I'm usually fairly observant and suspicious, so there isn't much that can get the best of me as far as surprises go. However, every once in a while, I really get engrossed in what I'm doing and fall victim to accidental sneak attacks. Most often it occurs when I'm running on my treadmill. I'll be happily clocking it in at 6+ miles an hour, completely absorbed in reruns of "Xena Warrior Princess," which are blaring at an earsplitting volume to be heard over the treadmill. And then, for no reason at all, my hubby will quietly slip downstairs like a stealthy little ninja and then bellow "Hey!" a mere two inches from my head. Of course I howl in shock, whip my head around, and try to defend myself. This usually results in a good 30 seconds of stumbling and tripping on a speedy conveyor belt as I try to avoid getting the smack down by my treadmill. After I regain my composure, he always says "Oh sorry, I thought you saw me." Really. Honey, when Xena is kicking someone's ass on screen, you better believe my eyes aren't wandering anywhere. I'm in ass-kickin'-learnin'-mode and have no idea what else is going on in the world. How long has he known me? I think he just enjoys watching my close call antics on the treadmill.
Thursday, July 30, 2009 | | 0 Comments
I've said it before and I'll say it again and again until my brilliant idea is realized. The U.S. military should use four-year-olds to interrogate terrorists. Yes, it may be cruel and unusual punishment (for the terrorists), but let's put it into action before that matter can be decided by lawmakers. Who knows, we might find Bin Laden before all of those human rights activists can picket and stop our information mining operation. The great thing about this idea is that the four-year-olds will gladly do their job without much need for motivation, they love to ask questions. They'll enjoy their work so much that it will be completely unnecessary to even pay them. Who wouldn't like to save some money in our over-spent budget? At the most, they might expect a few cookies and a handful of goldfish for a hard day's work, but that's a small investment considering the wealth of info we can extract with their finely tuned interrogation skills.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009 | | 1 Comments
When my husband Johnny is out in public belching loudly like Homer Simpson, his lips and tongue vibrating with professional vulgarity, its hard for anyone to believe that he's a romantic guy. I don't think he really likes anyone to know he's got a sweet side. He's what you might call a closet romantic. If people were to find out that he's a secret Don Juan, it would totally ruin the sarcastic, clever, and sometimes borderline offensive front he works so hard to maintain. His mission in life is to find laughter and comedy in every situation and most of the time, people don't even realize when he's "pulling their leg." You can't imagine what he puts restaurant servers, cashiers, and customer service people through. He's extremely intelligent and he has a brilliant sense of humor and I LOVE that side of him. But when he catches me off guard and totally does something romantic, that is when I'm reminded just how remarkable he is and how lucky I am.
Monday, July 27, 2009 | | 1 Comments
I pee about 500 times a day. 500 times. I am in a constant state of doing the pee pee dance. Just thinking about a toilet makes me suddenly do the tinkle two step. The closer I get to the bathroom, the closer I get to an accident. Why is that? Why is it that the urgency increases with my proximity to the bowl? I've never understood that. Seriously, sometimes I will head to the bathroom with a slight inclination that I have to pee and then as I start to prepare, its all I can do to get my pants down before all hell breaks loose. Without a doubt, I have bladder issues. Part of the problem can be attributed to multiple pregnancies and aging I suppose, but to be honest, I've had more than my fair share of accidents.
Saturday, July 25, 2009 | | 0 Comments
I am about as low maintenance as you can get for a girl. When my husband lived at the beach during the summer breaks from college, I would go down and spend a night or two with him every week. He lived in absolute filth and even as a neat freak, I endured it just to spend time with him. The amount of taint on that place he lived in was so bad that he had to build mini wooden walls around his mattress, which was on the floor. Why the wooden walls? To keep out the roaches. Apparently, he was under the impression that roaches, which can live through nuclear holocaust, could be thwarted by six-inch wooden walls. And the roaches weren't the only manner of filth to be tolerated. One time I got up in the middle of the night for a bathroom break and stepped right smack dab into a pile of dog crap. It went between every single toe. Ew! The doobie-smoking-roomies on the first floor seemed to believe that dog crap indoors was acceptable as long as the dog didn't defecate too close to their stash of weed. Nice.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009 | | 0 Comments
I don't know the exact wording, but the saying goes something like....when you date a man, you date his friends. Not literally, but its basically pointing out that you better like your man's friends or you will be an unhappy little lady. Luckily for me, my man has a great group of guy friends that are not only good-to-the-core kinda guys, but they have been an excellent source of entertainment over the years.
Tine vs. The Guy's Guys...is a tie. These guys definitely destroyed my naivete and innocence with all that I observed over the years...visions of three piece set drawings still invade my dreams and assault my waking moments every once in a while. However, I couldn't ask for a better group of guys to be friends with my man so, hell yeah for that. And, all of the guys have chosen wonderful women as their wives and I've become good friends will all of these special ladies...hoorah. Maybe when my children learn to write, we can incorporate a more PG version of the food defacement game for old times sake and pass it on to the next generation.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009 | | 1 Comments
A little over four years ago, I was on the verge of becoming a mother for the first time. I did all the normal preggo mom stuff. I signed up for weekly emails at a baby website that would tell me things like "your baby is the size of an apple this week" and "your baby now has fingernails." Pretty freakin' cool! I perused the 10,000+ names in the baby name book and I packed my little hospital bag. I even bothered to get a few things for the little guy that was doing constant aerobics inside my tummy. However, that's about as far as I got on the preparedness scale. I had a lot of things going on at the time and basically neglected some of the crucial new parent steps.
Sunday, July 19, 2009 | | 2 Comments
My son is obsessed with fuzz. And not just any fuzz. He loves to pluck yarn out of our oriental rug, roll it in a ball, and tote it around. He "tickles" with it. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but I'm honestly surprised that we still have a rug left at all considering the rate at which he plucks it. I will vacuum the floor and ten minutes later find an infestation of fuzzballs, twenty members strong, scattered about the floor. This has been going on for almost three years! I find carpet fuzz tucked away everywhere. If he finds a hole or hiding place of any kind, he stuffs it full of fuzzballs. He'll store them in dvd cases, various toys, his ears... I've opened battery compartments to electronics and found fuzzballs hiding out in there. I'll be going about my daily routine and be ambushed by fuzzballs as if they were mini jack-in-the-boxes. I open the ketchup bottle...peekaboo! I open a cd player...voila! I open a book...boing! Fuzzballs, Fuzzballs, Fuzzballs!
Friday, July 17, 2009 | | 0 Comments