Finding Laughter

Picture it: Saturday, mid-day, in the midst of doing chores.

Mr. Darcy, as he exits the bathroom and head’s to the kitchen trashcan, says in all seriousness, “Babe, I have to ask you something.”

I look at him as he tosses trash into the bin.

“Have you been taking poos in the cat litter box? Because I just pulled one out that was human size,” he asks me without any hint of a joking tone.

I start laughing.

“No really. The cat should not be shitting that big. I’m concerned,” he ponders, perplexed.

I can’t stop laughing.

“I can’t figure out how you get under there to do it though,” he marvels.*

This is the cat box located in our bathroom.

I’m still laughing.

* * * * *

Picture it: The Puyallap Fair with my Mom and nephew. The weather is cloudy then sunny then cloudy again thanks to a steady wind.

We bought a $20 punch card for rides that is worth 40 tickets. But! (and this is how they get you) rides are 9 tickets a person. So we basically just spent $20 for 2 of us to go on two rides. (Rip off!) Finn and my Mom are on the Tilt-a-Whirl spinning round and round.

I’m off to the side snapping photos when the wind picks up and the dark sky begins to open.

First a few drops then quickly it shifted into a steady downpour as we scramble to find shelter. None of us are wearing rain coats. We have one small umbrella that barely covers Finn. We’re running and we are soaked. Finn is jumping in puddles. I say, fuck it, and just let myself get soaked. My hair is plastered to my head. My dress is so wet the pattern of my underwear is showing (you’re welcome, Fair-goers). Finn is drenched and my Mom is trying to hold onto her tiny umbrella while her pant legs are stuck to her. Everywhere around us people are running to over-hangs and into buildings.

I just start laughing. What is left to do?

My Mom gives Finn this bag as a makeshift raincoat. As he stands there getting drenched he says, “EVEN MY ARMPITS ARE WET!”

Bedtime Hijinx

“Is that a doll? Where did it come from?”

“It’s been on the shelf above your head since before you moved in, Mr. Observant.”

“Really? Hmm. Dolls creep me out.”

“Right. It’s going to come alive and EAT YOUR FACE OFF.”

He gives me A Look and leaves the room to go to the bathroom.

I promptly get up and put the doll on his nightstand.


We are lying in bed chatting. Dottie is running around being a maniac.

“Where is she?”

“She’s hiding under the . . . window carpets.”

“Uh, the what?!”

“. . .  (thinking). . .The drapes!”

“You mean the CURTAINS?”

“Yes, those things.”

I grab my phone.

“This is going to be tweeted, huh?”

Of course it is.


This is how we love each other.

A for Approach

I have this one tenant that amuses me. He’s very friendly and nice and I like him. No, really! I do! He’s never given me any hassle. I enjoy his occasional emails the most. A few months ago he sent me this:

How’s it going? Seen any good movies lately? I’ve seen a few, namely Black Swan, The Fighter and True Grit. All of them thoroughly entertaining. Trying to get to The King’s Speech next.

Anyway, I have a some bad news. The faucet in my kitchen has developed a steady drip that can only be stopped by shutting off the water under the sink. The hot drips worse than the cold but both are starting to act up now. I’m afraid it may be time for a new faucet as evidenced by the rusty debris working its way out from under the faucets stainless facade.

I’d be perfectly happy to just have the old one fixed but if it needs to be replaced do you think the Dublin could spring for a setup with a taller downspout? The better for filling pots and doing dishes.

He signed it “your pal”. I enjoyed the movie opening of the email the best though the part where he goes “Anyway, I have some bad news…” is in the running. And also his use of the word facade.

Then last night I got this:

I have a few questions:
1. What would be the procedure for me to take on a roommate, i.e. the lovely Jill you may or may not see me with occasionally? I think I remember you mentioning a 25 dollar increase in rent to cover water. Is that correct?
2. What if Jill’s move in coincided with the arrival of a foster cat from Seattle Humane? 200 dollar deposit maybe?
3. Does my lease become month to month after my initial 12 months?
4. How do all these questions make you feel?

