A story about Buttface

As some of you know, at the beginning of May I found a frog in my yard. Well, not really my yard but the small area of greenery around the front. See the rudimentary drawing
of Khan castle:

One day I came home to see this small little frog hopping up the driveway.  So I sort of laughed it off and kept going, thinking perhaps someone had let their pet go.  Now mind you, this summer I've battled with a paper wasp nest, a motherfucking mouse in my kitchen, and the fat ass raccoon who sits on my door step at dusk and LAUGHS at me. So while the frog was interesting enough to add to the menagerie, I was beginning to feel like a defective Noah.  And fuck if you think I'll be building an ark; here's my credit card.  Go rent a paddle boat.

Anyways, the next morning as I went to drive my niece to school, the little frog was sitting on the edge of the walkway by the bushes to the right, and doing cute little froggy pushups with his obscenely muscular little arms.  It was obvious that he had a case of Napoleon Syndrome, and I figured I was either obstructing his way to the gym or else he was seriously poised to battle me in a street fight.  I rushed away quickly, seeing as I had no back-up and quite honestly I figured I needed to beef up my arsenal before I took on this little prick.

I also decided he needed a name as dignified as his tiny yet roided appearance suggested.  He quickly became known as Buttface.  No last name, no middle name.  He was officially the Cher or Madonna of the Amphibian world.  I decided at this point that we needed to be friends.  After all, with his beefy appearance he could definitely be trained to be a guard frog, or a doorman.  Maybe he could help me carry my groceries in.  Either way, I needed to play nice.

So I googled.  Admittedly, I originally planned to google 'What do frogs eat'.  A few quick answers were bugs, ants, flies.  Since I am definitely all for anhillating bugs with Raid, I didn't exactly have a surplus.  So I improvised.  I hurriedly texted my boyfriend this, "if you were a frog, what would you eat?"  I assumed he was used to my bizarre questions, however this text warranted a quick phone call.  A short transcript is below:

Him: So.. if I were a frog, what would I eat? Did you drink today?

Me: No.. but it's really important and imperative so I can make friends with this frog, I need a guard frog.

Him: Smoke?

Me: How can a frog eat smoke? Isn't that sort of unhealthy?

Him: No, did you? (insert random side conversation)

Me: Oh good, are you with your friends?

Him: Yes... shall I ask them?

Me: Obviously.

Him: (random conversation) Okay.. they said beer, birthday cake, and that rice you make that you should make me when I come home next.

Me: (hangs up in a hurry, will blame it on a bad connection)

So.. Birthday cake.  Beer. And rice?  Really? I suppose it does make sense though, that when trying to persuade a frog to become your guardian, you really should go above and beyond the normal route of house flies and ants and really do it up.  So I grabbed a small bowl and filled it with some crumbs from a danish I bought at Whole Foods (hey, it was the closest thing I had to birthday cake), a small saucer full of warm Fat Tire, and a piece of bologna.  Look, I was improvising. Don't judge me. I set it out in the flowers to the left of the house, and waited.  I couldn't contain my excitement as I went to bed that night, figuring that I would wake up the next morning with a fucking ARMY of roided out frogs, just waiting to do my bidding.  However, this is where the story gets truly bizarre.

The next morning I woke up to find the saucer empty, the bologna chewed up by some nefarious looking teeth and reguritated on the cement.  The bowl with the danish? Yeah, it was gone. Lovely. I had some hope that he took his treats to his headquarters, either to laugh with the other frogs at how stupid I was, or to size them up for proper battle armor.  However as the day went on it was apparent that Buttface had run away with his snacks.   I never saw him again.

Two days later, the fat ass raccoon was back to sitting on my front stoop, giggling at me.  Only this time he had the bowl with him, like a third world beggar.  Only this time he had a devil may care gleam in his eyes and really didn't listen to my idle threats about Buttface the frog.

I haven't seen Buttface since I indulged him in a little party buffet, and I'm still a little pissed about it.  What kind of frog wouldn't want a danish? Especially one from Whole Foods? Nature truly is an ungrateful friend.

Guess who has a Lionel Richie song stuck in her head?

This girl right here.





Guess who also has two boxes of freeze pops?



You guessed it. SAME GIRL.


I know, I know. Mind blowing. While it seems mundane to you, to me it means the world. Now I can spend the night eating freeze pops, writing the first three chapters of the big project, and randomly stopping to inspect my toenails.

You wish you were me, I know it.


On a side note, this totally came in handy today as a little dude came and hitched a ride in my car:

I may have just saved your life.


You can thank me later.

Random Advice

A woman I know invited me to see a psychic with her. Cue the dramatic music, someone, please?

Now I don't really but too much stock in what psychics say. I see a whole bunch of crazy people who could probably give me better advice (flashback to a tarot reading in high school where the man told me I would be a doctor, and also a flashback to a time three years ago when an insane person told me I would marry a british man.. you decide who was more accurate) walking freely down the streets of Chicago. Granted, they smell a lot worse but a few bucks for crack or alcohol or a meal makes more sense to me than doling out dollars for some theatrical production of a lady with bad hair droning on and on about some big enlightenment about to head my way. I'd rather spend the money on some crazy core Skittles (have you tried those? FUCKING AMAZING). Thhhhaaaaaat being said, I don't automatically discount things that psychics say. I do have a deep respect and understanding that there are things in this world that even my huge brain can't comprehend, so if someone seems on the up and up, I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

I suppose I should have been more suspicious about a psychic running her show out of her home. But this in fact, made me immediately feel at ease. She gave my friend a reading first, touching on the subjects of love, life, and a general sense of well being for her in the near future. My friend seemed happy, so I decided to give it a go. She mentioned immediately a creative project I had that seemed to be stuck in a stalemate. And that perhaps it would benefit me to start something fresh, as a complete aside to it. I tried to remain stoic but I have to confess I was pretty intrigued as she hit that nail on the head. She also mentioned that I, in fact, was already aware of this, and that I just hadn't taken the first step. Okay, hit number two. Thirdly, she mentioned a bit of an emotional wound I carried with me, and that I really knew deep down, everything regarding that would be alright. Hmm.. so perhaps she was onto things. Maybe I need to see her again. Maybe the stuff she said about the wounds.. well.. I'm not quite sure I'm ready to let go of that so easily yet (who would be, in my position?) but I do know that for now, I'll write.

random thought.

one year ago today to the hour, i was stepping off a plane. the stomping grounds were familiar, the air pregnant with humidity and excitement. this was almost routine now, however the circumstances quite different. i slid off quickly from the airport into a cab, avoiding the midtown shopping as i arrived in my hotel. and there you were. i dont really remember what we said at first, but it was obvious that this time things were different. i remember that you held me close and were rather solemn. you looked exhausted. it wasnt until later that i learned you had pulled an 18 hour shift and had only just arrived yourself. we sat on the balcony for two hours, regardless of the opened sky as it poured down around us. we were soaked but happy. we didnt speak much, just sort of ruminated on all that had transpired in the past few months. that night was sweet, not overly done. you made everything perfect, as usual.

the next day, hungover and still entangled, we headed off to that silly party in East Hampton. I don't think we spent more than fifteen minutes there though, as we both decided the beach was much more suitable for all that we had to say. Under a surprisingly clear sky dotted with a spectacular fireworks show, you held my hand and placed it on your heart. there were no words to say, we both knew everything in that single moment.


its a year later. im home. you're far away again. time since then has continued, never changing but changing just the same. your toothbrush sits easily next to mine. half the closet contains your clothes. your pillow still smells like you. i can still feel the warmth of your heart beating steadily beneath my trembling palm.

and thats all that matters here, right now.