Tonight during pre-bedtime TV viewing, the ball of fire was enjoying yet another episoide of Spongebob Squarepants. It happened to be one of my favorite, where Spongebob and Patrick play on hooks. Before I know what's happening, I said, "Hey, this is one of my favoirte episoides! Although 'Sailor Mouth' is my all-time favorite."
Without missing a beat, hubby says..
"Oh yeah! That's a good one, but my favorite is 'Spongebob Meets the Strangler. ' "
I laughed a little to myself, "That's a great one."
As I started up the stairs, I was brought to a dead halt by the realization that we just conducted an ENTIRE conversation about which cartoon is our favorite. Cartoon!! The couple that once quoted lines from "The Godfather" have become fans of a cartoon sponge with an annoying laugh.
There's no turning back now. We're officially parental units.
Showing posts with label hubby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hubby. Show all posts
Monday, March 02, 2009
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Family
Courtesy of Aunt Gina (who insists on calling herself Granny G. eventhough she's only 35. For crying out loud, woman!)
Monday, April 28, 2008
Love for sale
You might remember that a few months ago I had a little trouble with my liver. Trouble that was snipped in the bud with little or no reprecussions -- other than I had to give up sugar for the rest of my life.
Ok, so that sucks a bit. No more Starbucks orange mocha orgasms or 8 a.m. Dr. Pepper. I can live with that. I actually benefited from this slight restriction, a bump in my weight loss efforts. I'll take it!
As with all our diet changes, I put the ball of fire and hubby on a reduced-sugar diet as well. They still get those small mints at the Italian resturaunt or the chocolate goodies at the local pizza place, but generally, they live sugar free.
So after all these months, why would the hubby bring home not one, but two liters of Dr. Pepper to sit in my refrigerator?
The obvious answer: He no longer loves me.
Why else would he bring home one of my all-time favorite drinks to taunt me with its sugary sweet goodness and fizzy bliss? What other reason could prompt such a blatant attempt to make me break down into a puddle of tears and cravings destined to bring me to my knees?
Alright, so we did have some friends over for dinner and DP is her favorite drink as well. He was trying to be somewhat considerate to our guests. But, I've still decided to sell his golf clubs on eBay.
Ninety degress today? Too bad, no golf for you. You'll just have to play with the balls you have. But how about a nice Dr. Pepper while you brood!
Ok, so that sucks a bit. No more Starbucks orange mocha orgasms or 8 a.m. Dr. Pepper. I can live with that. I actually benefited from this slight restriction, a bump in my weight loss efforts. I'll take it!
As with all our diet changes, I put the ball of fire and hubby on a reduced-sugar diet as well. They still get those small mints at the Italian resturaunt or the chocolate goodies at the local pizza place, but generally, they live sugar free.
So after all these months, why would the hubby bring home not one, but two liters of Dr. Pepper to sit in my refrigerator?
The obvious answer: He no longer loves me.
Why else would he bring home one of my all-time favorite drinks to taunt me with its sugary sweet goodness and fizzy bliss? What other reason could prompt such a blatant attempt to make me break down into a puddle of tears and cravings destined to bring me to my knees?
Alright, so we did have some friends over for dinner and DP is her favorite drink as well. He was trying to be somewhat considerate to our guests. But, I've still decided to sell his golf clubs on eBay.
Ninety degress today? Too bad, no golf for you. You'll just have to play with the balls you have. But how about a nice Dr. Pepper while you brood!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Shifty eyed
I was reading an article in Oprah magazine recently about a mid-wife crisis. And before you ask, not the kind of mid-wifery that involves afterbirth.
It's that period in your married life where you are past the newlywed stage, well into family, home and career and you wake up to find this really annoying ass of a man in bed next to you. And you might think, "Huh, I could go back to being single again."
For the longest time, I thought maybe I wasn't one of those people cut out for life in suburbia. I never really wanted kids. The ball of fire was an act of God ... and a slight miscalculation on the particular day of the month. I'm never going to drive a minivan or join the local Mothers of Preschoolers group. I will go to very loud rock concerts until they won't let me in with my walker. I teach my kid the proper names of his body parts. I believe in free speech, a woman's right to govern her own body and the right to love and marry whom you choose. How did I end up in the 'burbs?
It was a pleasant surprise to read this article. I'm not the only 30-something woman who wakes up to life, unsure of how I got here. Actually, I've never gotten past that intial thought about being single. I honestly cannot imagine a life when the hubby is not in it. Who would snuggle me at night? That is important!
But it is refreshing to know that I'm not the only woman who might struggle from time to time with the strictures of middle class in the Midwest.
The key is having good hobbies -- and good porn. Definently good porn.
It's that period in your married life where you are past the newlywed stage, well into family, home and career and you wake up to find this really annoying ass of a man in bed next to you. And you might think, "Huh, I could go back to being single again."
