta da!" And out from the bathroom pops Zane... proudly wearing the Speedo bathing suit he bought as a movie prop once. He still says it counts.

So.... that's the latest from Apartment A1. We hope to hear from you soon as our days here are numbered.

Soy un perdedor.

So this Sunday I turn 25 and it truly feels like I've hit my quarter life crisis. Countless friends from high school and college are married with kids... or just married... or just with kids, some have even been cast in Broadway shows! (Go Briana Go!) Each has shiny happy photos on Facebook of them boozing with friends on weekends and kegstands at their folks' place. And here I am... at an Elvis party with my boyfriend's parents.

This year I have decided to look as though I'm a lot cooler than all of my other friends to make them jealous. It's taken 25 years but I finally found the perfect "look how cute he is, jealous?" boyfriend prop, an apartment that I afford with no parental help, a real car (though it just sits in the driveway for now) and a career that looks good on paper. Here are some ideas to one up them all:

1. Borrow Zane's cousins' baby John and take "insta baby" photos. Now I'll look really skinny for having just popped out a 2 month old (er, newborn)
2. Pretend I'm dating a male model and make Zane pose on the hood of my Honda Accord. As long as he doesn't scratch it with that grommeted Speedo.
3. Make a fake "for sale"/"sold" sign and stick it on the patch of dirt outside my apartment building so I too can look like I've purchased an entire complex like another friend of mine did.
4. Have Zane take photos of me bringing my parents lunch and title it "helping out for Meals on Wheels".
5. Plan a wedding for the neighborhood cats, name them Zane and Julie, and keep all of the presents they receive.
6. Move back home and live on the water for the summer to get centered and find my passion. Oh wait... I win!

The Birthday Girl

With Julie's birthday fast approaching, I am racking my brain to think of how to celebrate it. I have thought of all the usual romantic gestures; flowers, diamonds, life-sized nude oil painting of myself, but nothing really quite clicks. Hopefully the arrival of her brother Neil will distract her enough for me to slip out unnoticed and do some last minute shopping.

A saying I have always lived by "Buy the ones you love, the things you'd love" makes this situation a lot easier. I guess I'll stop by Gamestop tomorrow, I know she's going to love Onechanbara: Bikini Samurai Squad.

Now, don't tell Julie, but I'm thinking of putting together a big surprise party. I have heard numerous times about the whole fiasco of her last birthday involving a surprise party. I have a fool proof plan though to make sure it doesn't end up being just Julie, myself, and 14 gallons of Koolaid. My master plan is to hold the party in the middle of Times Square! It's bound to be packed! So there may not be anyone she knows, and there might be more party guests wearing fanny packs and families dressed in matching leopard outfits than she would care for, but at least I could get at least a thousand people to show up! At that rate she won't care how much of her money I spent on 1-900 numbers, or the fact that I'm still married to Isvlana (I swear it was just for the green card), she will just be happy to be the recipient of such an awesome party!

Just some ideas

So I don't know if the jets have written it in the air yet... but my birthday is 10 days away.

For those who have spent a birthday or two (or eek coming up on 25!) you know I normally blow it up into something so great, it's been known to have songs written about it. Pretty darn great songs.

I am very excited to be able to travel home this weekend to have the famous Whitehouse Singers serenade me. That's the reason I'm really coming home. My mom and I have the uncanny ability to make our birthday celebrations last up to and beyond one month to a year. I know it gets tougher now that I'm farther from the nest, and people might not know what to do. I have compiled a photo album below of cake ideas.

(Yes Mom, I am aware we have reached the "why don't you buy a cake like all the other mothers" stage... so don't feel pressured to recreate the fabulousness below. Feel challenged.)

First up, I think this is a better take on a "girly cake"...




But now that I am well over legal drinking age, why not challenge yourself with this towering layer of awesomeness?


If Zane's going to be there though, you probably want to go the more job appropriate angle:


Speaking of awesomeness.... Why not just make a Zane cake?


