Trekking to Oblivion

Did you know William Shatner killed his wife? At least Russ believes it. Russ was the accountant for Shatner along with Nicholas Cage, Rebecca De Mornay and Johnnie Knoxville (he also worked accounting at Forrest Lawn and Nestle). Nerine, Shatners wife, would always call Russ drunk wondering why her credit cards were always denied. One day Shatner came home to find her face down in the pool like in the opening scene in "Sunset Blvd." Shatner was already paying alimony to a few wives and a divorce from Nerine would have shattered him financially, info only Russ was privy to.

Losing Face

Russ closed his Facebook account today. I love my baby, but I think he should stay away from social media sites. He set up the account without me and one day I decided to visit. I saw he had a friend with his exact same first and last name. He told me he thought it would be fun to follow someone with his name, what wasn't fun was the other Russell would post about having anger and fury that he couldn't control and my Russ thought someone would get the two of them confused. He also made friend with a middle aged Balinese woman. I asked him; "Why are you two friends?" He said she asked him to be her friend and he couldn't say no. His other followers were my niece, and a girl he knew since he was 7 who owned a Pilates studio in Studio City, a Real Estate agent and the relentless "Anita" who's always hitting my blog to contact Russ like he was 911. One day I was bored and posted nonsense on other Facebook accounts as "Heather Poon" using his account and this one time I wrote on a anti-adultery/anti-gay marriage Facebook group how I; "Don't want a hussy who couldn't keep her own man teaching my fat child in public schools...Can you imagine her bitching to her class all day with her tits all jutting out about how how she was dumped by someone else's husband instead of teaching my kid Engrish?" When Russ found out what I was up too, he blew a gasket and maybe he had more in common with that other Russ than he thought. I don't know how I did it, but I also made him Facebook friends with Ramona Rizzo from the reality series "Mob Wives" and like too much cling-free fabric softener, it got too much for Russ and it was so long Facebook.

maray

Russ and I are playing "Shut The Box" (we're like a shirtless two man band) waiting for my goose feather comforter to dry in the dryer and we start talking about how he punched a French guy in the cheek in a Vons parking lot (I'm assuming he's French and not Canadian Quebec because I think the French are like an old vitamin E bottle, not good and smell of seaweed and hide) because Russ told him not to park in two parking spaces and the guy had to mouth off back. It got us talking about how people always find Russ personable (when he isn't punching people in the cheek) and I come off as standoffish. Some people get it though and I find those people tend to be more wiser than the average moe on the street. Russ says I'm hard to figure out, but once you do, It's like finding $100 you thought you lost while hammered. Russ on the other hand is like an open book and will draw you to himself just so you can be next to his warm glow that will make you feel like you just got a 10 minute tan and a "Thank You" after dinner mint.

for my Ishkabibble

MUCK

rMarlon Brando said when he dies and looks back on his life he'll say; "What the fuck was THAT about?!" That's how I felt about this Summer.

We spent two nights at the Queen Mary (150 bucks a night) so we could take the haunted tour. Most of it was spent in the art deco lounge and in our room ordering martinis from room service conjuring up our own spirits (our room had the best view of the Long Beach pier and you could open the ships port holes to smell the musky sea air). Russ got his arm caught in one of the ship's gold elevators (the elevators don't have sensors that will keep the door open if something is blocking the way and if someone called the elevator on another floor, he would have had his arm lopped off). At night he thought all the women in gowns wondering the ship with drinks were a coven of witches (I find out later it was a "Christian Singles" mixer bussed in for an event).

The vox blog service I used to have my blog on is shutting down, memories.

chinga tu sierra madre

So Russ and I are in Old Town Pasadena to meet another couple on a late Saturday nite and decide to stop off at a place called Brix 42 for a drink afterwards. We sit at the bar and a latin number who's bartending comes over to Russ and says "So where's my leftovers?" Talking like he's some pretty girl talking to a horny business man who just flew in from Wyoming (has a tattoo above his left tit and showing maximum cleavage with this tight white cotton shirt). I don't care because I don't think he's hotter than I am and I have gosh darn beautiful pecs with nips the size of silver dollars the lop wish he had. I give batty boy a look like "are you kidding with this?" Of course Russ is flattered because the guy has the look Russ is crazy about (dark hair/eyes olive-ish skin, a male senorita to Russ's all-American cowboy). I'm not mad at Russ, I'm mad at the gall of this Lupe for acting like he could be so bold in how he was getting personal info on Russ like it's their first date (I don't find the guy the least attractive because I'm not interested in mirror images of myself, the height of narcissism). As I'm watching this little spectacle unfold before me, I'm thinking the whole time of that tag on our bedroom levolor blinds that says; "Cords and Bead Chains can loop around the neck and choke."

Malana is gonna be sorry

If I know someone is eavesdropping on a conversation I'm having with Russ at a restaurant, I'll make sure they can hear me and say "I'm gonna punch that wife of mine in the soft part of her jaw when I get home."

