The Tale of the Snuggy Bunny

As much machismo as C-Rock exudes now, he has come a long way when it comes to getting in touch with his sensitive side. In the beginning, the littlest thing would provoke his manly ego to come bursting out. 

"Oh nice! Are those new shoes?" 

"NO. I found them sitting beside the dumpster...

I don't get new shoes." 

"C-Rock, come cuddle with me!"

"Baby, I'm sorry, but cuddling is for assholes."

I can't resist a good practical joke, especially when the fruit is so low hanging. The tale of the Snuggy Bunny is from our first month of dating... so the target was still quite large. 


John is C-Rock's best friend since grade school - an eerily similar, though brunette, version of C-Rock. The pair were planning a road trip and C-Rock had asked if I could burn him a cd for the ride (no CD drive on the ol' 88 Dell at the Dungeon). He selected songs from my library and once the disc was ready, asked if I had a spare case. I did, so I went into the other room with his new road trip cd and brought it back in an opaque case.

~~~

John was driving and it wasn't until about 45 minutes down the road that C-Rock pulled the cd from his bag. He opened the case to find that I had personalized the disc with hearts, flowers, and a title reading, "Snuggy Bunny's Playlist" (the most absurd, cloying pet-name I had improvised on the spot while clutching my stash of sharpies and trying not let him hear me cracking up). He was traumatized. C-Rock would never be caught dead with anything resembling a heart and certainly not with anything referencing bunnies... most especially in front of John.  Seeing no other escape (as he'd already spent a quarter hour talking up his stellar playlist) he quickly shoved the disc in John's player and tried to forget all about it.


And forget all about it he did as he forgot to eject the disc and take it with him at the end of the trip. John didn't call C-Rock for a month - though the correlation has never been firmly established. The pet name did eventually leak to the group which of course ensured that it stuck, though this was never my original intention. We now have expanded to many forms including Snugs, Snuggy B, Snuggaversary, and the like. And that kiddies, is the true tale of the Snuggy Bunny. 

The Dungeon (and other relics of bachelorhood)

C-Rock can't be bothered with any sort of dependency on creature comforts. Before we started dating, his unit had flooded and destroyed his mattress (which had been sitting on the concrete slab floor of his subterranean studio loft/ basement of a former John Deer factory). To prevent the inconvenience from reoccurring, he "built" himself what he believed to be a pretty sweet "platform bed" out of plywood and cinder blocks. This he adorned with an air-mattress. Said arrangement remained his sleeping configuration for more than a year.


The rest of his 600 square feet of glory were equally amazing. Two by eights connected with a piece of baseboard at each end propped on 2 plastic saw horses = world's longest (and crookedest) desk. That is, desk/ dining table/ storage unit. The CRT television, though housed in a decent wooden entertainment cabinet (ala Millie), was propped up on an empty ammunition box. In classic bachelor style, the unit boasted a pair of black pleather (eh hem, I mean DURAHIDE) sofas. The fact that the home did actually have a bit of wall decor might seem contradictory to the otherwise spartan aesthetic until you learn that the items hanging on the wall were: a pair of boxing gloves, a construction hat, one old-school shotgun, and various framed posters valiantly 'rescued' from the dumpster. 


The unit was conveniently located adjacent to the parking deck such that one wall running the entire length of the home was shared with the deck. Sometimes, neighbors would literally hit his house when parking. This was not nearly as loud as the hourly trains passing by on a track located no more than 30 feet from his solitary half window of security glass (sure to let no criminals, nor daylight in) that would rattle the building hard enough to register on any richter scale.


The following are examples of common household items that overtime, I discovered C-Rock did not own:

• a microwave
• staples/ paperclips/ pens/ paper of any kind
• a coffee-maker
• salt

Below, however, are examples of things he did find necessary:

• 12 foot ladder
• dehydrated piranha on wooden stand
• fm radio toilet paper dispenser 
• Miter saw