That's really supposed to be Chuck Norris but I see an uncanny resemblance... Here are the 2 runner-up Chuck Norris cakes:



Lastly, my personal fave... the Tom Selleck:




So thanks to everyone gearing up for my big day/week/month I can't wait to not be let down!

Bring It On

So it seems the popularity of our blog has spread, much like Zane's dirty socks - all over. Each day I hear a response from a friend or family member about how they enjoy our daily quips. One of our friends even started a video blog... hmm.... maybe we inspired him?

But here's the deal. Every day I have to witness Zane hovering over his computer like a child of divorce looking for acceptance. Constantly refreshing the screen to see if we have received any comments on how funny we are, how great we look, basically just on our amazingness in general. And so far... nothing. So this is my plea. I know you are reading this. Yeah, don't look over your shoulder, you. Maybe you're Zane's mom, or Julie's. (Shout out to my mom!) You could even be a sibling... Maren, Neil... this means you. Perhaps you're an old friend or new. Maybe you don't even know us and you creepily found this link....creepster.

Props to our brave 2 "followers" Richelle, my great friend from college, and Katelyn, my awesome cousin who taught me what blogging truly is! These people can admit they are addicted to learning about Zane's and my personal life. They have nothing better to do than refresh THEIR screens waiting for a notice that we've posted.

For Zane's sanity and my curiosity.... we ask you all to show yourselves! Leave a mark in history and let us know you're spying on us. Don't worry... we spy on all of you too. Maybe even pose a question about our coupledom for future blogs to answer. Comments are always welcome!

If you need help knowing what to say here are some starters:

Q: Does Zane leave the toilet seat up?
A: No, he's been trained very well.

Q: How much of what you type is real and how much is made up?
A: Made up?

Q: Why are you two still together?
A: Julie needs help with her rent.

Q: Are you really moving away in May?
A: Yes, but the stories will only get more interesting as we travel from up and coming New York City to down and leaving (no offense) Athol, Massachussetts. That's pronounce Ah-thol not Ath-hole.

So, there are some starters, your turn. The most creative one will be answered first!

Bang On the Drum

I'm sorry to all of you who have been checking the blog like mad, hoping to find out some more juicy insight into the Ghitehouse/Would apartment. For the past couple days I have been working a freelance job, or what Julie's calls an "about damn time". Working as a freelancer typically leaves a lot of down time, and since Julie has amended the house rules to state "no running drug/prostitute rings out of the front window" I have had to find more "dignified work". It's been pretty grueling sitting in front of a computer at a post-production house watching people talk about beer all day.

Being out of the house more than Julie each day means that I have considerably less time to play pranks with her stuff. Now whenever I walk into the bathroom with a roll of cellophane, I'm grilled relentlessly till my whole plan is ruined. She seems to be delighted to have free run of the place again until I come home and "stink it up again" - Julie Whitehouse.

I can prove to her that I'm more than dashing good looks and a tight rear end but that I can also be a moderately constructive member of society. Perhaps now she won't make me sleep in the Zane Bed anymore, which deep down I know isn't just a kind of bed that Zanes have to sleep on, but rather an empty suitcase lined with kitty litter.

Working Man

Life was just starting to get comfortable with a live in maid and then Zane had to go and do the unthinkable--- get a job.

Here I am to fend for myself for TWO WEEKS, even do the unthinkable: consider doing dishes.

I have assumed the role of housewife and I must say, I think it fits me well. During downtime, I smoke really long cigarettes with an apron on, scold the children out the window to behave while playing, look at the full sink of dirty dishes and sigh heavily as I slip into a deeper and deeper depression.

This is not what it's like on BRAVO. Where are my rich gal pals to talk gossipy smack talk about our trashy neighbors' lack of values? I was not handed a credit card with unlimited expenses either. You sure this is right? Maybe it got delivered to the wrong address.

Speaking of which... many people have been asking for our new address. If anyone still needs it, just email me at juliewhitehouse@gmail.com I'd love the contact.... in fact.... just write.... about anything. Tell me about you washing the dishes.... Entertain me.

I'm so alone.

Oh! I have to go, I think Zane is coming up the steps and I need to make sure his evening brandy is poured just right or else I am not allowed to eat dinner. Ta ta!