For the longest time, I thought maybe I wasn't one of those people cut out for life in suburbia. I never really wanted kids. The ball of fire was an act of God ... and a slight miscalculation on the particular day of the month. I'm never going to drive a minivan or join the local Mothers of Preschoolers group. I will go to very loud rock concerts until they won't let me in with my walker. I teach my kid the proper names of his body parts. I believe in free speech, a woman's right to govern her own body and the right to love and marry whom you choose. How did I end up in the 'burbs?
It was a pleasant surprise to read this article. I'm not the only 30-something woman who wakes up to life, unsure of how I got here. Actually, I've never gotten past that intial thought about being single. I honestly cannot imagine a life when the hubby is not in it. Who would snuggle me at night? That is important!
But it is refreshing to know that I'm not the only woman who might struggle from time to time with the strictures of middle class in the Midwest.
The key is having good hobbies -- and good porn. Definently good porn.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Open for discussion (not really)
He: Seriously, can we listen to something else?
Me: No, I'm listening to this.
He: We've been listening to the same CD for a week. Even I know the words, and I don't even like it that much.
Me: I'll take it under consideration. But for now, shut it. I'm listening..
He: (exaggerated sigh)
Me: Did you just sigh at me?
He: Shut it, would ya. I'm listening!
Me: No, I'm listening to this.
He: We've been listening to the same CD for a week. Even I know the words, and I don't even like it that much.
Me: I'll take it under consideration. But for now, shut it. I'm listening..
He: (exaggerated sigh)
Me: Did you just sigh at me?
He: Shut it, would ya. I'm listening!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Understanding
He: What in the world are you watching?
Me: Nothing. Be quiet, I can't hear!
He: You don't actually like this show, do you?
Me: Yes. I can't explain it but I've had a thing for Scott Baio since I was a kid.
He: That doesn't mean you should watch bad reality TV.
Me: (Sigh) You just don't get it. Scott Baio has probably influenced my choice in sexual partners for years.
He: WHAT! That makes no sense.
Me: (Pausing the TV) I had a crush on Scott Baio when he was Chachi. And then he was in Charles in Charge about the time I started to really get into boys. Still with me?
He: Barely, but yes.
Me: So I had some major sex dreams about him being MY live-in babysitter. Can you just imagine the possibilities for illicit sexual encounters when your babysitter is as fucking hot as Scott Baio?
He: Ok, I see that part. But what about influence your future sexual partners?
Me: Think about it: Every man I have ever truly, deeply loved -- including yourself -- has dark hair, dark eyes and is kinda dorky in a cute but still sexually charged way.
He: That still really doesn't make sense.
Me: That's because you'll never understand the delicate psyche of the pre-pubescent girl mind, which just sets you up to fail for the rest of your life at understanding women. It's ok. You can't help it.
Now please, shut up, Scott is talking.
Me: Nothing. Be quiet, I can't hear!
He: You don't actually like this show, do you?
Me: Yes. I can't explain it but I've had a thing for Scott Baio since I was a kid.
He: That doesn't mean you should watch bad reality TV.
Me: (Sigh) You just don't get it. Scott Baio has probably influenced my choice in sexual partners for years.
He: WHAT! That makes no sense.
Me: (Pausing the TV) I had a crush on Scott Baio when he was Chachi. And then he was in Charles in Charge about the time I started to really get into boys. Still with me?
He: Barely, but yes.
Me: So I had some major sex dreams about him being MY live-in babysitter. Can you just imagine the possibilities for illicit sexual encounters when your babysitter is as fucking hot as Scott Baio?
He: Ok, I see that part. But what about influence your future sexual partners?
Me: Think about it: Every man I have ever truly, deeply loved -- including yourself -- has dark hair, dark eyes and is kinda dorky in a cute but still sexually charged way.
He: That still really doesn't make sense.
Me: That's because you'll never understand the delicate psyche of the pre-pubescent girl mind, which just sets you up to fail for the rest of your life at understanding women. It's ok. You can't help it.
Now please, shut up, Scott is talking.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
The one thinger is losing his damn mind. Imagine my surprise when I opened the cabinet to pull out a glass for a nice refreshing drink of water.
We keep the Tylenol cold medicine on hand for those middle of the night headaches, snotty nose or earaches but that carton of orange juice is a new addition. This is a new level, even for my one thinger.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Love in a cup
Today is my 11th anniversary, which for some reason, surprises me. Of course I was married at the tender age of 13, so I'm still frightfully young and supple. (What? So I can't fantasize?)
I'm just taken short sometimes by how quickly life goes by. Eleven years ago, we were getting ready to beat a hasty retreat to the Bahamas right about now. Six years ago, we were in Rome on this day. Four years ago, we had a new baby and hubby was working the worst job in the history of the world. I was postpartum, he was miserable and we're lucky I didn't run away to become a carny.
