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The 12 Days of Christmas... Hefner and Henchgirl style (Part 1... assuming we survive to do part 2)
Henchgirl's mother was a strict Jehovah's Witness, which meant that she never had a single Christmas. When I heard this, I told Mom, and while depression and laziness kept us from ever doing much beyond a Jewish Christmas (Chinese food and a movie) in the years since Dad died (I always did Christmas with him, as was his demand), she agreed that we needed to give this girl a fucking Christmas. The whole thing: a tree, presents, stockings, nutcrackers, eggnog, IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE, cookies, and, of course, horrible family drama!
You see, my grandmother's in the hospital after having had a stroke. Or two. Or five, I'm really not certain how many she had, or has had since, but things are just kinda up in the air right now. And for those who don't know, Mom's relationship with her mother is a little strained. Put it this way: Mom's relationship with her mother was pretty much my relationship with my father: we both would take care of our parents who were invalids by choice, taking their abuse and buying their groceries, then coming back home so that Mom and I could look at each other and ask, "So, what did your parent do today?"
So Henchgirl has arrived smack-dab in the middle of this. But regardless, we had a Christmas. A real Christmas like I haven't had since I was, like, five. Hell, I didn't stop there! I was so determined to give Henchgirl the full experience, we spent Christmas afternoon getting Chinese food with the Jewish families in Potomac, then went to see THE PRINCESS AND THE FROG, which was excellent, by the way. I totally didn't get choked up at the end, are you kidding, of course not, no, cough.
That night, we had a full ham dinner with mashed potatoes, veggie stuffing, corn pudding, and white chocolate macamadamia nut cookies Henchgirl made that were made of naught but pure glorious fat I love her so. It was amazing.
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: the best fucking Christmas e-ver!
Actually, I nearly ruined the whole thing by insisting that we sat down to watch my favorite Christmas move, Akira Kurosawa's IKIRU, which Henchgirl didn't care for, but Mom and I still loved it, so whatever. Still one of my favorite movies ever. I cry every damn time.
The next day, Henchgirl and I planned to head to the beach house in Rehoboth, to finally get some private time, bow-chicka-and-all-that, before New Year's Turkeymas dinner with the Rudes at Chez Duda. And as she descended the staircase to leave, that's when she got the phone call. She had to sit at the bottom step. I sat down next to her, even though we were next to the basket of pet leashes, and the area smelled like dog. And then told me that her mother was dying.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: two dying mothers, and the best fucking Christmas e-ver!
I almost drove her to Kenosha, WI, to be there when it happened, but her Poppa said they were having a blizzard and there was no point risking our lives, so we headed to the beach house after all, so that--in Henchgirl's own words--she "could have her nervous breakdown in private."
Me, I suck at comforting, seeing as how I'm 1.) a man, and 2.) me. But I had two things going for me here. First, I was experienced with having dealt with the death of my own abusive alcoholic father, which gave me cred when it came to dealing with the loss of a parent with whom you have serious issues. And secondly, I was willing to buy Henchgirl whole bottles of Goldschlager, spiked eggnog, and Bacardi 151 to anesthetize her into next week.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: assloads of booze, two dying mothers, and the best fucking Christmas e-ver!
This day was particularly fun, as Henchgirl was in full-blown denial mode, whereas I was being a very unhelpful pain in the butt by going, "Uh, yeah, you think you're ready for this, you're not, it'll sneak up on you, you won't see it coming, drink some water so you don't die too, thank you, have more Goldschlager." This was also the day Henchgirl had her second major breakdown (the first I didn't actually witness, because she is stealthy), and she didn't even bother calling me in until the hour and a half mark, at which point she totally thought it was gonna be over, and yeah, no. Call in the boy to come in there, and do what he does best: make it worse.
We spent the rest of the day making pho while watching HOT FUZZ, which is a much better film than anyone seems to give it credit.
The next day, Henchgirl woke me up like an impatient kitty. I pretended to still be asleep, as I thought she was bugging me for--
(The Henchgirl, who has been reading over the Boy's shoulder this entire time for accuracy's sake, proceeds to whack him in the head to save us all some serious embarrassment.)
--for sex, as I was saying--
(The Henchgirl is displeased. And usurping the keyboard. And speaking in third person. RICHARDS!)
--AHEM. Where was I?
Oh right, her mother was dead.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: well, shit.
(Henchgirl recalls clearly the words used in describing The Incident (TM): "What with the whole 'your mother dying snafu'..."
