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Cute hubby was on the news last night. I looked up while they were talking about a gang shooting which left one guy dead. There he was standing over the dead body. When you see that on TV, they all look pretty serious but when he came home, I got the scoop. The detectives were actually making fun of the dead guy, calling him a loser gangster. At the end of his life he was caught dead with half his ass hanging out of his low rider pants and only a bandanna to his name. Cute hubby was there because the dead guy was supposed to testify today. He said he actually just looked at the dead guy and thought, “gee, that sucks, now I’m missing a witness.” My day involved teaching sign language to another group of eager parents and a Bob the Builder video while his day involved bullet holes and forensics. Both of us have a job that the other couldn’t handle, which makes us admire and appreciate each other. At the end of the day, it’s just us eating pizza, watching a movie, and connecting through laughter. The rest of life just gets in the way of our happiness sometimes.
My eyes are puffy due to crying fest 2004. The festivities started yesterday morning and carried over until bedtime. My crying was a full blown stomping, yelling tantrum, which I’m not so proud of. After glancing at my plane tickets, I realized there was a mistake and our scheduled week visit was cut short due to a scheduling mistake. After calling my dad, who made the reservations off of my suggestion, I realized I had made a mistake and he went off of my mistake therefore making a mistake. He was willing to call the airlines and make the $300 changes while I cringed waiting for the other shoe to drop. While he was on the phone giving them his credit card number, I was calling him telling him not to worry about it we had changed our minds. To make a long story short, he was pissed. To this day, I’m truly amazed how my dad and I could have the same relationship we had in high school even though I’m a grown woman with my own family. He calls; yells, and I do whatever he says because I just want him to stop yelling. Every time I get off the phone, I get so mad that I just crawled in my hole and didn’t stand up to him. Like clockwork, he called twenty minutes later and acted like everything was normal. I hate the way I get shoved back into my role as submissive pleasing daughter after one-ten second phone call. You would think that after all these years, my adult status would kick in but it hasn’t in our family. Thee who has the money, rules the family. The worst part is, the trickle down effect. My anger and tears dripped on spirited toddler all day. I was lacking patience, full of anger, and overall a mean mom yesterday. I was basically acting just like my dad on my little forgiving spirited toddler. He had no clue his why mommy was crying but he suffered yesterday and for that, I’m sorry. It’s amazing how the effects of an angry dad can trickle through three states down onto his grandson.
My eight cups are percolating. Can people type without coffee on their desks? I dare not try. This morning I’m organizing pre-vacation thoughts, which is making me all squirmy inside with excitement. That’s usually the problem, I set my expectations just below perfection, which never happens so I try to focus on reality but that’s no fun. This trip will involve a huge Halloween party where everyone is trying to keep their costumes secret so I’ve tried to bribe them all into telling me because I have no patience. So far, I’ve found out, my mother will be going to the party as Martha Stewart in prison. I’m assuming she’ll be wearing a prison uniform complete with apron. My sister will be dressed as Snow White while her pussy for a husband will be one of the dwarfs, Dopey I’m sure. Our stay will also involve an entirely different party for the girls. (Mom excluded) My sister has just informed me that we’ve been invited to a Passion Party. If you’re not familiar, let me inform you, imagine a Tupperware party without Tupperware. Instead we’ll be passing around dildos and things that vibrate you into a frenzy. I’ve never been to a Passion Party but lets face it, everyone has fun when dildos are in the room. I’m sure my sister will buy something simple like warming oil or feathers but I plan on having a little more fun. Vacation sex with new toys will rock indeed. Speaking of my sister, she called last night crying that her husband won’t have sex with her. Can someone please explain to me how a man can live without sex for an entire month? I’ve been informing her that something is terribly wrong but she’s in denial. “He thinks it’s dirty.” She says. I say he’s getting dirty with someone else, a man perhaps? Oh God, I hope not. Let’s hope the Passion Party can turn things around for them, but there I go again setting my hopes too high.