Today I'm at home with three boys (only one is mine!) and wishing I had bought that bottle of bourbon that was on sale at the grocery store.
No matter where we are in our marriage, one thing seems to remain consistent: We know each other best. 
Even when I fight against the definitions of motherhood, wife and woman, he still recognizes who I am. After I've been listed one too many times as "spouse" on various forms, he remembers my name. Although I still embarass him in polite company by claiming my title as "blow job queen," he still laughs and reminds me that I keep life interesting.
And when I get out of the shower very early in the morning after staying up much too late working, and there is a fresh cup of Starbucks orange mocha orgasm waiting on the counter, I know for sure exactly who is he too.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Almost
The one thinger strikes again. Seriously, his heart is in the right place, but why OH WHY, can't he just finish the job?
Thursday, April 26, 2007
A well-heeled marriage
Overheard while getting ready for work...
He: "Where are your pants?"
Me: "Downstairs. The cuff is coming unstitched so I'm ironing it flat."
He: "Did you take your heels off when you took your pants off?"
Me: "Yep."
He: "Why did you put them back on?"
Me: "My toes were cold."
He: Pauses for a moment, appraising outfit of only shirt and high heels. "Could you wear that later?"
Me: "With heels or without?"
He: "With the heels, please. With."
Me: "Ah, there's the man I married!"
He: "Where are your pants?"
Me: "Downstairs. The cuff is coming unstitched so I'm ironing it flat."
He: "Did you take your heels off when you took your pants off?"
Me: "Yep."
He: "Why did you put them back on?"
Me: "My toes were cold."
He: Pauses for a moment, appraising outfit of only shirt and high heels. "Could you wear that later?"
Me: "With heels or without?"
He: "With the heels, please. With."
Me: "Ah, there's the man I married!"
Friday, February 09, 2007
Marital faux paus
I try to be a good wife, but it's hard sometimes. The hubby has the unfortunate advantage of being my primary target for most of my frustration -- even that which he does not create. So if I'm mad at a friend, or a situation at work, I'll come home and "talk" to him in a very loud voice.
Don't get me wrong, he's not abused and he's certainly not a wall flower. He has not trouble getting in my face and telling me to shut my pie hole. I couldn't have one of those husbands that lets his wife rule him with an iron fist. I like my man to have a streak of manly right down the middle.
The point is that I usually don't find myself in a situation where I WANT him to be mad at me -- as I was last night.
I have to blame it on lube.
I was creating a nice hand/feet reflexology routine for my friend K. I needed to demonstrate on someone and since the hubby's feet were right there, propped conveniently on an ottoman, I took advantage.
Before I lubed up, I slipped off my wedding ring (5-grand investment, people!) and left it casually on a chair.
In the morning, I noticed it was still missing. I wasn't terribly worried. I remembered exactly where I had left it. That evening, I went to find it and it was ... well.... gone.
I looked all over the family room, in the chair, under the rug, under the couch, in the toy cabinet, and it was nowhere to be found. I had to fess up, face the music. I had lost my very expensive, one-of-a-kind, made-just-for-me wedding ring. I was sick.
I told the hubby and he was surprisingly genteel. I repeat, he's not an ogre, but he does have some fire in him. I expected, and desired, a tirade. He was pretty confident that the ring was in the chair.
An hour and a pulled-apart chair later, still no ring. But he was still relaxed, he wasn't angry. But I wanted him to be angry. I felt stupid and useless and I wanted him to rage about my irresponsibility. He asked me again if I had looked under the rug, which I had. He pulled the rug aside, and then rolled it to the center. There, in the middle, gleaming, was my diamond.
Our cat likes to "play" things away. He will take something small like a rubber ball, or a hair bow (diamond ring) and push it under something until his little leg can't feel it anymore then he loses interest. Apparently, he found the shine too much to resist.
Just one more instance where pussy will get you nothing but trouble!
Don't get me wrong, he's not abused and he's certainly not a wall flower. He has not trouble getting in my face and telling me to shut my pie hole. I couldn't have one of those husbands that lets his wife rule him with an iron fist. I like my man to have a streak of manly right down the middle.
The point is that I usually don't find myself in a situation where I WANT him to be mad at me -- as I was last night.
I have to blame it on lube.
I was creating a nice hand/feet reflexology routine for my friend K. I needed to demonstrate on someone and since the hubby's feet were right there, propped conveniently on an ottoman, I took advantage.
Before I lubed up, I slipped off my wedding ring (5-grand investment, people!) and left it casually on a chair.
In the morning, I noticed it was still missing. I wasn't terribly worried. I remembered exactly where I had left it. That evening, I went to find it and it was ... well.... gone.