"Snafu? Oh, nicely done."
"You like that one?"
"I do.")
What we did next is none of your business, something terribly personal and private that shall be remembered as one of the defining moments of our love. Oh, and I might have gotten her pregnant. Probably not, though.
I like to think I saved Henchgirl's sanity by distracting her from her grief by FREAKING THE FUCK OUT FOR THREE HOURS STRAIGHT.
(The Henchgirl's favorite moment of the day was a typical example of her cruelty for the sake of comedic effect: as the Boy was coming down from his panic attack, she grabbed him by the shoulders in the middle of a Taco Bell and--after weighing the options of horribly mean vs. hysterically funny--said with total deadpan sincerity, "My mother is dead. And I'm probably pregnant." The Boy's reaction cannot be chronicled here. It would require emoticons that are not yet in existence.)
It was pretty brilliant, I'm not gonna lie. Perfect delivery and all. And really, if I did end up getting her pregnant within hours of her mother dying, that would be truly Hefnerian. It's almost worth the story! (Disclaimer: NO.)
We dealt with grief the way girls do: by hitting the outlets for pants. She persuaded me to buy black jeans, and we valiantly resisted getting matching Doctor Octopus t-shirts at Old Navy, because holy shit they have Otto his own t-shirts only that can make us feel better now NO. The rest of the day kind of went downhill after that.
The next day, with denial in high gear, Henchgirl sequestered herself in the bedroom with my epic box o' FLASH comics (I'm catching her up on the work of Geoff Johns, because I am an awesome boyfriend)--
(Henchgirl all but snatches the computer away to say, for the record: Also because she wanted to read Geoff Johns and-oh-my-God-Geoff-Johns-I-must-hug-you-now-now-now-can-I-can-I-huh-huh-huh?)
--while I decided that now was the time to finally get back to work on THE ROAD TO NOWHERE. In fact, I was determined to tackle the ending. The big finale, wherein I finally tie the whole road trip epic together with the death of my cat Selina, and how it tied all up with the unresolved issues from the death of my father, and how I had to be there for her when I couldn't have been there for him, and at some point, my fingers can't type anymore, they actually freeze and hover over the keyboard because I'm breaking down so hard, and Henchgirl sweeps into the living room, saying:
"Is there a reason my Girlfriend-Sense is tingling?"
(Henchgirl approves of the fact the term has been both capitalized and hyphenated, as that is precisely how she pronounced it. Also, after sweeping in, the Boy's face simply crumples as he breaks down and much patting and comforting was had. She refuses to go into detail, as that would inevitably ruin the Boy's mucho-macho image. A-hem.)
I sobbed like a fucking baby.
(...
I think my flat-look-ellipsis says it all.)
Seriously, it was amazing. My chest felt like it turned a windsor knot in on itself. I couldn't stop convulsing in her arms. I don't think I even cried like that when Dad actually died. When that happened, it was more relief, like, wow, it's finally over. But this... this was...
... this was something that could only be fixed with a Big Mac. Nothing cures what ails ya like something that'll kill ya.
So I finally put on pants for the first time that day, Henchgirl wore my own Green Lantern t-shirt, and in no emotional condition to drive, I drove us to McDonald's. That went well.
(...That was MY LINE.)
So as we stood in line, I was glazing over the menu, my mind barely present, when a slack-jawed beach-dude with gaged ears and a ginger perv-goattee approached Henchgirl, excitedly saying, "Hey, great shirt!"
(Henchgirl leans back on the couch and cackles like Witch Hazel, remembering the Boy's reaction.)
In a space of a second, I felt my body instinctively stepped up beside Henchgirl, in an unconcious Larfleeze-worthy gesture of "MINE," to which the stoner-dude immediately took two steps back as if I turned into Killer Kane. He said, "Sorry, dude, sorry, it's just a cool shirt, that's all!"
(Leave us not gild the lily with comic book terminology: The Boy is a caveman.)
I felt horrible. I STILL feel horrible about it! Not just for being a neanderthal, no matter how adorable Henchgirl found my possessiveness, but the guy was an innocent comic geek, reaching out to another of his ilk! That person just happened to be my girlfriend. Emphasis on mine. Oh god, I still feel so terrible. I want to apologize to him so much and just... just give him one of my many extra plastic GL rings. Just one, though. The rest, like my girlfriend, are mine.