There’s a new Sheriff in town. We call him Fred. He looks like a used car salesman, complete with a short sleeve shirt, tie, and mysterious mustache. Fred used to just sit in a basket although sometimes I’d find him hiding under the bed. Fred likes it when I have my hand up his bootie but I’m sick of it. That’s right, my right hand has had a puppet on it for about four days. You see, we’ve had a hard time over here with the typical things, “Don’t jump on the bed!” “No, you have to take a bath!” and that’s just cute hubby. Actually, spirited toddler was frustrating us so one day his smart daddy picked up Fred, stuck his hand inside and voila, spirited toddler was listening. We looked at each other then looked at Fred, amazed at what he had done. We’ve been trying so hard this past week and all it took was two seconds for Fred. To tell you the truth, I’m a bit jealous of him, here I work so hard and it seems to come so easily to Fred. Last night, my hilarious hubby placed Fred on my pillow. I couldn’t help but scream and throw Fred out by his head. I’m totally creped out by it; my hand is always watching me. This morning was full of pointless time-outs and “go to your room’s! “ but nothing was working. I refused to use Fred because company was over and I didn’t want to be known as the ventriloquist mom. After two frustrating hours, the playgroup parted and I called for backup just to complain about our child’s behavior. “Well, did you use the puppet?” he asked. At that point I lost it and had my own tantrum. “Honey, I’m not going to get anything done around here with a puppet on my hand. That’s it, I’m throwing him away.” He went on to remind me how Fred has changed our lives. I admit, in the beginning, having a new guy was nice but now I can’t escape him. I took a deep breath and decided I had to give Fred a time out too. He’s sitting lifeless on my table right now just glaring at me. I’ve been struggling with my decision but tonight, when everyone’s asleep, I’m getting the paper shredder out. I think I’ll take a few discipline problems over my own dignity and reputation. Fear me Fred, tonight you die!
If I had the time to figure out how to put a title to my blog, I would title this one The Little Things That Piss Me Off. I feel a bit guilty about a negative post full of complaints but come on, I’ve given you some pretty positive ones so cut me some slack.
There are some disturbing things in my household that keep occurring that I’d like to share with you. First, I must tell you that I try to fool proof our house into staying organized but I still seem to be fooling someone. When you walk in our door, to your right is an official shoe basket. Now, when I bought the basket it wasn’t called a shoe basket but I got pissed with the pile of shoes at the door so I invented a shoe basket. (Feel free to copy my idea because I haven’t patented it yet) The shoe basket works like this, Step 1. Greet your beautiful wife with a kiss. (If your wife doesn’t live here than it’s up to me to decide if I want to kiss you) Step 2. Take off your shoes. Step 3. Place your shoes in the basket. I don’t know, maybe that’s too many steps because day after day, I still get this……
There’s another invention we try to use in our house called The Laundry Basket. It works like this, Step 1. Take clothes off. Step 2. Place them in the basket just in case wife is willing to do them for you. (Doing this always increases your chances) Doesn’t that sound simple? Somehow, Step 1 seems to be too much of a task to handle because he’s tossing his dirty socks and undies next to the basket thus making me lean over and pick the stuff up before picking up the basket. Either way you look at it, I’m doing a lot of unnecessary picking up. I’ve encouraged the in-the-basket toss by moving it closer but still, it’s a foot too far for him. And now, for your viewing pleasure....my laundry basket, complete with underware (not mine) and socks (again, not mine) that are close to the basket but not exactly in the basket.
My last complaint involves something in the bathroom. The picture should be self-explanatory. Please explain this to me.