I looked all over the family room, in the chair, under the rug, under the couch, in the toy cabinet, and it was nowhere to be found. I had to fess up, face the music. I had lost my very expensive, one-of-a-kind, made-just-for-me wedding ring. I was sick.
I told the hubby and he was surprisingly genteel. I repeat, he's not an ogre, but he does have some fire in him. I expected, and desired, a tirade. He was pretty confident that the ring was in the chair.
An hour and a pulled-apart chair later, still no ring. But he was still relaxed, he wasn't angry. But I wanted him to be angry. I felt stupid and useless and I wanted him to rage about my irresponsibility. He asked me again if I had looked under the rug, which I had. He pulled the rug aside, and then rolled it to the center. There, in the middle, gleaming, was my diamond.
Our cat likes to "play" things away. He will take something small like a rubber ball, or a hair bow (diamond ring) and push it under something until his little leg can't feel it anymore then he loses interest. Apparently, he found the shine too much to resist.
Just one more instance where pussy will get you nothing but trouble!
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
He said, she said
Overheard this morning while applying make-up.
He: (In a sing-songy voice) It's a balmy 7 degrees outside. (pause) But it says the low is only 12. That doesn't make sense.
Me: I don't want to hear it!
He: But with the wind chill, it's ... wait ... minus 6! Whoopee!
Me: Shut the hell up and make my lunch.
He: Woman, I don't work for you!
Me: One of you turds is about to get smacked in the mouth!
He: (In a sing-songy voice) It's a balmy 7 degrees outside. (pause) But it says the low is only 12. That doesn't make sense.
Me: I don't want to hear it!
He: But with the wind chill, it's ... wait ... minus 6! Whoopee!
Me: Shut the hell up and make my lunch.
He: Woman, I don't work for you!
Me: One of you turds is about to get smacked in the mouth!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Curse of the one-thinger
So, my husband is a notorious one thinger. Now most men are one thingers, but it takes a devoted and caring wife/girlfriend to point out those hideous one-thing traits and save our men. Luckily I am such a woman and I like to point out my hubby's one thingedness every chance I get.
Last night, the one-thing curse almost killed me. (Insert ominouse music here. I like John Williams' work on the new Star Wars series, but hey, that's just me.)
First, a lesson on one thingers. A one thinger will complete a task ... except for one thing. For example: My husband will clean the kitchen, put the dishes in the dishwasher, wipe the floor and turn off the lights ... but he won't wipe down the kitchen table.
Or, he'll lovingly put away all our clean laundry ... and leave the laundry basket on the bed, which he will transfer to the floor at bedtime, and transfer back to the bed in the morning.
So last night, he tells me the door in our bathroom closet isn't closing properly, and he will fix it. I hear much banging, grumbling and possibly a few curse words. (Not from my good Baptist boy!)
Low and behold, he exists 10 minutes later and says it's broke. Good, I hate it and I'm looking for a reason to buy a new door -- or just spend his hard-earned money in general.
I forget about the door and go about the joys of motherhood, aka, spill, clean-up, spill, clean-up, pretend we're puppies, spill, clean-up, bathtime, bedtime, whendoIgettodie?
Bedtime rolls around, I stumble into my room to take out my contacts, pull open the closet door ... and it falls on my fucking head!
What the! ONE THINGER!
But, have no fear ladies, I think I have the cure for this dreaded disease. I too will become a one thinger, but with just one thing ... tampons, preferably recycled.
I bet he's cured by Christmas.
Last night, the one-thing curse almost killed me. (Insert ominouse music here. I like John Williams' work on the new Star Wars series, but hey, that's just me.)
First, a lesson on one thingers. A one thinger will complete a task ... except for one thing. For example: My husband will clean the kitchen, put the dishes in the dishwasher, wipe the floor and turn off the lights ... but he won't wipe down the kitchen table.
Or, he'll lovingly put away all our clean laundry ... and leave the laundry basket on the bed, which he will transfer to the floor at bedtime, and transfer back to the bed in the morning.
So last night, he tells me the door in our bathroom closet isn't closing properly, and he will fix it. I hear much banging, grumbling and possibly a few curse words. (Not from my good Baptist boy!)
Low and behold, he exists 10 minutes later and says it's broke. Good, I hate it and I'm looking for a reason to buy a new door -- or just spend his hard-earned money in general.
I forget about the door and go about the joys of motherhood, aka, spill, clean-up, spill, clean-up, pretend we're puppies, spill, clean-up, bathtime, bedtime, whendoIgettodie?
Bedtime rolls around, I stumble into my room to take out my contacts, pull open the closet door ... and it falls on my fucking head!
What the! ONE THINGER!
But, have no fear ladies, I think I have the cure for this dreaded disease. I too will become a one thinger, but with just one thing ... tampons, preferably recycled.
I bet he's cured by Christmas.
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