Quinch Your Thirst

"So, you want to go out to dinner?"

"Sure. Where do you want to go?"

"You pick."

"Okay, how 'bout Applebees"

"Sounds good. I'll see you about 6?"

"Okay, I'll meet you on the front steps."

The commander dismissed us late that day but I've always been fairly low maintance, and only had to shower and change and brush my hair and I was ready. I had a no nonsense hair cut - short to save me time and harrassment about my hair touching my collar and I didn't wear make-up then (I miss the flawless skin of 21). I was ready in 20 minutes.

I meet him on the front steps to his barracks, which were across the quad from mine, and he drove us to Applebees in his silver Thunderbird that he treasured.

We talked and bantered and bullshitted. Somewhere in all that smack-talking, Charles told me that I had better watch out or he was only going to order a cup of water for my dinner. I laughed and gave him a look that said "Yeah sure."

We arrived at Applebees and seated ourselves. The talk flowed about all the different dishes we loved there and how it was a favorite restaurant of both of us. I told him to stop copyin' me. He threatened me with a cup of water. I smiled and lit a cigarette.

We were in the back of the restaurant, hiding in a booth, enjoying the dim emptiness and we were easy with each other, relaxed and we talked about work and people at work.

The waitress arrived and gave us menus and asked for our drink order. I quickly interjected "I'd like a Coke please. He'd like a glass of ice."

Her eyes almost popped out of her head...just like Charles' were.

"A glass of ice?"

"Yes please." I don't think she could quite grasp what was happening....and for that matter...Charles couldn't either...his eyes were on the verge of rolling down his face and landing in the condiment organizer. She flicked her eyes to Charles and then back to me.

"Just ice? No water or anything?"

"Hmmmmmm" I said, pretending to think about it "No, he just wants ice."

She nodded her head vaguely and muttered something that sounded like OK, but I could be wrong, and walked away.

Charles was still sitting across from me with bulbous eyes and a slack jaw. I grinned and waggled my eyebrows at him.

"You ordered me ice?" The incredulous look on his face was giving me endless joy.

"Yes, I did."

"Think you're funny do you?" he couldn't stop the smile.

"Yep. You deserved it and you know it...threatening me with a glass of water. You're just mad that I thought of the glass of ice and you didn't."

It was then, at that moment, that both of us knew that we'd be going out more...but we didn't know that the other felt that way at the same time until years later when we rehashed that infamous first date.

I liked it that he could take a joke.

He liked it that I joked with him.

Apparently, we're perfect for each other.

My Midget Is Cute

I took Connor to the Dr on friday. He was way past due (at almost 21 months) for his 18 month well baby check-up.

In the midst of all the Dr. visiting we do (and we do it at least once every two weeks, sometimes more), I didn't schedule Connor for his well baby check-up because I figured the Dr had checked him enough. Not so, said the nurse...and I had a hard time believing her because he had been sick so much that he still had not had is 15 month shots!!!

Being the chastened mommy that I was, I called to make ANOTHER appointment (even got to say Hello to Lin - I know she still loves me)...only to find that Connor's pediatrician quit to start his own practice 3 counties away for the poor and underpriveledged with no access to health care. (DAAAAAMMMNNNN) While I admire him for what he's doing and wish him well, I wish he wasn't going...but, there's nothing I can do about that, so I switched his primary Dr to another Dr he had seen on several occasions and scheduled an appointment to come in.

I showed up for the appointment 5 minutes early....and waited 30 minutes after the appointed time to be called back to see the nurse...because we all know the Dr. doesn't show up until later.

I liked the nurse...she seemed a bit scattered, but nice enough, seemed to know the drill and Connor liked her...which is important to me...because kids can smell a bullshit artist a mile away. She did the standard height, weight and head measuring and asked me a million questions and then asked me if I had any questions. We spoke for a bit and then I asked for his percentages.

She plugged his info into her portable laptop. First, his height (he is in the 25th percentile for kids in the 18 month age group) then his weight (75th percentile) and head measurements (again, 75th percentile).

I had to pause. Basically what she was telling me was that I had a short, fat baby with a big head.

I laughed a little, and then felt guilty for laughing.