You could call or text or email me answers or we could set up a time to have some beer on the balcony if you’d like. I wouldn’t mind chatting about this in person at all.

My favorite part is question #4. I would like to respond,“Well, it makes me feel tickled because your emails are funny.” And also, follow up question, “Are you providing the beer? If yes, see you Saturday at 5pm on the communal balcony.”

See? Not all my tenants are a pain. It’s just that they are generally the ones giving me blog fodder.

Laughing & Crying, You Know It’s The Same Release*

I have cried and laughed this morning, all before 9am.

When the cats started to climb on me, I reached over in the dark to find my phone to check the time. It was before 6am and my alarm but I checked my email anyway while Dash perched like a purring hat upon my head.  In my in box was an email from someone I did not expect to hear from ever again and a rush of feeling flooded me.

I snuggled up to Mr. Darcy waking him and we talked about the email. This is no small thing- the email and the fact that Mr. Darcy was speaking before 8am (he’d prefer 11am, maybe noon) and that I am seeking comfort in someone. It’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately and discussing in therapy- how I comfort myself. I realized that for years I’ve relied solely on myself and it’s been isolating. It’s a big stretch for me to let Mr. Darcy provide that kind of support. He wants to, of course, but I’ve been the barrier. Me and the one thousand guards standing at attention around my heart. It feels good and also foreign to attempt to open the gates but I am trying for me . . . and for him.

And then when Mr. Darcy got up to go to the bathroom, he ripped a fart. I started laughing and said “Woah!” to which he replied, “I stepped on a duck.”

It did sound a lot like a quack.

Later, after I had done my morning routine of yoga, meditation, tea, showering, I woke up Mr. Sleepyface because he was going to be late for work if he didn’t hustle. When he got out of the bathroom he said, “YOU LEFT ME POO!” Uh. Oops! I give him shit (pun intended) a lot about not flushing saying things like “THERE IS A FLOATER!” This time I was the culprit. I replied, “Don’t you feel closer to me now?” I’m pretty sure he said he could have done without it. We laughed and made poo jokes.

Ah, cohabitation. Ah, love. Ah, life. You are good.

“So cry, why not?/We all do./Then turn to the one you love./And smile a smile that lights up all the room./And follow your dreams, /in through every out-door. /It seems that’s what we’re here for./In days to come, /When your heart feels undone/May you always find an open hand./And take comfort, there is comfort./Take comfort wherever you can, you can, you can.” -“Comfort,” Deb Talan

*Joni Mitchell, “People’s Parties”

Stuff On My Cat

So a while back Nintendo  sent me a new game to try out on my beloved DSi called Professor Layton Unwound Future. The main character for which the game is named wears a very smart top hat. And because Brand About Town is awesome at putting together surprise packages for us Nintendo Brand Enthusiasts, they sent the game along with a mini top hat.

The moment Mr. Darcy saw that little hat he was obsessed with putting it on Dash. His artist’s mind schemed how he could get the top hat on him then photoshop in a monocole. Why yes my boyfriend has hobbies and one of them appears to be decorating the cats.

One day when Mr. Darcy was working from home I received an email entitled “I can die a happy man now” and within the body of the email were the words “Less work than I thought” and this photo:

Dapper Dash

I guess you could say that Dash is rather dashing. (Groan.)

He was unavailable for comment as he is off solving cat mysteries.

Living in the Laugh of Luxury

Picture it.

Me, standing in our bedroom, disrobed, WAIT! ON SECOND THOUGHT DO NOT PICTURE THAT!

Let’s try this again.

Me, standing in our room in my birthday suit (do not picture this, could lead to blindness) with my hair sticking straight up on top of my head** (on purpose) I said to Mr. Darcy: Who do I look like?

