Monday, July 26, 2010

I feel compelled to point out that I'm aware I'm nuts, but its not all bad nuts.

It occurs to me that after some of my posts outlining exactly how crazy I am, that people may find themselves wondering how in the hell I manage to stay married. Or how my husband hasn't already chosen self-immolation over continued life with the fruitcake he married. There are two answers to this question.

Reason the first: Compared to the bunny boilers and suicidal lunatics he was with before me, I actually appear cutely quirky in a totally adorable way. My crazy does not extend into the realm of stalking, demanding he give up any of his friends (regardless of whether or not I like them), demanding 1,000% of his attention at all times, or needing to be told that I'm pretty and he loves me and no, he was not looking at that other girl - okay, he looked at her, but she's the waitress, how was he supposed to not look at her a thousand times a day. Also, I've never thrown a screaming fit in public or thrown anything heavy at his head. In fact, straight from the horse's mouth, "You're crazy, but you're the least crazy woman I've ever met so I figured what the hell. Let's get married."

Reason the second: As often as I'm sure my mental illness causes him to pause with his face in his hands to contemplate his life choices, it works for him.

1. Part of my particular crazy requires that things be fair and balanced. And not like Fox News fair and balanced, but like really. (I apologize; I could not resist one last flog of a dead horse). Anyway, this translates into a thousand little things that are good. He makes twice as much money as me, so to be fair and balanced I attempt to compensate by doing all of the cooking and almost all of the cleaning. If he takes the garbage out, I bring the can back in. If he brought the can in last time, I take the garbage out this time. I leave the toilet seat down, so I never bitch when he leaves the seat up (this is also related to a little life rule I have had since childhood which is this: At no time should one place one's ass upon a surface that has not been thoroughly examined. Which sprang from an obsession with sitting on sharp things, but whatever. Its a good rule). Also, if I don't want to have to ask permission to do minor social things with my friends, and I don't, I don't make him ask me for permission. And on and on like that.

2. You may have noticed that I said I do all of the cooking. Make good food happen and you will be forgiven a multitude of sins.

3. I can find anything. Which is really convenient because he loses everything. The gratitude a man feels when presented with the iPhone he was convinced was lost or stolen forever will cause him to totally forget that you kept him awake for 2 hours last week while you endlessly circled the house in search of serial killers (you always have to go back because what if they slid into a hiding place after you already looked there? This cycle can go on for awhile because that's always the case). Anyway, I can find anything is often related to my OCD because things have places and they must live in those places. If a thing is in its place I can find it. And if a thing is not in its place I often know where it is because its driving me crazy that its not in its place. However, I also have the ability to think of where he might have set a thing down and can generally go right to it.

4. As a corollary to I find everything, I find things that aren't lost, but that he wants and just can't find. My husband is incapable of finding things ever at all. A good example of this would be the following:

Him: I would like some feta cheese.
Me: There is feta in the fridge.

5 minutes later I walk by the fridge. He is standing in front of it with his eyes apparently open. I realize he is having difficulty, but don't want to be hover-y and enabler-y, so I let him keep looking without comment.

10 minutes later he is back on the couch with no feta.

Me: I thought you wanted feta?
Him: I think we're out. I couldn't find.

30 seconds later I present him with the brand new container of feta cheese. The look on his face is always so...awesome. Its like I am a unicorn that shits gold nuggets or some other sort of magical creature that is made up of magic and has the ability to make food appear, where before there was no food. And he's damn glad he had the foresight to marry such a magical creature because life is awesome when there is feta and you thought there was no feta.

5. Still related to the finding/losing theme is the fact that I help him to not lose things and to find things on his own. Before when we were living in sin, but not yet married so I didn't feel compelled to do his laundry we would have some variation of this conversation every single day:

Him: Have you seen my blue shirt?
Me: No.

And then I would have to find it, because I find things.

Now I have taken over the majority of the laundry duties (not ironing, because I hate ironing. If he wants to be wrinkle free, he does it himself. Also, if I want to be wrinkle free either I talk him into doing it or I wear something else. Mostly I've taught myself not to care about wrinkles. Because caring means ironing, and that is never going to happen). Um...yes, I do most of the laundry. And that means that I have now been able to organize the closet so that all of his long sleeve blue shirts hang together, all of his white shirts hang together, etc. etc. And he now knows that if he wants his blue shirt, he should first look with the 15 other blue shirts in the closet. If its not there he should check the laundry. And only after he has checked these two places should he ask me where the shirt is. Since this system has been implemented I have only had to answer that question twice.