Something About The Guy

You know personal info about me because of my intro and the answers to the questions when I get blog awards, but you don't know that much about Russs other than bits and pieces. This is more about the power that is behind the me.

*The only blond out of 3 redhead siblings.

*San Diego native.

*Fell in love with me on the spot, didn't happen with me, one of the reasons he pursued me.

*Has a middle name.

*Met serial killer Andrew Cunanan.

*Cancer (June 25th).

*Is a "takes charge kinda guy" in every company that he steps foot in.

*Eats Jalapenos like he's from Jalisco and orders extra pickles and triple the cheese on his fast food.

*Is always seeing actress Rue McClanahan, it's a running joke with us.

*Alpha male, good fighter.

*Has a bedroom voice, girls like to hear him talk on the phone.

*Calls me "Honey On De Bunny," I call him "Ishkabibble."

*The saying about the Irish is dead wrong, he doesn't have a potato in his head.

vision squat

Some more blurry confusing pictures for a Saturday.

I don't know where Russ keeps on finding these masks (his anonymity is by his own request), the last place I took a picture of him in a mask and this place that sells iron works don't even sell masks.
next slide please...

I took this of a cat at the iron works place.

This is the same cat a few seconds later turned to stone after I put a mirror in front of it's face. It only confirms to me cats are like Madusa.

Since Forrest Lawn Cemetery was not that far, we went and took grave site snaps, this was the only one that turned out. I don't know what that light over a grave in the background is all about because it wasn't there when I took this picture.

This is me as the living dead. Russ is like; "O.K. Your the living dead, that's nice" because I do it everytime we go to a cemetery.

This is me as the living dead spotting a Mexican family I will go and devour like New Year's tamales.

Hearst Castle

A year ago Russ and I took a tour of Hearst Castle in San Simeon California.

Russ was having a play date with the place, I was thinking maybe I judged Travel Town a little too harshly (the tour made me believe I could sleep standing up, a feat I was never able to accomplish before). It was a revolving feeling of being bored shitless, being creeped out, being bored shitless, being creeped out. The highlight of the tour was when Russ asked the tour guide if it was just a rumor Hearst was screwing actress Marion Davis, how did little (5'5) Marion Davis give birth to a giant of a daughter (Hearst was 6'3 and his daughter was almost as big)? The tour guide's face fell (The Hearst family refuses to acknowledge the affair, and it's said the Hearst heirs sometimes go on these tours).

I myself have contempt for the man and could care less about his house or if he fucked Marion or his puffy pillows (Hearst was a moral hypocrite who single handedly destroyed Fatty Arbuckle with making him sound guilty of rape in the Hearst owned press even though a jury found him innocent. Hearst ate up yellow journalism like he ate out Marion Davis.

Later that night I thought I saw a sea monster (keep me from large bodies of water because I always think I see sea monsters) and woke up with a hangover with funyuns all over my fake valour bedsheets and Russ passed out on the floor barely remembering the night . The next morning we hightailed it back home not even stopping for olive tasting, but we did stop to take pictures of each other with snowballs on top of our heads.

One thing was weird. On our tour of Hearst Castle we were taken through one of the side entrances of the house and you see an odd shaped marble slab about 3 feet tall from the door. It had no rhyme or reason and I asked the tour guide what it was. He told me to this day no one really knows what it is or why it's there. The first thing that came to me was that it looked exactly like a sacrificial alter, even finding a close likeness to it on the web. Is Hearst Faust? Probably.

Senestra Fair

Farrah Faucett and Michael Jackson decided to croak on Russ's special day, how fucked is that?! It took all the attention away from him. I told him his next birthday watch it be Jaclyn Smith and Tito Jackson. Happy Birthday Tim. Love you man! Your uncle Russ can't play favorites, but I can. You two brother suck cookies when they aren't bumping into stupid walls


Russ and I went for Thai and had a quiet night. By the way, the song "Nothing Compares To You" has special meaning to Russ and I that involved friendship before love, cold nights/bright lights Malibu beach, and long drives through Topanga Canyon with that song. One night we where walking on the beach and we saw this giant seal (I thought it was a sea monster, I always think it's sea monsters) and he flopped away back into the ocean when he saw us, It was my birthday then.

I'm writing this in a dark room hearing Russ snore. He might wake up from another bad dream tonight, he's been having them alot lately, but I'll be there when he calls me, I'll lay next to him til he wants to go back to sleep, but I have a feeling tonight will be a quiet night, watching late night T.V. hearing Russ snore.

Russ

If you read my blog with any frequency, you know my partner is Russ. I love my guy. To get a call in the middle of lunch to ask me if I have enough of fat free milk (I drink it like it's going out of style) and someone who's alway's on the lookout for Italian lemon icies (my favorite), it's nice. Russ loves me, and I love him. We have lived through a lot, and even though he snores, his head wonders off in the middle of a conversation, and is always getting on my case about forgetting my keys, it's nice.

