I just need it

I've spent the week flying under the radar, letting my hives find their way out. I'm on a very modified diet until my test results return to make sure I don't have a gluten allergy, which I doubt very seriously. The most likely cause for my flare ups seem to lie in irritated tissues that were futher irritated by .... everything on the planet.

I have learned something very important about myself this week, I don't like to be told no. I knew this before but it really pissed me off this time.

No sugar. No bread. No milk. No soy milk. No wheat. No rice. No cheesburger. No. No. No.

Ok. So I sacrafice a few things to give my body a little more time to heal. But of all the things I've put on hold this week (including ROME) one thing seems to irritate me the most. That one carnal pleasure that has been on hold too long. I miss the taste, the heat, the rush of adrenaline, the feel of my fingers running lightly down the side of a STARBUCKS ORANGE MOCHA ORGASM!!

By Monday, hives be damned. I will be back.

Dog shit crazies

Today, on the way home from Starbucks where they "accidentally" added whipped cream to my orange mocha orgasm and I was "forced" to accept the drink with that dollop of sweet, creamy goodness, I found myself behind a minivan with a simple, yet powerful bumper sticker that stated, "Dog People Are Crazy."

I took a picture and e-mailed it to my mom, because on my son's fourth birthday, she called to remind us that it was also Mica's birthday, her chocolate lab.

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.