6. He doesn't have to plan anything or keep up with anything. I make plans, inform him of plans, and get him where he needs to go when he needs to go there and he can save that valuable mental energy for whatever he is saving that energy for. He's pretty freaking smart. It could be anything.

7. 90% of the time I talk to his mother so he doesn't have to. Whatever finding iPhones, and making food happen, and not being bitchy doesn't make up for, this totally covers it.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Things That Keep Me Awake at Night

1. When did people start paying more for USED ITEMS on e-Bay when those items are available brand new for less money? Are these people unsure of how numbers work? Maybe they don't know that numbers mean things? What? I cannot fathom why anyone would pay $40 for a used shirt that's available new for $20. Why are people doing this?

2. Did I shut the drawer straight? Yes. Did I shut the drawer straight? Yes. Did I shut the drawer straight? I have to get up to check every time. Which makes for a great work out, but not great sleepy times.

3. Why do the neighbors come in at 2 a.m. every morning and talk loudly in their driveway? They have like eleventy billion children. Is this payback because my dogs are obnoxious bastards? It seems counterproductive.

4. I like to lay on my back, but every time I fall asleep in that position, I have nightmares. But I stubbornly want to stay on my back as long as possible, so I make myself stay awake. Then I either roll over at a ridiculous hour and let myself go to sleep, or I dream that I'm playing a board game that sucks me down into hell. Or giant snakes are trying to eat me. Or I'm covered in roaches. Or something that doesn't sound scary when I try to describe it (like the time the South Park characters were eating me) but is terrifying as it happens.

5. I can't lay down because I will go to sleep. I have to stay awake. I have no idea why, I just have to stay awake. So I...stay awake. I have had this problem since childhood when I was convinced my mom was waiting until I was asleep to do all of the interesting things. Turns out, she was watching Dallas or Dynasty and going to bed herself. But I'm still convinced I'm missing out on something when I'm asleep.

6. What will I do if my mom dies? Or my husband? What if we have a baby and he dies and I'm all by myself with a baby? Oh God. My mom will move in with me and I won't be able to stop her and she'll take over my baby and I love my mom but I never want to LIVE with her again. I'm a horrible person for not wanting to let my mom live with me. Maybe I don't love my mom. Maybe I don't love anyone and I'm totally a sociopath and I don't even know it.

7. I've been way too happy lately. Something horrible is going to happen any minute now because its not fair for one person to be happy all the time.

8. My teeth are going to fall out. My grandmother had to have all of her teeth pulled when she was my age. What if that happens to me? I can't live with dentures. I'm too vain and too lazy. So my husband would see me without my teeth and he'd never want to have sex again and if we can't have sex he'll probably leave me. And then I'll be toothless and broke. I'll be an Arkansas cliche. I have to brush and floss again.

9. Why is berry a flavor? Or a color? Not all berries taste the same and they're not all the same color.

Monday, July 19, 2010


Just a little tip: After a large strawberry daiquiri and a Sam Adams, Jaws 3-D will seem like an awesome idea. But it is not. Jaws 3-D is never a good idea.

You might think that a shark popping out of the screen in 3-D will look really cool. No. The only thing that is actually 3-D is a yellow submarine. Then you will start singing "We all live in a yellow submarine" and you won't be able to stop and your friends will decide they hate you. And you can't really blame them because at that moment, you kind of hate yourself.

You might think, "Well at least this was when Dennis Quaid was hot." Unfortunately, Dennis Quaid was never hot enough to make this movie worth watching.

Also, you won't realize until later, but you basically just spent all night looking like Groucho Marx, and your husband will have totally posted the picture on Facebook. Which, why did you think he was taking that picture with his iPhone, moron?

In conclusion, say no to Jaws 3-D. Its not worth the emotional trauma of alienating your friends, never being able to think of Dennis Quaid in a sexy way again, and public embarrassment via Facebook. Also you will never get the line "Overman was killed inside the park. The baby was found inside the park. The mother is inside the park." out of your head.

Friday, July 16, 2010

That Girl is Poi-i-sonnn

I was trudging determinedly up the last hill of my run last night. I only had about half a mile to go before I was done. The heat index was 107 and the humidity was approximately 1,000%. I looked like I'd stood in the shower in my clothes, and I was contemplating how awesome it would be if I could have gills like Kevin Costner's. Courtney Love was grating in my ear about a skinny little bitch and I was doing my best impression of the little engine that could. And then...