(The Henchgirl has no commentary, merely a pleased, fond, only slightly condescending smile.)
I was just in NO position to handle it. I was in no state to fight down my instincts, nor to share a geek-bonding moment. It was bad timing, dude, sorry.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: MINE, MINE-MINE-MIIIIIIIIINE.
So today, I put aside the stressful writing, and threw myself back into something that made me happy: the Harvey Dent novel. Henchgirl, on the other hand, starting feeling the funk bad. In her own words, "I'm waiting for the Grief Ninja to pop out of nowhere and tackle me, but he has yet to put in an appearance." Nothing could rouse her interest. Not Goeff Johns. Not the prospect of watching THE GREAT ESCAPE--
(This is significant, as the Henchgirl loves Steve McQueen--and of course, on its own merits, that movie--so much she very nearly talked the Boy into buying a jacket that resembles the one he wore in it. A jacket which happened to be at Wal-Mart. In the women's department. Clearly, Henchgirl's powers of persuasion are impressive. Or else the Boy is just really, really easy.)
--but when I suggested the following, we both know it was the best thing we could possible share together:
We actually quoted whole lines back and forth to one another, it was amazing. This show is both an inspiration and a catharsis, and also features dead crazy mothers, which is thematically appropriate.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: QUIT BEIN' A WUSSY, IIIII have laun-dreeeeeeeee, di-nosaur head, drunk tri-age, Mom killed herself, and I fell iiii-into a bon-fiiiire!
You may have noticied that this long-winded narrative has been steadily falling apart. And guess what: we're only halfway though. The next week is gonna be fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun.
(Henchgirl would take this opportunity to ask how it could possibly be worse, but the response would undoubtedly be "Could be raining.", which would also degenerate into a Mel Brooks quoting contest, which she would win. Hands down.)
By the way, you know the best part of typing an LJ entry while your technologically-inclined girlfriend watches? It's when she laughs her ass off when...how would you put it, dear?
(--when she realizes the Boy has to cut and paste HTML code and doesn't even know the keyboard shortcuts, the poor stunted darling. From this day hence, the Henchgirl vows to do all the coding.)
We're so goddamned adorable, I could drink bleach.
You see, my grandmother's in the hospital after having had a stroke. Or two. Or five, I'm really not certain how many she had, or has had since, but things are just kinda up in the air right now. And for those who don't know, Mom's relationship with her mother is a little strained. Put it this way: Mom's relationship with her mother was pretty much my relationship with my father: we both would take care of our parents who were invalids by choice, taking their abuse and buying their groceries, then coming back home so that Mom and I could look at each other and ask, "So, what did your parent do today?"
So Henchgirl has arrived smack-dab in the middle of this. But regardless, we had a Christmas. A real Christmas like I haven't had since I was, like, five. Hell, I didn't stop there! I was so determined to give Henchgirl the full experience, we spent Christmas afternoon getting Chinese food with the Jewish families in Potomac, then went to see THE PRINCESS AND THE FROG, which was excellent, by the way. I totally didn't get choked up at the end, are you kidding, of course not, no, cough.
That night, we had a full ham dinner with mashed potatoes, veggie stuffing, corn pudding, and white chocolate macamadamia nut cookies Henchgirl made that were made of naught but pure glorious fat I love her so. It was amazing.
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: the best fucking Christmas e-ver!
Actually, I nearly ruined the whole thing by insisting that we sat down to watch my favorite Christmas move, Akira Kurosawa's IKIRU, which Henchgirl didn't care for, but Mom and I still loved it, so whatever. Still one of my favorite movies ever. I cry every damn time.
The next day, Henchgirl and I planned to head to the beach house in Rehoboth, to finally get some private time, bow-chicka-and-all-that, before New Year's Turkeymas dinner with the Rudes at Chez Duda. And as she descended the staircase to leave, that's when she got the phone call. She had to sit at the bottom step. I sat down next to her, even though we were next to the basket of pet leashes, and the area smelled like dog. And then told me that her mother was dying.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: two dying mothers, and the best fucking Christmas e-ver!
I almost drove her to Kenosha, WI, to be there when it happened, but her Poppa said they were having a blizzard and there was no point risking our lives, so we headed to the beach house after all, so that--in Henchgirl's own words--she "could have her nervous breakdown in private."