So I kissed my short, fat baby on his big head and tickled his distended belly and miniture ribs.

There now, all better.

Groups of Three

Me has tagged me with a MeMe. mememememememememeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee (sorry I was trying to warm up so I could sing it to you..but I'm going to save it for my American Idol audition (NOT).



Things That Scare Me

1. Spiders
2. High up places
3. Spiders in high up places


People That Make Me Laugh

1. Charles
2. Lauren
3. Connor


Things I Love

1. Deodorant
2. Bug Killer
3. WD40


Things I Hate

1. Spiders
2. Dishes
3. That burnt hair smell (and unfortunately, I'm familiar with all three)


Things I Don't Understand

1. How I've managed to keep my sanity
2. Why I have to keep paying the utility bills. Wasn't once enough?
3. Why with every breath my husband takes...he must exhale thru his buttocks.


Things on my Desk

1. A sign that says "Would you mind terribly much if I asked you to take your silly little problems down the hall?" (okay not really - but I really, really want one)
2. The COM-PU-TER (duh)
3. An assortment of different colored post it notes stuck everywhere.


Things I'm Doing Right Now

1. Yelling at my hard headed children (notice how I don't confess to beating them)
2. Watching it sleet/snow outside
3. Fending of my husband who was an octopus in a previous life. (Oh, who am I kidding? He's an octopus in this life)


Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die

1. Become financially stable.....no, scratch that, I want to be well off.........ah, okay, I'll be honest...I want to be filthy rich so I can buy all the plastic surgery and chocolate I want. (and I've got to have one to have the other)
2. Travel. I want to see the world and experience different cultures...and then open a McDonalds on every street corner.
3. Paint the town purple (because red is so over done)


Things I Can Do

1. Smoke heavily
2. Snark mightily
3. Fart gustily (still want to meet Annie?)


Things You Should Listen To

1. Whatever you want. It's a free country. One of the reasons I became a soldier is to defend the freedom for all the weirdos in the world to listen to that crappy beargrass music.
2.
3.


Things You Should Never Listen To

1. I'm not going to revisit this topic.
2.
3.


Things I Would Like To Learn

1. How to cook
2. How to drive without my hands over my eyes
3. How to beat my children without breaking limbs and leaving bruises in obvious and visible places. (Hello child services)


Favorite Foods

1. Chocolate
2. Sour cream
3. Paint


Favorite Beverages

1. Dt. Mt. Dew
2. Tequilla
3. Paint


TV Shows I Watched, Books I Read as a Kid

1. The Price is Right
2. The Jeffersons
3. Little Golden Books (I'm still on this reading level)


People I Would Like To Tag

1. Pendullum (ha ha got you back)
2. Mr Fabulous
3. Robin Williams (though I don't think he'll do one)

Fear Me

I'm not a serial killer...but my brother's name is Jason.

Does it matter that I have a chainsaw?

No, no. Really. I'm not kidding. My father-in-law (who I love to death) gave us two of them...expressly for me. (I'm touched..it's just what I always wanted.)

One is dead (the chainsaw smarty pants, not the father in law and no, it wasn't me who killed it) and we use it for parts for the other chainsaw that is exactly like it. They are terriblely old. Apparently, they are the same ones that Charles and his brother Brian used as kids. From what I understand, the chainsaw that I use is the exact same one that Brian used when he was a kid...and damn near cut his leg off with. (I don't know about you...but I'm comforted by that thought.)

Now, I can swing an ax. I don't LIKE swinging the ax, but I can if I need to, which is silly really, 'cause if I need some wood cut I just send Charles to do it for me (he he he). But every once in a while, we need big pieces for Charles to chop up into little pieces and I now have my trusty rusty chainsaw to help (I'm a good bitch for helping- what can I say).