Click here to see images of the famous C-Rock dungeon. "This is a photo documentary of the things I found around C-Rocks's place that I got the strangest sense would get "lost in the move" to our place after the wedding..."

Kitty Condolences

C-Rock is very much in his own head most of the time and doesn't always realize how gruff he can come off (or how ridiculous his mismatching clothes are, but that's a post for another time). When asked for his opinion on something, 90% of the time his answer is a predictably timed, "Ah yeah..." (So predictable I can mimic his response with the precision of a synchronized swimmer). "How does this new dress look?" "Ah yeah..." "What do you think of my new job?!" "Ah yeah..." "Check out this photo I just uploaded" "Ah yeah..." "My hair is on fire!" "Ah yeah..." WHAT THE HECK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

At any rate, C-Rock's unintentional in-eloquence puts off an air of indifference that often leaves me wishing I could hit the rewind button and master human ventriloquism. The day Casper died was just such an occasion. Nora is the prototypical Catholic mother who lives for her children even though the nest is long since empty. Empty except for the multiple aging felines leftover from when she just couldn't say no to us as children. More than that, she can't ever bring herself to put them down, so she ends up with these mangled wretches that can barely do more than breathe.

Casper was just one such wretch, poor guy, with tumors on his face and a rickety old-man walk that was jarring to see every time I'd visit home because the spritely cat I remembered could easily leap on and off our second story back porch. When he finally died, we were relieved, but Mom was understandably distraught. She had tried calling me several times, but I guess my phone was off, so she eventually called C-Rock's phone. I heard him pick up his phone from the other room, but didn't pay much attention. C-Rock uttered a few unintelligible monosyllabic grunts for a few minutes and then as I walk into the room I hear him say, "Ah yeah... I'm sorry to hear that and well... (silence) well, at least you still got the other ones there."

Somebody remind me to arrange for a eulogist in the event of my untimely death.

Baby, it's time to go

C-Rock and I had actually known each other for years through a mutual group of friends before we ever started dating. Though we attended many of the same festivities over the years, we never particularly hit it off. This wasn't  due to any lack of mutual attraction (C-Rock's quite the stud muffin), but more likely because I was off bouncing around everywhere while he was hunkered down in some corner debating adamantly about man stuff.  We're quite the opposites in many ways... Me: short with a Napoleon complex (both inherited from my father), an extraverted wise-cracker with my emotions volatile and prominently worn on my sleeve. C-Rock: tall, strong, and silent with a black-or-white outlook and endless rigid opinions. While I, like any dutiful middle-child, make great efforts to maintain the peace, C-Rock, though unintentionally, tactlessly offends on a regular basis.

When we first starting dating, it wasn't necessarily a pairing our friends saw coming. Still, it works for us. As my sister likes to say, C-Rock calms my crazy. Our friends call this, 'Baby... it's time to go'. Yet another saying at my expense that just won't die.

We started dating a couple years out of college and though I've calmed in my 'old age', I'm known to be a bit hyper and border-line inappropriate when I've been over-served. (Some may interpret this as "obnoxious"... I prefer the term "endearing"). It was on just such an occasion when we found ourselves in what used to be 'the back room' at Mr. C's. Given my stature I should stay away from any drink with the name long in it, but nevertheless I'd already downed two long island iced teas. My antics had been escalating over the course of the evening and, while harmless when contained among friends, began to cause trouble after some strangers wandered into the back room.

I don't recall exactly what all went on, but as I understand it, there was something about some guy's leg and something else about dry humping. Yadda yadda yadda, somebody ended up laid out on the floor under a bar stool.... it doesn't really matter who. The point is, C-Rock finally stands up and without saying goodbye to our friends and gruffly declares, "Baby... it's time to go." With that he scooped me up over his shoulder and carried me out the back door.

Exit, stage left. No encore tonight folks.

Goodwill to all... (Christmas 2009)