Me, I suck at comforting, seeing as how I'm 1.) a man, and 2.) me. But I had two things going for me here. First, I was experienced with having dealt with the death of my own abusive alcoholic father, which gave me cred when it came to dealing with the loss of a parent with whom you have serious issues. And secondly, I was willing to buy Henchgirl whole bottles of Goldschlager, spiked eggnog, and Bacardi 151 to anesthetize her into next week.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: assloads of booze, two dying mothers, and the best fucking Christmas e-ver!
This day was particularly fun, as Henchgirl was in full-blown denial mode, whereas I was being a very unhelpful pain in the butt by going, "Uh, yeah, you think you're ready for this, you're not, it'll sneak up on you, you won't see it coming, drink some water so you don't die too, thank you, have more Goldschlager." This was also the day Henchgirl had her second major breakdown (the first I didn't actually witness, because she is stealthy), and she didn't even bother calling me in until the hour and a half mark, at which point she totally thought it was gonna be over, and yeah, no. Call in the boy to come in there, and do what he does best: make it worse.
We spent the rest of the day making pho while watching HOT FUZZ, which is a much better film than anyone seems to give it credit.
The next day, Henchgirl woke me up like an impatient kitty. I pretended to still be asleep, as I thought she was bugging me for--
(The Henchgirl, who has been reading over the Boy's shoulder this entire time for accuracy's sake, proceeds to whack him in the head to save us all some serious embarrassment.)
--for sex, as I was saying--
(The Henchgirl is displeased. And usurping the keyboard. And speaking in third person. RICHARDS!)
--AHEM. Where was I?
Oh right, her mother was dead.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: well, shit.
(Henchgirl recalls clearly the words used in describing The Incident (TM): "What with the whole 'your mother dying snafu'..."
"Snafu? Oh, nicely done."
"You like that one?"
"I do.")
What we did next is none of your business, something terribly personal and private that shall be remembered as one of the defining moments of our love. Oh, and I might have gotten her pregnant. Probably not, though.
I like to think I saved Henchgirl's sanity by distracting her from her grief by FREAKING THE FUCK OUT FOR THREE HOURS STRAIGHT.
(The Henchgirl's favorite moment of the day was a typical example of her cruelty for the sake of comedic effect: as the Boy was coming down from his panic attack, she grabbed him by the shoulders in the middle of a Taco Bell and--after weighing the options of horribly mean vs. hysterically funny--said with total deadpan sincerity, "My mother is dead. And I'm probably pregnant." The Boy's reaction cannot be chronicled here. It would require emoticons that are not yet in existence.)
It was pretty brilliant, I'm not gonna lie. Perfect delivery and all. And really, if I did end up getting her pregnant within hours of her mother dying, that would be truly Hefnerian. It's almost worth the story! (Disclaimer: NO.)
We dealt with grief the way girls do: by hitting the outlets for pants. She persuaded me to buy black jeans, and we valiantly resisted getting matching Doctor Octopus t-shirts at Old Navy, because holy shit they have Otto his own t-shirts only that can make us feel better now NO. The rest of the day kind of went downhill after that.
The next day, with denial in high gear, Henchgirl sequestered herself in the bedroom with my epic box o' FLASH comics (I'm catching her up on the work of Geoff Johns, because I am an awesome boyfriend)--
(Henchgirl all but snatches the computer away to say, for the record: Also because she wanted to read Geoff Johns and-oh-my-God-Geoff-Johns-I-must-hug-you-now-now-now-can-I-can-I-huh-huh-huh?)
--while I decided that now was the time to finally get back to work on THE ROAD TO NOWHERE. In fact, I was determined to tackle the ending. The big finale, wherein I finally tie the whole road trip epic together with the death of my cat Selina, and how it tied all up with the unresolved issues from the death of my father, and how I had to be there for her when I couldn't have been there for him, and at some point, my fingers can't type anymore, they actually freeze and hover over the keyboard because I'm breaking down so hard, and Henchgirl sweeps into the living room, saying:
"Is there a reason my Girlfriend-Sense is tingling?"
(Henchgirl approves of the fact the term has been both capitalized and hyphenated, as that is precisely how she pronounced it. Also, after sweeping in, the Boy's face simply crumples as he breaks down and much patting and comforting was had. She refuses to go into detail, as that would inevitably ruin the Boy's mucho-macho image. A-hem.)
I sobbed like a fucking baby.
(...
I think my flat-look-ellipsis says it all.)