Poison truck.

I got doused by the mosquito fogger.

On the plus side, no mosquitoes will breed on me for at least the next month, so I've got that going for me.


My husband told me I looked Pentecostal again this morning. Which was not as well received as the last time. He has been married just long enough that he doesn't always realize he is ABOUT to put his foot in it, but he always knows immediately afterwards exactly what he shouldn't have said. So he backpedaled and said I looked like a SEXY Pentecostal chick. Oddly, that didn't make me feel any better about it.


And now my work computer just tried to commit ritual suicide by flinging itself to the floor and smashing into my ankle. Awesome. I have no proof that these two incidents are related, except of course for the fact that they TOTALLY ARE.

I think maybe I won't be driving anywhere for lunch today. Just as a precaution.

Monday, July 12, 2010

This is Why I'm Hot

Friday nights used to look a lot different. There is no photographic evidence of that, because, well, I'm not stupid. But there was definitely more people, more booze, and a lot less pajamas.

Behold: Friday nights now that I'm old and married:

Pajamas (post 7:00 shower, so you know this is prime time people. I should not be wearing pajamas yet), mac n cheese, and the world's weirdest dog. She sits like that all the time, unless she's doing the drunken redneck lean. Also, she would like me to insert food into her mouth now.

If I do the damn trick, then will she put the food in my mouth?

She's in the middle of a trick seizure. That happens when she does an ever more frantic cycle through all the tricks she knows without being asked to do them. It gets faster and bigger and more desperate.

Grizzly Bear. Yes, I taught my dog to imitate a bear on command. She's fucking fierce, dude. No bears will mess with us now.

This is how we entertain ourselves now. Happy Embracing the Geekness Day, or whatever it is.

I'm Not Sure How Someone Hypnotizes Another Person and That Makes Their Boobies Grow.

So...this woman at work was hypnotized the other day to help her stop smoking. I think that's great as she's tried a bunch of other stuff and she has to walk around with oxygen all day because of a lung disease from smoking.

The woman brought in the card for the hypnotist today, and all of her services are listed on the back. And included in the list was...breast enhancement. Its not that I want to actually let her hypnotize me into bigger breasts. Its that I'm fascinated at the possibility. I mean, if it means what it SOUNDS like it means its like 1/10 of the price of actual surgery with no scars or loss of sensation or ability to breast feed.

So...I e-mailed her. Mostly as a joke, I guess, which makes me a little shithead, but also because I REALLY need to know how this works.



Apparently, the subconcious controls EVERYTHING in our bodies, even bust size. They can increase your bust size by at least one cup size. The fee is a bargain price of $1200.00 (I guess because she claims it takes 4-6 sessions).

$1200 so I can go from training bras to an A cup? Bitch please.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Wow. You like me, you really like me!

Or at least, Erin at I'm Staying Young Forever does. Which works out well, because I like her too! On a completely unrelated note, she gave me the shiny new award you can see over in the sidebar over there. Thank you, Erin!

Now there are rules. And since I'm OCD WE MUST FOLLOW THE RULES or we're all gonna die. I'm not going to have mass genocide on my conscience, thankyouverymuch. The rules are these:

1. Say thank you. This rule is awesome. Also, check. Please see above.

2. Share 7 things about yourself (awesome).

3. Nominate 15 bloggers (uh, whoa).

4. Tell the people you nominated that you nominated them ( going to take awhile. Don't worry. We are FOLLOWING THE RULES. No one will die. Not on my watch).

Seven Things I Know that You are Dying (DYING!) to Know About Me:

1. I have Fred Flintstone feet. They are flat, they are square, and I suspect they are ideal for propelling the motorless/engineless car. They aren't ugly or pretty. They are cartoon character feet. Bonus fact: You people who take such pride in your "pretty feet" frighten me a little. Feet are never pretty. Please don't show me yours. I won't think they are pretty. No, really, I won't.

2. I run and do a little light yoga every day.

3. I buy bras in the training bra section of Target. Its frightening to me that there are training bras that are too big for me. It means there are 8 year olds with larger rib cages and bigger boobies. And I'm a regular sized adult. With a regular adult sized ribcage, if not regular adult sized breasts.