The first time I used it....I felt empowered. I AM WOMAN!!!! WATCH ME VIBRATE!!!! Okay, maybe "empowered" isn't the correct word...I felt...abused. Yeah, that's the word...abused. (the thought of me being abused while I vibrate is probably giving a couple of you your jollies - do NOT bookmark this page if that is the case - thanks)

You know, I had always thought that using a chainsaw had to be easy. You just lay that bad boy on the log and let it do it's thing right? Well, don't tell Charles...but I was wrong. (I would lose a bet that I don't plan on losing...and I would really mess you up if you told). You gotta push that thing into the wood. You gotta work to make it work. You gotta pray that the tree you're getting ready to chop up is dry enough to make the cutting easier (oak is a nightmare btw, and that's mostly what we have).

OUCH OUCH OUCH OOOUUUUUUCCHHHHHHHH

MOMMY! IT HURTS. Please make me a really big heating pad...nevermind...I'll throw a body suit in the microwave and save you some trouble.

No wonder Charles is toothpick skinny. I mean, if I painted his head red, he'd look like a match...and I say that with love and not an ounce of jealousy or envy (cough).

Who needs the gym when you go tramping around in the woods on a weekly basis cuttin' up trees, loading the pieces in the truck, driving back to the house, choppin' em up and then stackin' em?

Answer? NO ONE.

All that is needed is A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT OF PAIN MEDS and a microwaved body suit...and hot showers...and massages because you're sore...and pity from your significant other...and chocolate...and sleeping in because you're sore and it should help the body get all better....

Damn, I gotta do this every weekend!!! This is the BOMB!

Or maybe I should open my own business...a retreat for the wealthy and over priviledged to come and experience some real life...like those ranches you hear about (like the one on City Slickers with Billy Crystal). Or I can always kidnap a couple of hunky, muscular mid 20's men and have them do it for me....

HMMMMMM Decisions, decisions.

I Can Read Dr. Joe Like A Book

My dear friend Dr. Joseph McCrumble has written a book....he got it published and everything.(The Wonderful World of Dr Joseph McCrumble - Celebrity Parasytologist)

I don't know if you've ever clicked over that way and read his blog...but he is very entertaining...he cracks me up with all of his misadventures. He's much better at screwing up a situation than I am LOL (sorry Joe). For example...if he had been to a gentleman's party and his fly burst open...he'd probably ask the guy next to him to zip it...and for the poor guy to try not to feel jealous while he was doing it....at least that's what I'm guessing would happen. (snicker)

I clicked on the link to read about the book and this particular except caught my eye...

"we begin a tumultuous adventure with more twists and turns than an amateur plumbing convention"

and of course, I took notice of this....

"This edition of the diary also contains a 70 page story called ‘Five Days in Denver’ — an entirely fictional and racy account of scientists behaving badly at a scientific conference"

Now, Dr Joe is a celebrity (not like Paris Hilton - he's much more hairy), and in keeping with throwing crumbs to the little people from afar...most proceeds go to charity. (And this one is a very good charity I would think)

...and just FYI to all you cyberstalkers out there...if you read the book and want to have his baby...I will laugh at you.

The book is titled The Wonderful World of Dr Joseph McCrumble, you can get it on Amazon...or click here to take a look and read a few pages.

I can't wait to get my copy....Dr Joe never fails to get me giggling with a dropped jaw at some of his exploits....

Go buy the book...or at least go tell him how much you think it's going to suck. (love ya Joe)

Out With The Girls

I just got back from a ladies party...you know what I'm talking about....where a group of women (no men allowed) all sit around and talk shit, make bad jokes, and discuss sex and talk about their man's staying power...or lack there of (snerk..chuckle..giggle)and buy....uh...marital aids (blush).

This is only the second one I've been too and I have had a really good time at both of them. Women are really funny when it comes to sex. I have heard some stories at these parties that have made my jaw drop and some that have made me laugh so hard I couldn't breathe. You could blame all the silliness on the alcohol or you could blame it on.....ummm...never mind....blame it on the alcohol.

Well, I learned the last time I went to a party, to make sure you dress NICELY...women can be very critical....and to make sure you SHAVE YOUR LEGS....and NOOOOO, I'm not going to tell you why.

So, I shaved and showered like a good girl. Did my hair, and my make up and went a made the dip I promised I'd bring (one 8oz cream cheese softened, one 8oz sour cream, put in mixer, mix until creamy, add one packet of taco seasoning. I use old el paso myself - it's always a big hit. Top with cubed tomatoes and green onions), and stuffed it in the refrigerator. Then I went and got dressed.