Sitting on the bed, he opened his legs until they made a V. I nestled inside the V leaning my head on his chest, sinking further down with each breath. He stroked my back and neck making his way through by hair before taking my top off. I placed my arms around his waist feeling him hold me. It felt like when you walk off the plane after missing someone for so long and they hug you and you think, “ah, that’s what that felt like, I was missing that.” Without kissing or getting inside one another, he made love to me. I lay there naked with my eyes closed. By the way he was toughing me, I was reminded that he was the only one who knew his way around my body so well. “Are you crying?” he said. I wasn’t sure why I was crying it just started without me knowing. The more he rubbed my calves and thighs and belly the more stress he released leading to the realization of my pure exhaustion. He stopped asking questions and just smiled, touching every part. I could tell he was pleased that his touch had caused such strong emotions in me. When I began to feel vulnerable, I took a deep breath, letting him explore some more. I wondered how we could have sex, make love, and even fuck every day without ever really touching each other. I wondered how long he would touch me before wanting me to acknowledge his erection. “I want to make love to you.” He said. I told him he already had. We left it at that.
Friday, circled on my calendar, “Curious George visits the children’s museum @ 2:30.” After reading the odd lengthy books all week, we were excited to see his appearance. There must have been 25 families all gathered in the room listening to a girl read an unnecessary book out loud, basically torturing the anxious kids before his arrival. Afterwards, in walked Curious George, huge head, even bigger feet, stepping on each kid trying to get inside. After about a minute, it became obvious that “George” couldn’t see out of the monkey suit. Kids were going up to him trying to shake his hand but he just stood there with that permanent goofy grin on his face. Spirited toddler said, “Why doesn’t he talk?” and “Where’s his tail?” Either the costume didn’t come with a tail or some sneaky kid ripped it off his mangy butt. George lifted his fake hand to wave hello, knocking a toddler to his knees in one quick swoop. The horrified mom picked up her screaming, now scared of Curious George kid, and left. Another child screamed, “He stepped on my foot!” The dog collar wearing dad next to me couldn’t control his laughter as we giggled over the shrieking children. A well prepared kid walked up to George with a banana in her hand, holding it up as a peace offering but because the masked man couldn’t see, he just stood there ignoring her until she got angry and threw it at him. Of course, her mother swooped her up for disciplining but I held the same resentful attitude. Finally, someone from the museum came over to calm people down, leading George into a friendlier disposition, as she would yell at him, “Someone wants a hug George, she’s on your right!” I guess the huge monkey head hindered his hearing. The screaming lady just caused everyone to start screaming at him, “over here George!” “Here’s a banana!” His tattooed wrists were exposed numerous times until the end when a furious handshake caused his glove to fall off, exposing his entire hand. As he scrambled to blindly put it back on, my unflinching spirited toddler ran up to him and tickled him, unfortunately due to the height difference, he tickled him right in his little monkey crotch. We won’t be reading anymore Curious George books because I’m afraid they’ll cause nightmares, for me.
