Thing's a whore, jerking off and a car load of monkeys

Yes, it's my 2nd Blogiversary!

Per your request, I once again asked The Thing to write a guest post; this time, responding to reader questions.
As those of you who were here last year know, Thing is a great procrastinater...so not all questions have been answered yet. I received these just this morning and was not at all surprised to see "Blog Answers Part 1" in the subject line.

Here are the questions he's answered so far:
Bonnie asked:
What was it like meeting Fred & Wilma?

Coolchick asked:
What was the weirdest thing that happened while you were at Fred & Wilma's house?
What did you get Fauvie for Christmas?

Oracle asked:
On December 17th, Fauve wrote this:
"The Thing [came] up this weekend and for the first time in 14 months we didn't have sex. And...I'm really really upset about it. "
Now over to Thing, Why ?

SP asked:
Do you have a twin brother currently residing in the midwest?

As last time, I'll just copy what he wrote, changing nothing but the occasional spelling error...though I reserve the right to add my own brand of side commentary from time to time. I'll make sure you know it's me though. I'll be the one with the vagina, a fork, and the stunning good looks...

Fauve Anniversary Blog - Part 1

Prior to meeting Fred & Wilma, I had spent approximately twelve months firing off regular salvos of probing questions revolving around Fauve's lack of communication with them. I was very glad to hear Fauve ask me if I finally wanted to meet them at Christmas.

Of course, the normal tension about that first meeting would never be fully realized since we ran into them at the mall a couple weeks later - a full month or so before Christmas. Although... I wouldn't call that unexpected (and brief) introduction in the book store a "meeting" so much - her father shook my hand lightly and quickly turned and walked away and I mostly watched Fauve as she spoke and listened to her mother - but it did help break the ice. If nothing else, at least they knew I wasn't the tallest person in the world. I thought that maybe now I wouldn't have to watch them looking me over so much at Christmastime. You know, where the eyes - after attempting to initially asses who i am and where i came from and are my parents still married and where did they come from and what kind of lies am i hiding and how it relates to them and their daughter they don't talk to - gradually make their way upwards and ask "What the hell is he doing with his hair?"

Christmas day was nearly anxiety free. Granted, it's much easier not giving a shit about making a good impression when in all likelihood, I may never see them again after dinner. I walked into an environment not too dissimilar from my own. Within minutes - I witnessed her sister and mother spend quite a lot of energy revolving around food and the preparation and presentation and timeliness of dinner and the before dinner munchies and drinks (DRIIIIINNNKKKSSSS). On the other side of the room, her son and father seemed to be talking about sports or cars or televisions or lifting weights. Being within earshot of any type of sport or car conversations triggers very hard teeth grinding which, you know, hurts. So I started flitting around the kitchen like a hen, offering to help move food stuff from the counter right there to the other part of the counter over there. Ah... the wine...

Dinner went well. I had lots of salad and wine. I was seated at one end of the table, her father at the other (were we supposed to arm wrestle?). At one point, there were 3 different conversations going on at the table. I was engaged in one of them. With her father. Discussing... cars. I AM A WHORE. Whose teeth really hurt. Actually, what kept me going was her father's reaction to the other conversations that were happening: occasionally someone would get louder than what he was saying - so he'd pause for a brief moment, glance over towards the "loud one" (I think he was hoping to make eye contact and shut them up with a stern look of disapproval) and then continuing on with his dissertation... but not without giving one last double-take (trying to catch them "in the act"?) I thought about texting Fauve: Does your Dad own a gun?

I was able to finagle some high school pictures of Fauve (which are rarer than a 1943 copper penny) from her mom. Sadly, none were of her feet.

It was as Fauve said it would be - seemingly very nice and normal. It was my impression that Wilma was the one responsible for the severed communication with her daughter - Fred just didn't seem to give a shit either way about anything - much less his children. He was neither interested or disinterested... just kinda "there", you know? That was kinda sad. The whole way they "are" with Fauve is sad. HEY! SCHMUCK! That's your fucking kid!

I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope that, on this supposedly sacred Christian holiday, her parents would confess their regret over their reaction to Fauve's divorce announcement and beg for her forgiveness for their behavior. I mean, c'mon - its divorce, not murder. Plus, I'm really fucking awesome and have tons more depth than The Paperweight!

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What did I get Fauve for Christmas? I actually couldn't immediately remember anything other than the LCD monitor for her computer. She had one of those huge CRT units so I thought it'd give her a lot more desktop space. What the hell else was there? (Honey, it's late and I've been drinking! Help me remember!)

I'm not good with searching for and buying material gifts that fall outside the scope of my current interests and knowledge. Its really hard for me to focus in on anything that isn't electronic and easily accessed through Amazon or NewEgg. Partly narcissistic, partly disinterest, mostly its that I think gifts for adults are totally uncalled for - especially when they're "expected" (Christmas, Fathers Day, Birthdays or anything other day that Hallmark has its marketing team involved with). I prefer making a homemade card on an otherwise forgotten, random day. Or welcome someone home from a long drive coming to visit me - with a warm bath. I've also been known to jot down some stuff for my girlfriend's blog when she asks really nicely. Wait. I bet Hallmark probably has a card for that now, too. Corporate fucks!

Hi. This is Fauve. Remember me? He also got me the DVD of The Year Without a Santa Claus, one of my favorites and not one but two cards. So ignore his Hallmark cynicism. And, for the record, I asked him to please not get me anything for Christmas. He insisted.

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The Weekend of No Sex. Why didn't we? I may have been tired, too drunk, not interested and/or fresh from jerking off in the bathroom. I didn't realize we weren't meeting the sex quota. Or maybe I did, and were preparing us both for marriage.

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I have a brother, he is not a twin and is not currently located west of the Mississippi. Nice guy, but is only able to tie his shoes with support from a car load of monkeys. To give you more of an idea, his particular car seats about a dozen monkeys - 14 if two of them are midgets.

To be continued...