MyAdultLand

It saddens me, but I knew the day would come. My mancub has left captivity to explore the jungle. I’m happy for him. No, I’m downright proud of him. He’s practically a full grown man now, and I like to think I played some small roll in making him the man he almost is today.

But it leaves a huge gaping void in my life. One that’s going to be so much fun to fill!

So I’m recruiting a new mancub.

Job Responsiblilites: be available for last minute repair calls, road-trip calls, whatever calls. Must be keenly intelligent; must clean-up well.

DESIRED EXPERIENCE: restraint; some general contractor knowledge and application;

DEMONSTRATED SKILLS: intuitive neck rubs; mounting heavy objects on cheap old shotgun apartment walls; stuntdriving; comedic timing; flirting

JOB REQUIREMENTS: must own car and valid driver’s license, must have respectable toolbox, toolbelt preferred; able to life heavy objects; cell phone with lots of minutes on monthly plan; take direction well; know when to give direction well; politically incorrect and not easily offended; must have good old-fashioned manners; can-do attitude.

Submissions accepted until position is filled.

Please leave contact details and feeding requirements in the comment section.

Good times on the road.

Well, I did it. I released the mancub from captivity. It hurt a little. But it was time. And it was a fun — and mother of God was it long — drive. But that’s what you get when you borrow a nearly 20 year-old car that feels like it’s going to explode if you go above 65. With no CD player or satellite radio. Oh, and no AC, which is normally not a problem in February. But this is the Soutwest, and these are times of global warming… I’m sorry, I meant to say Climate Change. And even though I was in the best of company, I WAS DYING. We were both dying. It was the longest motherfucking drive ever. Ever.

But an important journey it was. For the thought of him running free in his natural habitat, the impossibly beautiful desert of the southwest, fills my heart and my head with indescribable joy. And titillation. There goes one tough act to follow.

Mainly because I love the desert of the southwest so much. It’s also where I grew up (though in a neighboring state). No place feels more holy to me that the desert.

Nonetheless, this gives me an excellent excuse to visit the desert more often, and a cozy place to stay while I’m there. I’m liking this new arrangement already.

Filling my tank.

I should really aim to find a new mancub with roots somewhere really exotic, someplace I’ve always wanted to visit. A destination location. So that next time I set him free… well, you get the picture. Venice. Barcelona. Hawaii (been there, but I’ll go again).

Door close, window open. Door close, window open.

Yesterday with the Mancub was the best ever!  Our planned activity was not only a practical one, but a fun one. More painting, but this time for a fun project that’s going to cover the big wall in my bedroom. I got the idea from an issue of Architectural Digest I stole from my banker. There was this picture of a mirror with some textured pattern over it. A $12K mirror. That ain’t gonna happen. But with that picture, my imagination, and $85, my wall is going to look spectacular.

But I digress. So we painted in bright vivid colors while listening to old-school Christmas carols. We actually managed to not track paint throughout the apartment (an accomplishment in and of itself). We drove out to Westlake Joes (super old-school restaurant) and enjoyed the early-bird dinner (GET THE STEAK BRUNO —  RARE!!!) We got an apple pie to go. Slapped a second coat of paint on, heated said pie, drowned it in Haagen Dazs vanilla, and went crosseyed with pleasure. All with the enchanting voices of Bing, Dino, and Rosemary singing songs of Christmas joy from another era in the background.

Best part: Mancubs don’t spit up on you after they eat too much pie. Instead, they rub that lingering kink out of your neck. See, there’s something to be said for child-free playdates! Til next time, when we deck the walls — as my shotgun apartment has no halls — HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Man.

All women Of A Certain Age should have a Mancub. What is a Mancub? He is the Cabana-boy for those us living urban, cabana-less lives. He is a slightly furry, well-muscled puppy. Precious, there-when-we-call, cuddly, and safe. Not too safe. He could make a mess of our lives if we allowed it. So we “train” our Mancub early on to prevent…er, “accidents”, missteps if you will. And they fulfill a meaningful role in our lives. Companionship and affection when we need. Heavy objects mounted to our apartment walls (the best mancub owns a toolbelt — or at the very least a mean tool box. I know mine does) when we redecorate. And what do they ask in return? A hot meal, a nap, a belly-rub. A smart Mancub does not ask for more. And I highly recommend finding a smart one — it will make things much easier. Trust me.

Who could resist having a Mancub? Who would want to?

Cub.

Mine came over last week to hang some cool, long (but heavy) mirrors I found in my basement. The plan was to hang them horizontally, to create 2 parallel long “lines” through my apartment to create the illusion of length. They were stuck together, courtesy of super heavy-duty sticky tape on back. So stuck together were they that when mancub was trying to separate them, one broke (they’re pretty cheap & thin, the mirrors). So now what? This turned out to be a happy accident. We hung them instead vertically in my bedroom, staggered, on a small wall between the window & door. It maximizes light, and looks awesome! AND I now have a full-length mirrors in the bedroom! However, this took longer than planned, and he had to leave for an appointment, I for work. But I left him a key, as he was going to return the next day to hang my closet door (I’d removed it when I painted the bedroom). He did not return the next day. He returned that night, and my door was hanging when I got home from work.