Jenny from the Alumni Association just called. Someone with Jenny’s job has been trying to talk to me all week and all week I have been giving the caller the cold shoulder. They kept calling me when I was eating dinner, making them just above telemarketers. I asked if maybe they could call me before dinnertime but I guess the two-hour time change was too hard for them to figure out. I’m sure I was just a name or number on the list, not a real person. Jenny was different than the first two callers. She kept up the chitchat way too long, asking me personal questions like we were long lost sorority sisters. Finally I said, “Are you in a sorority?” She acted like I was a psychic saying, “Oh my god, yes I am,” (In a Texas accent don’t forget.) Truth be told, I’m not psychic, her annoy accent, that I once had, gave her away. At one point, I listened to her ramble on wondering if it was normal for all the other volunteer callers to go off their scripts like she had. I didn’t hang up because I was just so dumbfounded by the way she talked. “So when’s the last time you’ve seen the campus?” she asked. “Um, probably about 8 years” I tell her, but informing her that I knew about changes due to the great alumni magazine that litters my trashcan. The weird thing was that while listening to her, I became aware just how dumb I must have sounded to other people when I was just a college sophomore, thinking I was the queen of the world. Like most girls in college, I thought I was brilliant and beautiful because I got laid. Of course now I realize a college girl willing to sleep with anyone after five beers really wasn’t that brilliant or beautiful, but common. I, like Jenny, was just all caught up in college spirit crap, willing to do anything to make the campus my home because I loved being there and out of touch with reality. “Oh my gosh, so you haven’t seen our new Starbucks and Barnes and Nobles!” She exclaimed. My first thought was damnit; my hard earned money hasn’t been going to a coed’s education but to further their hangouts? It was weird, I guess due to our psudo-bonding Jenny couldn’t seem to get up the nerves to ask me for money even though I knew that was the purpose of her call. She asked, “Well, is there anything you want to ask me?” Being the smart graduate and not a sophomore therefore giving me the power to rule over her, I said, “So when are you going to ask me for money Jenny?” I ruffled her feathers questioning her further about making sure my money actually goes to the education department of my choice and not to another overpriced coffee bar. Jenny said, “Well, I can put a note by your alumni number.” It was then that I realized my university wasn’t all I thought it was cracked up to be back then. In fact, they actually still just knew who I was based on my social security number and my check number. I had no choice but to do it again; I wrote them a check just so I could get the cool Alumni sticker to put on the back of my twelve-year-old car. Having an alumni sticker on the back of my old car hopefully distracts people into thinking, “she’s not rich but hey look, she went to a great university.” Isn’t this why everyone supports his or her University?
Dear Artichoke,
When I went to the pick-it-yourself farm, I was hoping for some green beans, tomatoes or even a few ears of corn but nothing like you. Walking through the cabbage, I was thinking of the coleslaw I could make when all of a sudden, I spotted you. I saw past all the other artichokes, just you with your perfect shape and tight body. As I plucked you from the only home you ever knew, I hoped you would enjoy the ride back to your new home, even if it meant your death, of course at the time, you were unaware because you seemed to be calling out to me. I hope you enjoyed your day yesterday as you sat in the crisper with the carrots and squash, waiting for your special day. Today was your day artichoke. I love how perfectly you fit, all cuddled up in your veggie steam room of death. No lemon juice needed, you were perfect. I watched you blossom for half an hour while your bright green leaves turned soft and edible. I was so proud of you and the joy I knew you would bring me. Upon your big entry into my belly, I melted a few tablespoons of butter that would just make your flavor come alive. “Ding!” Yes, you were finally ready to be placed in our favorite yellow Crate & Barrel dish. I hope it wasn’t too painful but from our point of view, you looked beautiful as you sat on our glass table letting us pluck you apart one leaf at a time until we reached your heart. Your first layer was quite pleasant but by the second layer, I was a dipping fool. Dip. Scrape. Dip. Scrape. Yum. Don’t worry, tomorrow I plan on eating your friend the squash so you won’t be lonely down there. Thank you for sacrificing your life so that I may feel full.
What I love about my breasts is the fact that when you make love to me you can push them together and place both nipples in your mouth. When I’m on top of you, hands above your shoulders, they’ll gently touch your lips until you open your mouth. Before making love, you’ll have to release my breasts from black lace, sometimes red but usually black. When you make love to me, I’ll lie on my back struggling to see you. All it takes is a slight graze of your hand to make me yours for the moment.