Him, perplexed yet titillated: . . . a naked Troll doll.*

You know how sometimes something just strikes you as absolutely hilarious that you can’t stop laughing? Well, that did it for me. Maybe my utter exhaustion exaccerbated my amusement? I threw myself on the bed in a fit of deep -in-the-belly laughter. He wandered off to the bathroom and I rolled around clutching my sides, gasping for air, unable to stop.

Ah, good times in the Sizzle/Darcy bedroom. There is no denying it. We bring the sexy.

*Later he said his other response could have been “. . . Um, crazy?”

**I had manipulated my hair to stick up to mimic one of the guys on the Hoarders episode we had just watched. Mr. Darcy had commented throughout the show that the guy needed to visit a barber.

Blackmail Material

We’re lying in bed after his surprise party on Saturday and Mr. Darcy McDrunkerson is feeling very chatty. Here’s an excerpt from our bedtime chat. Imagine him whisper-slurring his words too for added effect.

Sizz: “You didn’t brush your teeth, did you?”

Darcy: “I peed.”

Sizz: “You peed?”

Darcy: “I’m just a man.”

Sizz: “You’re JUST A MAN? These are your excuses?”

Darcy: “My breath will stink in the morning so why not now?”

Sizz: “Wow. That’s a commercial for dentistry if I’ve ever heard one.”

Darcy: “I will write it down.”

Sizz: “That’s okay, I’m recording this.”

Darcy: “And I’ll make my millions.”

Sizz: “Mmm, I don’t think that’s how you’re going to make your millions.”

Darcy: “Says you.”

Sizz: “Yes, I did just say that.”

Darcy: “You have it on tape.”

Sizz: “Now you’re catching on. Yep, tape.”

Darcy: “Really?! Ohhh shit.”

Darcy: “I know what I am drunk.”

Sizz: “So you are agreeing that you ARE drunk?”

Darcy: “I am drunk.”

Uh, the camera is UP HERE. Not at my boobs.

Why I Love Him #66, 67 & 68

We’re at the ballgame watching the Mariner’s against the Cincinnati Reds in celebration of Double B’s birthday and Father’s Day. Mr. Darcy grabs himself a soda and some beloved pistachios. We’re sitting there, in the cold gray amongst kids shoving hot dogs and cotton candy and assorted horrible-for-you foods into their gullets, munching on nuts and pretending to know what’s going on down on the field.

After a while I notice out of the corner of my eye that Mr. Darcy hasn’t dropped any shells so I inquire, “Hey, where are your shells?” He replied in a matter of fact manner, “They are in my pocket.” So I said, “Why aren’t you dropping them on the ground?” as I pointed to the cement beneath our feet now littered with my pistachio shells. He responded incredulously, “Are you a savage?”

Why yes. Yes I think I am.


We’re sitting on the couch after dinner and I randomly announce, “I think my belly button smells” as I stick my finger in it and sniff it.

He responds, “Let me smell it” and grabs my hand pulling it to his nose.

After a whiff he says with a shrug, “It doesn’t smell bad.”


We’re lying in bed, attempting to fall asleep when Mr. Darcy lets one rip.

Charmed I say, “Did you just shart?”

Laughing he says, “I have never heard that before. What’s a shart?”

“It’s when you fart and shit your pants a little. I am surprised you don’t know this given how much you fart.”

“I did not shart, thankyouverymuch.”

“It kinda sounded like it. Better check the sheets just in cases.”

My Fartner in Crime

Why I Love Him #32

My boyfriend loves sleeping.

No. Sincerely. He love LOVES it. I’m kind of sad for him actually because he fell in love with me, the morning bird.  I’m up early every day of the week metaphorically chirping away. Last Saturday I got up early to meet my Mom for some garage sale shopping while Mr. Darcy slumbered on. When I got home, he was gone. I asked him about it later.

Me: How long did you stay at my apartment?

Him: I left about 11. I stayed in bed, petted the cats and woke up slowly.

Me: Is that what you do at home? I mean, minus the cats.

Him: Instead of cats, I masturbate.


Him: Something gets petted. That’s what’s important.