I had pulled a pair of jeans out of the back of the closet that I hadn't worn in a while and had forgotten about, and a nice purple sweater that seems to keep me at just the right temperature, and is casual and slightly dressy - and better yet, it comes down far enough to hide my hips but still shows a little ass. To finish, I slipped on some casual dress shoes (my shoe of choice) and beat feet to the party.

I was feeling pretty good. I felt like I looked pretty good and I was desperately in need of a night out with the girls (something I haven't had in many, many moons)...and I was on a high...just a feel good, be free for one night high. I damn near busted the speakers and strained a vocal cord on the way over to Old Friends house.

The evening progressed and we were shown various items and smelled stuff in bottles and were shown books and games and a whole bunch of other stuff that set a bunch of half drunk grown women with children - some of them married 15 years or more - tittering like school girls in sex education class in high school. We had all had a great time....

...and then it happened. That moment of keen embarassment....that OH SHIT moment....moments that are becoming more frequent to me the older I get.

I was sitting in the corner in a chair - in full view of the room, holding product samples on Q-tips... samples that are meant to go...uh well...uh...you know...down there......and then my fly burst open. No shit. My fly burst open.

Now, you could say that it was a sign that I needed to buy those products.

You could say that I had gotten to fat for my pants....I'm sure you, dear reader, could say a lot of things...what you couldn't say however, was that I was in a good position at that point...no pun intended.

Luckily, my sweater was covering my fly - remember I told you it was a little long...and it's a damn good thing.

I was sitting there with the samples in my hand, my fly wide open, and THEN the "Romance Enhancement Specialist" (aka the sales lady) pulls out a double sided dildo and announces we are going to play a game with it.

Oh SSSHHHIIIIIIIIIIITTT.

As I was desperately trying to figure out a way out of this situation, a vague memory of WHY THE DAMN PANTS WERE IN THE BACK OF THE CLOSET came to me. They were in the back of the closet because the lock on the zipper was broken and the frigging things would unzip all of the sudden...just like they had tonight. (I couldn't bear to throw them out and was just going to wear them around the house but forgot them instead).

I'm sitting there...slap dab in the middle of this oh shit moment, the sales lady is waving this double sided dildo in my face, my fly is open and the other half drunk ladies are urging me to go try out my samples in the bathroom.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

So I did what any one would do in that situation. I pretended I stubbed my toe and walked bent over all the way to the bathroom and zipped up my pants....after I went pee - because high stress moments like that make me have to go.

I emerged from the bathroom victorious. I had found a safety pin to keep my zipper up...and I was just drunk enough to smile about it...because safety pinning your pants when your drunk isn't easy...and all the other ladies agreed that the samples were great....I just let them think what they wanted. There was no damn way I was going to tell on myself. Would you?

I had forgotten all about the damned samples. Who gives a shit about samples at a time like that? Frankly, it scared me when she waved that double sided dildo at me. I had never seen one before, and I can safely say, I don't care to see another one...and definately not up that close.

So What Did You Do With Your Sunday Morning Part III

There wasn't much I could do to help Max. I just kept calling him and patting the floor.

I was getting frustrated. I didn't know what to do to help him. I walked away and tried calling him. I put wet cat food down. I even considered calling the dog over, pinning him to the floor so he would be free to attack him if he felt so inclined...but decided against it...Max is bigger than my dog.

I watched Max twist and turn and scoot around and we were both getting terribly frustrated. I decided it was time for a cig.

I inhaled the highly addictive nicotine with pleasure, closing my eyes to savoir the feeling of it entering my blood stream. Feeling it causing cancer in the interesting and medically inaccessable areas, then I went back to Max.

He was resting, curled up in the duct and I tried to look him over again. I didn't see anything wrong. No scratchs or cuts or gouges. I reached my hand down and lightly petted his back...he didn't move.

"Max. Kitty kitty" no response. He wasn't moving and like a thunder clap - it struck me that Max was dead. I had failed to get him out and he was dead. He was dead in my duct with my children just a few yards away...baby needing a diaper change and everyone needing breakfast....oh shit.

