How Does Your Garden Grow?

I have always loved the IDEA of gardening.  I love having lots of greenery around.  It's usually so beautiful!  Plus, it's the hippie thing to do.  And I kind of fancy myself a hippie.  But the practice of it?  Well, there's a lot of dirt and bugs and it's takes a lot of effort. Plus you have to actually remember that you have plants.  I can handle my dog - there is no such thing as forgetting to feed her because she does not let you forget.  But a plant?  I could forget to water a plant for weeks.  And it never would say anything.  It would just sit there and silently die.  Many a houseplant has died an untimely death due to my negligence.

My father has the worst black thumb of anybody I've ever met.  It's not for lack of trying.  He reads gardening books and magazines in the winter to try to get tips.  Every year he really gives it his all and then fails miserably year after year - or at least the last 25 of them that I remember.  It's comical actually.  We lived in Kansas when I was younger and he tried to grow sunflowers (which are the state flower).  Despite his best efforts, the best one he ever grew was about 6inches tall, yet they grew wild to full height in the field across the street from our house.  At least he has a sense of humor about it now.  Last week I overheard a friend ask him what he was growing in his garden - he replied "rabbits and deer mostly".

So obviously, given my past and family history, I decided to try my hand at gardening this year.  And miraculously, it's not a complete failure (which means that it's a win)!

I built a raised bed, which is probably the reason for my minimal success.  I added landscape fabric and hardware cloth underneath to keep out any burrowing pests and weeds.  And then built it 12" up from the ground.  I'm a little bit ridiculous, so I painted the bed bright yellow.  Then I just filled it with dirt and plants - and they GREW!

So Much Garden Soil!

Another credit to my success unfortunately is the sudden appearance of hunting instincts in BellaBeagle.  As soon as I started building the raised bed, she started ruthlessly killing baby rabbits.  This is the 4th summer in the house, and rabbits have lived inside the fence this whole time.   Until this year, she largely ignored them.  I build a garden and suddenly she goes into over-protective mode?  Weird.

Ruthless Killer Protecting My Garden

After Everything Was Planted

Eventually, the zucchini plant killed both green pepper plants, and the summer squash killed the orange and red pepper plants.  One afternoon I went into a rage and ripped the summer squash out of the ground.  (It's not my favorite.)  I felt guilty about it immediately and tried to replant it into a separate pot - it died anyway.  Otherwise, everything I planted has been successful so far.  BellaBeagle ate all the strawberries though.  I just can't believe I actually grew things!

Ignore the dead grass around the raised bed - I killed it because I am planning to surround it with stone.  I'm just too lazy to follow through.

I Grew This!

These Plants Grew!

In other news, my father claims to have grown a tomato "the size of a shooter marble".  He's very excited.

Gay Time

I used to be on time everywhere - sometimes I was even early.  The problem with that is that all of my friends run on "gay time".  I'm not sure why exactly (don't worry, I have theories), but gay men are always a half hour to an hour later - for EVERYTHING.  Yes, I'm generalizing.  Are there gay men who are punctual?  Absolutely.  But even they can be influenced eventually.

Take Gaybie for example.  Once upon a time, he was early for everything.  He was that guy who shows up for your 9pm party at 8:30, but you're just getting IN the shower because you're assuming nobody will be there until at least 9:30 so you give him some random kitchen task that you never would have had time for otherwise.  And then he became friends with other gay men and spent a good portion of his time sitting around waiting for other people.  He'd be 20 minutes early to an event that everyone else was 45 minutes late for - that's an hour of awkwardly sitting around alone.  And over time, he adapted.  Now he's definitely one of the worst offenders.  I love the text messages I get that let me know he's running on gay time and will be late.

The problem with being a straight girl who has started running on gay time is that not ALL of my friends are gay men.  (You might want to sit down at this point.  I realize that last sentence may have come as a shock.)  I am now notorious among all my straight friends for being routinely late.  I feel bad about it, I really do.  But I just can't figure out anymore how to be on time.

Gay Time.  n. The act of being habitually 30-60 minutes late for every event.  Possibly due to increased time spent getting ready, a desire to be "fashionably late", lack of attention to detail due to drinking, and/or grindr, etc.  Also known as "gay-o-clock" or "homo standard time", both of which are not really acceptable for use by straight people.

Gay Roommates are Amazeballs

And here's why:

1. The bathroom is always clean. So is the kitchen. Like, clean to the point of me feeling guilty about it all the time.
2. If you know me, you know I'm not really the kind of girl who uses hair product...or much makeup. But every once in awhile, it's got it's purpose. Now there's always some around.
3. I rarely leave the house looking ridiculous anymore - there's always someone to make me wash off my raccoon eyes or tell me my bra straps are showing. Girls will let you go out looking ok, but not great. Gay boys will refuse to be seen out with you until you change out of your mom jeans.

Ok, so I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "girl roommates do all that too!" So here's the difference:

4. They can lift heavy objects!
5. They fix things!
6. They lust after the same men in movies and let you rewind to watch the scene where that guy takes his shirt off 6 more times. (ok, girls do this too...but only about 2 times.)
7. Have you seen my house? The color schemes are awesome.

Terrible Taste in Pie

What about me makes people wish that I've done horrible things? Or think I have? It makes no sense! I'm nice. I really am. Apart from my terrible taste in pie. (10points if you get the reference.)

But seriously. We were at a wedding a few weeks ago. The "gay social event of the season" here was a straight wedding...yup that sounds about right. Admittedly, it was between two employees of everyone's favourite gay bar though. Back to my point. At some point during the wedding, I walked upstairs to the bar. The groom's two brothers were both standing on one of the higher steps talking. I asked them to move...and next thing I know one of them is at the bottom of the stairs face first in gravel and concrete. Ouch. (17 stitches, a broken nose and a concussion!) After the commotion died down, one of my friends asked if I had pushed him down. I thought they were kidding, but a few people asked the same thing as the night went by.