There’s nothing like a road trip to make you feel alive again. Casually, we got in the car hoping to be at our destination before noon. Rumor had it; they were having a fall festival so we followed the rumor until it wasn’t just a rumor anymore. Mingling with people who live closer to the mountains, closer to Mexico was a breath of fresh air. We traveled from booth to booth checking out the handmade soap and jalapeno pecans, stopping at the shaved ice. Being outside while listening to music makes me close my eyes and take in a breath, holding it for a bit before releasing stress. Before leaving, we checked out the campsites, making a mental note of which ones would be perfect for out next campout. Back in the car again I spotted a brown sign denoting something exciting. It was, “Colossal Cave.” Colossal Cave has been like a shadow, I never really took the time to see it. The arrow pointed to the left followed by my steering wheel. Today was the day, finally. Shortly upon entering, the heavily accented tour guide told us they found a dead cowboy down there once. Apparently, he had broken his leg, leading to his death. Spirited toddler asked, “What happened to the cowboy?” Finally after truthfully answering the question about nine times, Cute Hubby told him, “He broke his leg because he wasn’t listening to his Mommy.” That's all it took. After spending an hour underground squished together, our tour group bonded, exiting with laughter and talk of, “So where are you from?” In true spirited toddler fashion, about five minutes away from the bathroom we hear, “I have to go pee pee!” Well, today he got to use the one gift I wish God had given women; he peed on the side of the road. We’re home now, relaxed, covered in dirt, feeling beautiful.
Usually I blog about my how wonderful my life is because it usually is but today is sucking so I have no choice but to tell you how it is. First of all, I woke up with a huge hangover headache. Not the tequila induced kind, because I’m not in college anymore but the coffee kind. Last night the chicks got together to discuss the book we all agreed to read and bitch about afterwards. Anyway, we met at this coffee shop that made me feel extremely old because I was one of the few that didn’t have a nose ring, a laptop, or a textbook in front of me. Oh ya, and I confused the hell out of them when I ordered deaf coffee. It was like no one had ever ordered such a horrible thing from that coffee shop before. No matter which way you look at it, four cups of coffee, deaf or not, dehydrate you yet here I sit with coffee cup in one hand and pen in the other. After drinking my coffee, I plan on jabbing the pen in my eyes to relieve the pain. It would be easier to just not drink the coffee but without my morning coffee, I wouldn't know what to do. So this morning, after popping a few pills, I headed into the kitchen in quite a lovely outfit only to be covered in mustard spit minutes later. Lunches done so I started breakfast. Crap, no oatmeal. My family goes crazy when I change their morning breakfast. I decided to step up to the plate and make French toast, putting my culinary degree into action making sure it still works. Our plates were lovely masterpieces covered in syrup, powdered sugar and fanned out strawberries. Well they looked on in horror at their plates. One of them screaming, “Where’s my oatmeal?” After wiping off the sweat on my forehead that accumulated after cooking over a hot stove, I started to cry. After cute hubby left for work, I caught spirited toddler coming out of the bathroom looking quite disturbed. Wondering what happened to him in there, I turned on the bathroom light when I noticed the sandal. The sandal was filled with poop. To make light of the subject, I snapped a picture and emailed it to cute hubby. He hasn’t called yet but usually that kind of cry for help ends up in a flower delivery.
Yesterday I emailed my friend, whom I’ve never spoken about here so I’ll give her a name. Let’s see she’s perhaps the most creative person on this planet so I’ll call her Martha Stewart, pre prison of course. Anyway, I was expressing to Martha the confusion I’m having in regards to my sister. Quite a few months ago, my sister had gastric bypass and now is starting to look and feel normal again. I’ve always been the thin one and she was the funny fat one but not anymore. I just found out that her weight is within range of mine and to tell you the truth, it’s freaking me out. Our roles are changing right before my eyes. Finally, I’m getting my sister back but it’s still odd due to sheer jealousy I think. Martha told me she was still pissed at her sister for overshadowing her college graduation. You see, Martha’s sister, two days before graduation, tried to commit suicide. Instead of showering Martha with well-deserved attention, everyone was coming to town to give the recovering sister attention. Apparently, this failed suicide attempt was still causing some resentment. When I was 16, I got my first job making bagels, which I was pretty proud of but that same month, my parents realized their first-born daughter failed out of her first semester of college because she partied too much. I still remember the three of them having a “family discussion” about her wasting their money and how could she be so stupid. My sister was crying like a baby while I was trying to flash my $58 paycheck in their faces.