Ode to My Roommate

A series of haikus...

Today I realized

Your mother buys all your clothes.

Sigh. Oh no... red flag.

~~~

Now I discover,

You peed on the toilet seat.

....Sigh, oh no. Red flag.

~~~

I did your laundry.

Brown skids? What would these be from...?

Sigh. ...OH NO! RED FLAG!

.

.

.

.

[Note to reader: Zane would like it to be known he doesn't have brown skids. As for the other two... no comment.]

A Barbie Girl in a Virtual World

The internet holds many strange and marvelous things. Being that we don't have tv in the apartment we have been filling our evenings with scouring the internet for the most intriguing and scarring materials we can find. Our journey has even gone so far as a place I swore I'd never set foot in, Second Life.

For those who are not familiar with Second Life, it is a "game" where you can travel around virtual worlds exploring the sights, chatting with other players from across the world, and even wearing fancy hats. When you first log in you are prompted to create a virtual character for yourself (or Avatar). These characters can range from a realistic representation of yourself, to a creepy animal-man hybrid known as a Furry.

The game lends an openness to do anything you can think of, and I mean anything. Given that this is a place where people can mingle anonymously, you can imagine things gets pretty hairy. Still being new to Second Life we really don't know our way around the place. Any sort of strange adventures we embark on are merely by coincidence. On our aging computers the game runs pretty poorly, most of the time things come in gray and jittery so it leaves much to the imagination.

Julie has taken on the role of Sunshine Farquart, a pink haired goth ballerina. I created Zed Zavala, who has a gruff biker exterior and the heart of a poet. We enjoy dancing in inappropriate settings, making people believe that we just met in Second Life, and gaining the trust of a fellow "noob" only to ditch them at a brothel. Yes it seems that to get ahead in the game you really must be creative. Without any set goals or quick ways to make in-game money, the only other option is seeing whatever other deranged personalities we can meet.

Zed taking in the sights at one of the local furry clubs.
Sunshine being productive.
Chatting up some cats at a hotel that will be holding a furry convention.

Phrases & Phases

Many families have their own secret languages they speak in. Often endearing terms formulated over years of being with one another. Zane has tried to start such a language between him and me since moving in, but it hasn't really taken root yet.

I try to tell my girlfriends this problem, but they just think it's "so sweet" and "wish they had a boyfriend so thoughtful". Who are they to know? They just like that when they come to visit Zane braids their hair and paints their toes like was agreed upon in exchange for me temporarily storing his clothes, video games, etc.

For example...

In my family, when we have a cold and don't want to spread germs but want to show our love, we smack arms with each other. Over the course of time, this has evolved into saying "wappa wappa" i.e. the sound of arms hitting.

In my new apartment, Zane has been known to randomly punch me in the face while he sleeps. He has affectionately termed this "rocket arm".

In my family, my father wanted to give Neil a really strong nickname as a child. He went through some variations, (Moose, SuperNerd, Willow) but eventually settled on "Boog" I believe after baseball player Boog Powell. I like to think it's after booger.

In my new apartment, Zane now calls me "One" as in "the One" due to contractual agreements. I have thus decided to call him "Two".

In my family, my kindergarten teacher called up my mother with concern over what I was referring to in class as her "bunny pajamas." Jumping to the worst conclusions, Mrs. Low thought Mom was parading around the living room on a regular basis in Hugh Hefner approved apparel. While true for the occassional Sunday, this time was only a reference to her floor-length non-sexy flannel nightgown with a rabbit on the front.

In my new apartment, the newness has worn off and Zane sees it fit to revert to his most casual of outfits. I don't know why he insisted we move box upon box of clothes for him when now the only thing he wears everyday are his slightly too small "footie pajamas." It has become an embarassing issue at the grocery store, and the local V.F.W. hall has banned his innappropriate, 2 foot high wedgie from about a dozen locations in Astoria. I share my embarassment with you below. (First with us celebrating Christmas, followed by last Thursday, making pancakes, and then lastly this morning when I told him I was submitting his name for the Amazing Race.)