4. I once had a haircut that made me look eerily like John Lennon circa early Beatles. Currently, I am seeing more of a resemblance to Groucho Marx.

5. I think nerds are sexy. Although maybe I should specify. I think smart nerds or nerds who can make me laugh or sensitive nerds are sexy. Notable examples include Paul from the Wonder Years, Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park, Christopher Lloyd in Back to the Future, and Michael Cera in pretty much everything. I do not think nerds who live in their mother's basements and talk constantly about Dungeons and Dragons even though they are almost 30 are sexy. Your mileage may vary.

6. If I like a book or movie or television show I will read/watch it over and over and over. And over. And over. I have read some of John Irving's books at least 10 times. I have read Flannery O'Connor's short stories even more than that. I will watch Silence of the Lambs 3 times in one day. Like that.

7. One of my compulsions is the compulsion to make words out of the letters on license plates. I do this constantly and unconsciously at this point.

(Rule 2: Check and check!)

Nominate 15 bloggers (actually, I think it says nominate 15 bloggers you have recently discovered...but I don't discover that many that frequently. Let's say just nominate 15 bloggers okay?)

1. Amber at Nostomanic - read it! Read the archives! Its all completely awesome and hilarious and nostalgic for those of us who are children of the 90s.

2. Ashley the Accidental Olympian - who is awesome.

3. Ells at Run Bitches Run who both runs AND bitches, and also has an awesome dog, which makes her like my twin or something. I don't know. She's cool and I like her and you should too.

4. Tina K at Vomit Popsicle because how can you not read something like a name like that and because she IS really versatile. Sometimes there's poems and sometimes there's stories and sometimes there's other stuff.

5. Erin at Blogging is for Dorks who I really did just kind of discover recently. Well, rediscover. Anyway, she's hilarious and her children make me not entirely opposed to the idea of procreation. Which is a way better compliment than it sounds like.


6. Kandace at One Red Wall
7. Maria at No One Reads the Copy
8. Tristachio at Tristachio: Not a Peanut
9. Sadako at Dibbly Fresh
10. Manda at the Secret Life of Manda Kay
11. Man Shopping in Paris
12. Not That Kind of Girl
13. Annabelle at I'll Tell You Anyway
14. Kelly at [insert clever title here]
15. Cleolinda Jones at Occupation: Girl
I need a freaking drink.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Uh. This is Pretty Gross. And Humiliating. I Kind of Can't Believe I Hit Publish, Actually. Shit.

So I googled "what do you do when your dog has a cold?" the other day. And I just happened to notice the Google suggestions. I got through what do you do...and Google supplied what I guess are common searches starting with the same phrase? I don't know.

Top 2:

What do you do when a guy fingers you?
What do you do when a guy goes down on you?

What do you do? Well, you knit a sweater and sing a song and then maybe you make a grocery list. What exactly do you mean, what do you do? If you have to wonder, then my guess would be you tell him he's doing it wrong.

Which reminds me of a horribly embarrassing, way too much information story from high school. The first guy who ever, uh, made sweet love to me with his finger, set the scene with Marilyn Manson's Beautiful People in the basement of his parents' house. Nothing gets me hotter than R. Lee Ermy screaming, "You are nothing but bombastic pieces of amphibious shit!" 2 feet from head. Mrowr. But hell, what did I know? I'd never done more than tongue kiss a guy at this point.

So, Beautiful People is screaming and moaning throughout the room. And my chosen stud very matter of factly unbuttons my pants and commences with the evenings activities. No, I did not leave out any details. I mean he started the song, unbuttoned my pants, and got to work. He did this for 15 minutes, with me trying to delicately squirm away from him while saying "Ow. Ouch. Fucking ow" because that shit HURT. It was like Freddie Kreuger was stabbing me in the vagina. It was so bad I was honest-to-God RELIEVED when his father walked in and caught us. Because then I had an excuse to run screaming into the night and never speak to the guy again. Okay, I didn't run screaming into the night. But I did re-fasten my pants in a manner intended to indicate the evening was over. And the guy looked at me, in my dewy, frightened virgin's eyes, and said, "Sorry we had to get interrupted, Babe. I could tell how much you were enjoying that."

I went home, checked to make sure I wasn't bleeding (because, really, ouch - I have no idea what he was doing but he clearly shouldn't have been doing it. I'm not even convinced to this day he was in the right spot. I think he might have just been randomly stabbing around down there) and never, ever spoke to the guy again.