And then, a week or so later, another friend posts a picture on Facebook that his tire was slashed. Another friend of ours had hers slashed THREE TIMES in the last year. Come to find out, this guy now thinks I slashed his tires. Why? Because he's been convinced that I'm the person who slashed her tires all those times AND HAS BEEN TELLING PEOPLE THIS AS FACT. Bah.

(FYI I didn't push anyone down the stairs or slash anyone's tires.)

Home for Wayward Gays and Pets

Last year I bought a house. Then one of my gay friends moved in with me because he was no longer getting along with his roommates (that should have been a warning sign). Then the guy he was sort of seeing at the time convinced me to take in his dog "just for a few weeks until [he] can find a home for her". I fell in love with her though and told him that she could just stay. (She's adorable, how could you say no to that face?)

Shortly thereafter another gay friend moved in, this time because he had moved in with his parents to save money during grad school and just couldn't take it anymore. Eventually, the first one and I had quite the falling out and I asked him to move out (despite the fact that they'd started dating...awkward). I'm sorry, but you can't demand based on "roommate obligations" that I abandon a number of my close friends because they didn't give you a promotion you felt you deserved and then get mad when I refuse. Well, you CAN, but it's going to cause problems.

Gaybie and I spent about three months alone in the house with the most adorable beagle on earth. Then I went to a wedding out-of-state. Upon my return I was greeted at the door...by a cat. My friend (and male version of myself) had mentioned a few weeks prior that the living situation with his ex was getting stressful and he might want to move in sometime. I had agreed immediately, but it was a "maybe sometime this summer" thing. Apparently life with the ex had become unbearable while I was gone. So he grabbed the spare key and set about moving in...with the cat.

A few weeks after that, I received a message from a friend asking about taking in his dog. He just didn't have time to give him the attention he needed, blah blah blah. I would have said no. I probably should have said no. But this particular dog is the dog that convinced me that maybe all dogs aren't the evil evil beings I had previously thought they were. This dog (the most adorably huge lab ever) had taught me how great dogs can be. I spent a lot of time at his house last year and really bonded with the lab. And I couldn't stand the thought of him at a shelter. So I said yes.

About two weeks later, Gaybie decided to move out. His contract position ended, and he hasn't found another job yet. He's skint and therefore moved back with the parents. And so it's been me and male-me for the past few months...plus our menagerie.

And now, yet another gay boy has moved in. This time in a shockingly similar manner as male-me. He had asked awhile back if I still had an open room but didn't really say much else. He and his boyfriend (who I affectionately refer to as Homewrecker) broke up a few months ago. They've still been living together ever since. The end of their lease was upon them, so he decided to move out. Monday he asked if he could still move in and Tuesday we moved him in...just in time for the end of the lease/month.

So now here we are, a year later. On my 3rd and 4th gay roommate. And kind of loving it. I'm just thankful the house has two bathrooms.

Bitches Who Brunch

Gay brunch. It's a weekend staple. Wake up at noon, throw clothes on and stumble out the door to the bar, where you eat eggs and drink more mimosas and bloodies than anyone probably should. The ratio of alcohol to food traditionally should be approximately 3 to 1. Hair of the dog, right?

But seriously, I love brunch. You get to eat breakfast foods in the early afternoon. WITH ALCOHOL. But the best part of gay brunch isn't the hash browns - it's the rehash. The whole purpose of brunch is to get everyone together to put the pieces together from the weekend. If you were a sloppy blacked-out mess, it's when you find out exactly how ridiculous you were. You find out who went home with who and who struck out. And then, once the drinks are kicking in, the bitchiness starts. I love it.

Oh, and the hash browns are pretty good.

Mean Girls

I am one of those girls that surround themselves with gay men. I don't know how or when it started happening, but it did. One day I woke up and realized that most of my friends either do not live in the same city...or are gay. And you can over-analyze it all you want to, but there's a simple reason for it.

I don't really like girls.

There, I said it. Ok, it's not that I don't like them, it's that I don't get along with them. If there was a humane society-type shelter for friends, my cage would have a big red X over a picture of a girl's head. (I imagine there would be pigtails in this silhouette image.) And on a side note, I do have a few small circles of girlfriends that I have slowly accumulated over the past 15 years, consisting almost entirely of exceptions to the rule.

Gay men are catty, vindictive, plotting, self-obsessed, secretive yet gossipy, will bail on you at the first sign they might get laid, and chronically late...but you know what you're getting. They are very open with it. They check in at the gym, upload pictures to Facebook of their lunch consisting mostly of green beans, blatantly ignore you when that characteristic Grindr tone sounds, and talk about "gay time" being 20-30 minutes later than real time. And the bitchy comments flow like vodka at a gay bar. But they make those bitchy comments about you while you're there - to defend yourself if necessary. They own it, and that's what makes it ok. And they won't judge you for your bitchy moments or sexual indiscretions.

Girls, though...they are all those same things SECRETLY. (Ok, maybe not so much with the tardiness). I need to know who my friends are and what they're saying about me, and with girls you just don't know. They might be nice to your face, but blocked you on Facebook two weeks prior. Or they might tell people ridiculous things like the dome light in their car was on and they think you intentionally went in their parked car and turned it on to drain the battery. Or you find out they're telling people bizarre lies about you because they think you're maliciously trying to steal their friends. (I still don't understand this one - friendship isn't limited.) Being friends with girls is like playing a strategy game you can never win...and I'm tired of playing it. Anybody up for a game of Settlers instead?