Christmas '09 is one we won't be forgetting any time soon. We have some extended family on my side with whom we spend most holidays. This side is particularly fond of: drinking heavily, opining on topics that polite conversations typically avoid, and winning the 'who can be the loudest in the room' game. In fact, it was the culmination of each of these very activities on Thanksgiving of '08 that led to Aunt Jersey bellowing, "WELL THEN MAYBE HE (C-Rock who was standing no more than 2 feet away) SHOULD GET OUT OF MY COUNTRY!!" But I digress...

So, here we were on Christmas day 2009. Ever since we started dating, the holidays have become a rat-race as we dash about trying to manage each of four potential visits. This particular day we saved our visit with that side of the family for last and we ended up arriving quite late. By the time he and I got there, each of the fifteen family members above the age of 21 was already three sheets to the wind (for those of you who are counting, that's about 45 too many sheets). In this head-count of drinking aged individuals, I am including my one very sweet, low-functioning autistic cousin, Jessica. The most eligible driver in the residence at this point was my then 4 year-old niece. 

The family had gathered maybe five hours prior to our arrival, which we timed to be a safe 3 hours after dinner was to have been served. Naturally, everyone had been enjoying a 5 course liquid meal, and the roast had not yet made its way from the oven to the dinner table. C-Rock and I had not been there long when we see Uncle Israel bumbling through the hallway with some sort of table. He was obviously struggling, so C-Rock ran over to help. As the boys got the table in place, Aunt F notices and shrieks at him from the kitchen, "NOT THAT TABLE, YOU F*CK*NG IDIOT!" (From this point forward, add to the soundtrack one uncle grumbling with his thick Israeli accent, 'call me a f*ck*ng idiot in my own house... MY house...')

Shortly after dinner, my niece runs up to us in her darling Christmas outfit with big tears in her eyes. "Mommy RUINED my tights!" she cried pointing to the red splotches all down her white tights. Somehow, my sister had managed to spill her glass of red wine on her daughter. C-Rock distracted her by picking her up and spinning her around and around. Once she was laughing, we told her it was magic  Santa juice and not to worry. That seemed to make sense enough to her and, either way, did the trick.

A bit later, my sister came up, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to an empty corner. "Oh my God, Jessica snatched the wine glass out of my hands and gulped down the entire thing in one swallow! I'm so embarrassed, do I need to tell Aunt F?" After debating, we decided that alcohol might be dangerous when mixed with some of Jessica's autism related medications and that she indeed needed to tell Aunt F. Apparently, it was okay, and actually this was not Jessica's first (or last) drink of the evening.

Meanwhile, another set of my female cousins (blondie sisters 1, 2, & 3) began taking shots of Grand Mariner along with their respective boyfriends. The youngest of the three, the one that looks the most like some sort of centerfold, had begun periodically rubbing C-Rocks abs while engaging in casual conversation. Though C-Rock wouldn't generally mind such a thing, as you can imagine, it was awkward. 

Though I could go on (and on and on), I've hit the main highlights and I think you get the picture. Though the few hours we'd been there had been taxing enough to last through the New Year, we were making the best of it and trying to carry-on coherent conversation with loved ones. After a short lull, C-Rock's hand shoots over and he grasps my thigh a little to tightly. "What?!" I sharply turn my head and look at him, only he's not looking back at me, he looks kinda paralyzed. "What?" I say again and after a few bloated moments... I turn my eyes to follow his gaze just in time to catch a glance of my 21 year-old, autistic cousin coming in slow-motion down the stairs... naked as the day she was born. 

No one in the room had noticed besides C-Rock - who sat, horrified and gripping my leg. We sat in shared shock for a brief eternity longer until Uncle Israel's voice comes booming from somewhere unseen, "Jes-eek-ahhhhh.... NOOOOOOOOO!"

For the first time all evening, the entire house went quiet as Uncle Israel threw a blanket over her and ushered her quickly back up the stairs. The entire family sat looking at each other stupidly for a few moments until C-Rock breaks the silence in his typical 100% straight-faced manner and says, "Well, this has been JUST great..." 