Update:
q My screen saver is this picture I hate of myself. Clever Cute Hubby knows I hate the picture so to be funny he put it up as our screensaver. I was thinking about putting up a picture of a huge pile of his dirty laundry and see if that makes him feel just as good.
q Today I went on a kick-ass long bike ride that’s making me feel literally like someone kicked my ass. Now, for the record, no one has ever kicked my ass but I think it would feel like this. I’m not sure if it’s muscles or bones but you know those two spots that separate your jiggly cheeks, well mine are killing me.
q I plan on having hot sex tonight because I have freshly shaven legs and I’ve put on this sexy white fuck me nightgown that’s irristable.
q Cute Hubby’s at yoga right now, which I secretly hate. It’s like a whole other world those yoga/healthy people. In about 20 minutes, he’ll come home and brag about how good he is at it so I’ll have to stroke his back and tell him how wonderful he is and how the world is so much better because of his yoga while deep down inside I’ll be filled with shame and jealousy. (In a healthy way of course) It’s like, “Ok, your body is better than mine. Move on!”
q Tonight I watched 7th Heaven because it’s wholesome and I’m sick of watching shows where people get plastic surgery to make themselves feel better. Now, if it was me having the plastic surgery, I’d be screaming for joy but it’s not so they suck
q We rented this awesome movie called “Out of Order” and I keep telling everyone to go rent it and they’re like, “oh sure, sounds good” but the lying bastards will never rent the damn movie so it’s pissing me off. Someone, please rent this and tell me I’m right!
q Today I had to take spirited toddler to the pediatrician where she asked me, with a smile, “Are you going to have more kids?” I looked at her like she was crazy but she continued to lecture me about the benefits of having another child. She actually said, “Well you should really think about it because now’s the perfect time.” The perfect time for who? Bitch.
q Sadly, I’m not friends with abnormally large breasted friend anymore because our kids really hated each other. I think cute hubby is taking it harder than I am. In his fantasy, every time we had a “play date” we’d feel each other up while the kids were playing in the back yard but in reality we were always prying our non-sharing kids off of each other before one of them started to bleed.
q In my last post I shared with you my strong desire to eat a burnt hotdog. Well, I can report that now I’ve been satisfied with two juicy wieners and it was better than I imagined.
Today was filled with wisps of perfection. You know, those short moments that breeze by and you think to yourself, “man, my life rocks.” For instance, we were riding our bikes through this fancy smancy neighborhood and the wind was blowing through my hair. There was no one on earth I would have rather been with than my men. This morning was another. I was sipping my coffee when I took a moment to view the world around me. Cute hubby was making me breakfast and spirited toddler was being goofy. I looked at them and could feel just how much they loved me. I’m constantly listening to the “Garden State” soundtrack so we all started dancing and laughing when the feeling came across again. After lunch we made love in the shower, carrying it over into the bed. I love how it feels to be naked with the sheets draped lightly over my breasts. It’s 2pm but my day is done. I’m craving a burnt hotdog off the grill. The kind that’s crispy and black, wanting to be smothered in mustard and cheese.
She said, “We had sex last night and pretended you were with us.” I have to admit, it made me wet, wishing I had been there. I wondered if she imagined me kissing her while he watched or me kissing him while she got a bit jealous. Did they imagine the seduction, the awkwardness of inviting a new lover into bed? I’ve imagined kissing the both of them, at the same time. Inhibitions down, a tad too much alcohol flowing through me, blood hitting all the right areas. There’s that perfect feeling, wrapped up in the fucking, time stops. Tonight, I will imagine them with us. Eyes closed. Mouth open.
I just informed spirited toddler that we have to get dressed and go to the doctors office. In about 45 minutes, he'll receive his flu shot. I hate this part of parenting. Maybe I'll make a trip to the toy store afterwards to buy him something he doesn't need to take away my guilt.