Seriously, it was amazing. My chest felt like it turned a windsor knot in on itself. I couldn't stop convulsing in her arms. I don't think I even cried like that when Dad actually died. When that happened, it was more relief, like, wow, it's finally over. But this... this was...
... this was something that could only be fixed with a Big Mac. Nothing cures what ails ya like something that'll kill ya.
So I finally put on pants for the first time that day, Henchgirl wore my own Green Lantern t-shirt, and in no emotional condition to drive, I drove us to McDonald's. That went well.
(...That was MY LINE.)
So as we stood in line, I was glazing over the menu, my mind barely present, when a slack-jawed beach-dude with gaged ears and a ginger perv-goattee approached Henchgirl, excitedly saying, "Hey, great shirt!"
(Henchgirl leans back on the couch and cackles like Witch Hazel, remembering the Boy's reaction.)
In a space of a second, I felt my body instinctively stepped up beside Henchgirl, in an unconcious Larfleeze-worthy gesture of "MINE," to which the stoner-dude immediately took two steps back as if I turned into Killer Kane. He said, "Sorry, dude, sorry, it's just a cool shirt, that's all!"
(Leave us not gild the lily with comic book terminology: The Boy is a caveman.)
I felt horrible. I STILL feel horrible about it! Not just for being a neanderthal, no matter how adorable Henchgirl found my possessiveness, but the guy was an innocent comic geek, reaching out to another of his ilk! That person just happened to be my girlfriend. Emphasis on mine. Oh god, I still feel so terrible. I want to apologize to him so much and just... just give him one of my many extra plastic GL rings. Just one, though. The rest, like my girlfriend, are mine.
(The Henchgirl has no commentary, merely a pleased, fond, only slightly condescending smile.)
I was just in NO position to handle it. I was in no state to fight down my instincts, nor to share a geek-bonding moment. It was bad timing, dude, sorry.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: MINE, MINE-MINE-MIIIIIIIIINE.
So today, I put aside the stressful writing, and threw myself back into something that made me happy: the Harvey Dent novel. Henchgirl, on the other hand, starting feeling the funk bad. In her own words, "I'm waiting for the Grief Ninja to pop out of nowhere and tackle me, but he has yet to put in an appearance." Nothing could rouse her interest. Not Goeff Johns. Not the prospect of watching THE GREAT ESCAPE--
(This is significant, as the Henchgirl loves Steve McQueen--and of course, on its own merits, that movie--so much she very nearly talked the Boy into buying a jacket that resembles the one he wore in it. A jacket which happened to be at Wal-Mart. In the women's department. Clearly, Henchgirl's powers of persuasion are impressive. Or else the Boy is just really, really easy.)
--but when I suggested the following, we both know it was the best thing we could possible share together:
We actually quoted whole lines back and forth to one another, it was amazing. This show is both an inspiration and a catharsis, and also features dead crazy mothers, which is thematically appropriate.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: QUIT BEIN' A WUSSY, IIIII have laun-dreeeeeeeee, di-nosaur head, drunk tri-age, Mom killed herself, and I fell iiii-into a bon-fiiiire!
You may have noticied that this long-winded narrative has been steadily falling apart. And guess what: we're only halfway though. The next week is gonna be fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun.
(Henchgirl would take this opportunity to ask how it could possibly be worse, but the response would undoubtedly be "Could be raining.", which would also degenerate into a Mel Brooks quoting contest, which she would win. Hands down.)
By the way, you know the best part of typing an LJ entry while your technologically-inclined girlfriend watches? It's when she laughs her ass off when...how would you put it, dear?
(--when she realizes the Boy has to cut and paste HTML code and doesn't even know the keyboard shortcuts, the poor stunted darling. From this day hence, the Henchgirl vows to do all the coding.)
We're so goddamned adorable, I could drink bleach.
Just for the record...
It is awesome... even with the tragedy involved. Perhaps because of it.
Looking forward to the rest... and glad that amid the sorrow there is always joy.
Re: Just for the record...
The Batman Villain Project
Can't say I care much for the art, but the idea is fantastic.
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I like Henchgirl. Whoever she is.
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Hugs to Henchgirl. Hope 2010 treats you better.
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Henchgirl, I know we've only met once and all, but I do quite believe I love you also.
I hope your lives give you a short breather from being so story-worthy before going onto the inevitable next act, whatever that will turn out to be.
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Joker line. Right there. Needed to say that. You were all thinkin' it.
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The answer is no. No, you will not.
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