I get a lot of weird looks from complete strangers as a result of my tattoos and stretched earlobes. I’m used to it now. In the past I let it bother me, but these days I really don’t care about stares or comments. Perhaps that is why, when Holly was painting her toenails next to me and asked if she could do mine too I thought nothing of it. She liked how large of a “canvas” they provided, and it didn’t bother me one bit. I never thought so many people would notice so quickly and immediately make comments like “Dude, that’s pretty gay”, or something to the effect of being effeminate. Strangers, friends, everyone. Even Gage, Roan, and all their little dip-shit friends had to make constant comments and question why I would ever do something like that.
No one said, “Oh, isn’t that sweet. Clearly he loves you and didn’t think twice about allowing you some minor happiness even if it would make his peers question his manliness upon sight.”, they all just gave me a look like I was lying when I explained the reason for my purple toenails. She asked, I said sure. At no point did it make me any less of a man in my eyes or hers, and she had fun doing it. It’s that simple. Toe nails can be purple (or whatever colour) without being a sign of sexual preference or gender. Having painted toes or not doesn’t matter, nor does anyone’s comments. What matters is making the woman I love know how much I love her.
Holly regularly reminds me of my initial discontent with her decision to bring home not only another cat, but a black one nonetheless. Why? Because I fucking love this cat, and we spend a large part of the day ‘bumpin’ beards’ like gay lovers, to the point where it probably starts to annoy her. I don’t even care. This cat shows me more love than most of my past partners have ever been capable of. He constantly licks my beard, then rubs his face against my chin as hard as he can. Sometimes he gets carried away and bites me hard enough that it actually hurts, but I believe that’s a sign of affection with cats. Or perhaps it’s a sign that I have food in my beard.
All week long Holly has been sending me Bluth themed Valentines, so this morning I decided to make her something equally appropriate to us and our favourite things to do. A couple of stolen images courtesy of a few Google image searches, and a little colloquial Cobra composition equals the above heart-melting panty dropper.
Before ANYONE says anything like: “I thought you love animals… ” or, “I can’t believe you actually…”, please just fuck off. I didn’t eat the fish. I didn’t bait the hooks. I didn’t drive the boat. All I did was reel the big ones in that no one else wanted to fight with. That being said, I sure did have a blast punching the shit out of those stupid fish.
We all got to catch a bunch, taking turns based on the size of the fish. Roan took all the wee ones.
I got all the monsters.
And Holly and Gage shared the in-between-ers.
After about 4 hours on the water we hauled in almost a hundred pounds of fish. All of it salmon and trout. The charter guide filleted them all on the side of his boat once we were back at the dock, and we took home around sixty pounds of fillets. I had a ton of fun and would definitely do it again. None of these fish are going to waste so I don’t feel too bad.
And this has got to be my favourite fishing photo ever.
Clearly they do just fine without me, or anyone else, but I’m really thankful I’ve been allowed to join this team. Even though I’m an outsider, I feel like part of the family. And even though I usually suck at being a member of any family I’m part of, they’ve so far been willing to bear with me, and look past my many irritating flaws.
I love each of you, and owe you all a ton of thanks.