He likes old movies from the 30's and 40's and literature classics (He's one of these guys who believes he was born in the wrong era, he's not some old geezer, in case you were wondering). I like horror and indie movies and non-fiction on the strange and mysterious, nothing wrong with that. He likes Myrna Loy and so what if I only get off on Myrna Loy if she turned cannibalistic on a bus of pre-schoolers? you can’t have the world…

He loves animals and babies look at him like he's full of tasty nouget, he is faithful, sometimes possessive (works for me), and like the hydra-headed beast guarding the mythical golden fleece, you have to go through him to get to me. I don’t have his book or street smarts, but I have wise council, intuition and I can summon dark powers (foolin'). I make him laugh, and he would lay down his life for me, THAT I truly know.

In my life, he always seemed there, and before him? I have no memory on purpose.

I’ve summed up Russ and mine's relationship:

We love each other like homosexuals, present ourselves to others like the Swiss, party like pre-war Germans, eat like middle-state Americans, fight like drunk Italians and make love like horny French prisoners.

My pizza Joe

Trader Joe's has these pre-made pizza doughs so you can put your own toppings, I went to town baby! Pecans, celery salt, Gorgonzola, Swiss cheese, Alfredo sauce instead of pizza sauce, oregano, prosciutto ham, I even tried to work off a piece of the refrigerator for a topping. Somehow all the flavors blended and it worked. My other food experiments required a spell to get rid of. Russ insisted on making his own pizza because he either thought mine would taste weird or it would snap at his fingers if he came near it. His was tomato sauce, cheese, and pepperoni. My pizza gave you tingles in your private parts, his was like the old movies he likes to watch, black and white and boring to the point of wanting to spit. Of course Russ could say my pizza was like the horror movies I can't get enough of, heavy on the cheese, hammy, and "Disturbing To Most Viewers."

Philippes

So Russ and I are in downtown L.A. for court and we decide to lunch at Philippes for lamb dip sandwiches. Right before we walk up to the restaurant door, Russ gets a phone call and tells me to go ahead (it's his mom maybe falling off the sober wagon again) This transient walks up to me right before I go in and asks me for change thinking I'm alone. I say; "Sorry man, didn't bring my wallet," I didn't bring my wallet because I knew Russ was paying (I know, I know, Russ always bugs me to have my wallet, but I keep it in the front pocket and it looks like I have two dicks when I do), so he gives me this smile like he doesn't believe me and wonders off. Russ comes in from his phone call and we order our lamb sandwiches with 3 sides (one macaroni salad to split), a jar of chili peppers to take home and a coke for him and lemonade for me. We sit next to a window. Russ says he needs to go take a leak and leaves, guess who wonders past the window, stops, and looks right at me with a "I thought you didn't bring your wallet you fuck" smile? I smile back and he wonders off again just as Russ is coming back with our sandwiches on the way from the bathroom. He puts both sandwiches in front of me because his cell is ringing again (mom definitely fell off the sober wagon) and he wants to take the call outside so the surrounding people won't hear his up-coming lecture to mom. Who do you think wanders past the window again with Russ nowhere to be found? Now here I am sitting with not only one, but two sandwich in front of me with 3 sides, two drinks and a whole jar of chili peppers. The guy gives me this "not only are you a lying fuck, but your a pig too, you, gluttonous thing you" smile/wave. At this point I'm pissed, I don't know if I'm pissed at the coincidence of Russ being gone every time this guy sees me, pissed because it looks like I'm going to stuff my face with all these lamb sandwiches and not giving him my lose change because I needed that 3rd macaroni salad side or pissed because he's going out of his way to make me feel guilty with what he perceives as me not having charity, falsely. Russ comes back in and I explain the whole thing because the entire idiocy of it all isn't funny anymore. The guy comes to the window again because he probably doesn't think my conscious is seared enough with guilt, but not only is Russ with me this time, Russ gets up and walks out of the restaurant to have a "little chat" with the man who hasn't had enough of wanting me to feel like shit for not giving him a nickel he thinks I have. The guy waves back to me with a "sorry" wave and Russ comes back in to finish his lamb sandwich and flat coke like nothing happened. To this day Russ will never tell me what he said to the guy.

Philippes wasn't that great if you expected this to be a restaurant review and those old bats over the counter look like they'll turn to dust if you blow on them.

pine and needle

Russ's perfect ass can make an onion cry, a cucumber sweat, and cement hard. Later on I found out he could talk and and his eyes looked like they would follow me across a room like one of those eerie paintings.

Crazy Sexy Cool

3 qualities I wanted in a partner before I met Russ: Tenderness, can make ravioli from scratch, doesn't do "mercy" killings of people walking down the street.

Thanks for filling the order babe.