A few years ago, on the road trip leading up to our marriage, I made a significant sacrifice. It happened on the New Jersey Turnpike. That was the moment when I deleted all the pictures of penises from my phone.
It wasn’t much of a collection. My pal Mandy has an impressive menagerie of penis pictures sent to her over the years. Men love photographing their junk. The reason we’ve seen such rapid improvements in the cameras on mobile devices is because guys over at iPhone keep asking, “How can I take better photographs of my junk?”
Although I didn’t have many junk photos, each never failed to bring a smile to my face, amongst other physical reactions. Removing them was a symbolic gesture, making clear I had selected the manly parts I would like to gaze upon for the rest of my life. I could go in the kitchen right now and request to view Preppy’s junk, and though he might be confused by the sudden demand, I could score a quick peek if I asked nicely.
Snowpocalypse turned out to be a welcome vacation at our house, for at least the first few days. Unencumbered by work responsibilities and forced to clear our calendars, my husband, my dog, and I settled onto the sofa and got caught up on TV shows.
There are some programs we watch together, and then there’s each other’s favorite shows that we just can’t agree upon — like my love of National Geographic’s Lockdown, which he can mock all he wants, but if we ever wind up in prison together my working knowledge of the hierarchy in The Yard is gonna come in mighty handy. I’m learning potential life skills here. I’ve learned how to make a shiv out of almost anything. Just give me some downtime and a few raw materials.
While my husband might not share my interest in getting to know prison gangs, he does monitor another unstable posse closed off from society: The Kardashians.
Openly gay writer Topher Payne is used to penning new plays, but with his current “Tokens of Affection,” he adds a new hat — that of director. His world premiere comedy opens at Georgia Ensemble Theatre this week.
Payne calls it “The Parent Trap” for grown-ups. “Tokens of Affection” is the story of siblings Charlie and Claire (Matt Myers and Kelly Criss), whose parents split after 37 years of marriage. Not happy with the idea of having two single parents in their 60s, the siblings scheme to get them back together.
Payne says he had a couple of inspirations for “Tokens of Affection.” The main one was marrying his husband in 2008.
It’s my first day back at work in the new year, and I’m greeted by an email from my boss asking everyone to update their emergency contact information for HR. Is it terrible that I have to double-check my husband’s phone number every time I’m asked to provide it?
My grandmother’s been dead for 15 years, but her number I could tell you. I learned it when I was five. It was the only number I knew, so I’d call her up and tell her about my day. It couldn’t have been all that compelling, but she hung in there anyway, bless her heart.
My husband? When I try to recite his number from memory, I invariably invert digits. I would claim it’s undiagnosed dyslexia, but I know full well I just never memorized the damn thing. The night I met him, I put it in my phone and that was that. I say “Call Preppy,” and technology takes care of the rest.
Gay playwright Topher Payne's latest play centers on the commitment of family
I’ve never been much of a gamer, but in my early 20s I was in a relationship with a geek (his term, not mine) for several years, which allowed me to closely observe that culture.
I could never really wrap my brain around the large Tupperware bins of comic books or hours spent playing “X-Men” on PlayStation, but considering I brought a costume closet and several puppets into the relationship, I wasn’t in a position to judge.
The one exception was “The Sims,” which could trap me in front of my desktop computer for an entire day, staring slack-jawed at the screen. The player was supposed to create an avatar, build them a house, then get a job and become a productive member of society.
Our interactions with the real-life crazy person next door reached Situation Critical this week. Anita’s screams over our fence grew from the usual “Stop putting listening devices under my house,” to the new “Stop sneaking into my house and disabling my security system.”
While I could appreciate the impressive set of spy skills Anita is fully convinced we possess, she capped off the new list of offenses with death threats. I called my husband at work.
“So, Crazy Pants just threatened to murder us. And Daisy. She said she’s gonna kill Daisy.”
“Oh, Jesus. What did you say?”
“I was pretty composed until she said she’s gonna kill the dog. Then I lost my cool a little.”
“Call the police, Topher.”
“Come home. You do it.”
“No,” said Preppy. “We need to let them handle this. Hang up and call 911 right now.”