With this, he stood stretching and looking at me as though it were naturally an obvious way to make our exit. Being too overwhelmed and exhausted to form a plan any more graceful, I quickly joined him in standing and made a quick round of hugs. I did stop briefly on the way out the door snap a blackmail photo of my sister who I found in the front room on Jessica's recliner, cell phone in mid-text in one hand, Chihuahua in the other, passed out on Grand Mariner.

... and to all a good night

"Watch out or she'll kick your peppers"

"Watch out or she'll kick your peppers" has become, much to my chagrin, a common saying in our friend group.


One thing you have to understand about C-Rock, he gets these big ideas in his head out of no where. Suddenly he'll decide he'd really like to get his hot-air balloon pilots license, or own a recyclable christmas tree farm, or open a pick-your-own hops micro-brewery (I'm not making these up). Obsession sets in for anywhere from a few weeks to the better part of a year. For instance, with the hot-air balloon thing, he would spend hours researching his potential competition, which schools offered the best pilots license program, where would be the best place to buy some rural Georgia land to launch from... and on and on.


So, maybe 6 weeks before our wedding, I get an IM from one of our buddies containing a link called monthlyjalapeno.com I take the bait and click to link to find a website soliciting pepper of the month club subscriptions.... then I notice that the 'pay now' button is linked to C-Rock. This was the first I'd heard anything about it.


Apparently, C-Rock had decided to buy the domain and start a pepper of the month club. Though he had no garden (or even a yard for that matter), no idea about regulations involving shipping of produce, and no vacuum sealer or other equipment to ship these non-existent peppers... these are all details he felt could wait until the subscriptions started rolling in.


And so the new chapter into urban farming begins... He rushed out and purchased some small soil pods from Home Depot and a habanero pepper from the grocery store. As the final weeks before our wedding approached, he obsessed over these damn seeds - gingerly moving them from the back porch to the front window to the desk in my room. (We didn't live together before getting married and his place, 'the Dungeon', got very little daylight).


Here I was, frantically dashing around town delivering final payments to vendors, wrapping up endless DIY projects, attending bridal functions, etc. and I would get these urgent phone calls, "Baby! Could you please give two drops of water to each of the 50 pods, then move them from the back porch to the window, then...." In the evenings, I would sit there folding ceremony programs by myself while he'd carefully water each plant with a GD eye dropper (MY GD eye dropper).


During the final week before the wedding, he decided the seedlings really needed 24/7 light. He built a tin-foil tent on my desk lamp. Not that I wasn't already having trouble sleeping through the night WITHOUT an illuminated desk UFO located three feet from my head. The final straw, however, was yet to come.


You may have gathered, C-Rock wasn't super hands-on about the wedding planning. Instead, he planned the entire honeymoon with only two requests from the bride: 1) it had to be somewhere warm and 2) it had to be a surprise. And so it was for many months until...


One night he had been hanging out at our favorite dive bar, Mr. C's, with some of our buddies. Afterwards, he called me somewhat intoxicated (a rare thing for C-Rock since he is a big guy and stays away from liquor). After rambling on a bit, he remembered some 'exciting news', "Oh baby! Great news!! Michael has agreed to babysit the peppers while we're on our honeymoon!" (Seriously? Some people have fur babies... C-Rock has leaf babies). "Yeah... I was planning to bring them with us, but then I found out Hawaii has strict regulations regarding bringing in plants." Silence... Did you really just tell me where we're going on our honeymoon?! "Oh! Uhhhh... no! Ha, ha. I got you!"


I had had it! As I came up my front steps and was greeted by those stupid little sprouts by the front door, I kicked them clear off my second story patio.




Luckily our relationship survived the assassination. The wedding was amazing and he resumed his urban farming once returning from our Hawaiian honeymoon. Never got a subscription though... not even one.