I felt like hell. I couldn't believe it. I was in total shock. I stoked his back and tried to figure out what in the hell to do. No way I could let the kids see this. It would be one of those horrible childhood memories that would be relived at the shrinks office when Lauren grows up and blames me for everything that is wrong with the world.

I called to Charles and told him the cat had died. He sat down at the dining room table (just a few feet away) and took off his supper heavey steel toed boots and dropped them on the floor.

I don't know what in the hell happened or what was going on, but Max came up out of the vent like a shot, climbed up my legs and fused with my shoulder. I almost shit myself. I was screaming like a mad woman - screaming for all I was worth - screaming and dancing and swatting at the dead cat and tried to run - but ran into the wall - and I kept hitting and hitting and hitting him and screaming and screaming. There was a dead cat climbing up my body with claws that were REALLY REALLY SHARP and suddenly visions of PET CEMITARY were flashing thru my mind..

...but he was fine. We had him checked out and he got a clean bill of health. There just wasn't enough room for him to move his hind legs like he wanted to.

We fixed the duct that he had torn apart to get in and made sure that no more kitties could get in under the house.

I'm scarred from the whole experience....his claws were REALLY sharp and he didn't like it when I kept swatting at him for some reason. ouch.

So What Did You Do With Your Sunday Morning Part II

I couldn't believe that Charles was going to shoot the cat...and then I listened to Max go "raon raon" a couple more times and thought that maybe he was right.

I had visions of the cat bleeding out in my vents, or maybe had a broken leg or was severely hurt in some way. What if he went ape shit when we got him out? What if we couldn't get him in the cat carrier to take him to the vet? What if he died while he was in there?

I kept calling and calling and he kept calling back.....Charles made a pot of coffee....Lauren came out of her room "Mom, the cat woke up Connor." and then it struck her that mom shouldn't be on her hands and knees in the den calling to a cat thru the vents. "What's going on?"

"Max is caught in the vents hon." she started tearing up and freaking out.

"None of that hon. He's okay, he's just trapped and we have to figure out a way to get him out." she started working herself up in to a frenzy, face stretched in the pre-panice grimace.

"Lauren, get a hold of yourself. He's not hurt honey. He's okay. We just have to figure out a way to get him out is all." She calmed down and peered down in the vent and called to Max....Charles sipped at his coffee and looked at me over the rim of the cup....the baby started crying.

"Lauren, could you go amuse Connor for a bit honey until we get the cat out?"

"Okay" and she was gone. As soon as Connor's door closed Charles said "There's really something wrong with him. I've never heard a cat meow like that unless he's hurt." I nodded my head in agreement with him.

I needed to get him out of there quick. I looked down in the vent, I still couldn't see him. I thought about sticking my hand down there and waving my fingers around a bit so he could see where to come out at...but didn't want him to attack me if he was in pain...but I couldn't think of anything better...so I stuck my hand down the vent and waved my fingers a bit and prayed for the best.

He didn't attack me, but I could hear him coming closer. "Go load the gun honey" I said. If he was really hurt, I didn't want him to suffer....we live 30 minutes away from the nearest vet (which was closed)..and 45 mins away from the nearest animal hospital and that doesn't include catching him and loading him in the cat carrier.

Max's head popped up the vent and he looked at me and Raoned raoned for all he was worth. He didn't look hurt from what I could see but the rest of his body was still in the duct...I couldn't get a good look. His back legs were twisted at an odd angle and I was terrified that he had broken his back. He went back in the vents and turned around, dragging his hind legs behind him. They weren't moving.

Charles emerged with the gun, and I pushed the cat carrier to the side. If his back was broken, there wasn't going to be any need for it. I grabbed some towels and laid them out to wrap him in and some thick leather gloves to keep my hands from being gouged with his claws.

I called to him and his head popped up once more. I tried my luck again and patted the carpet next to his head to encourage him to come out. I could see him trying to pull himself up. I petted him on the head and he paused for a moment. I tried to give him some comfort and he seemed to be soaking it in. I looked at Charles, he looked at me..."Are the other cats in the house?" "Yeah" I said quietly, and Charles slipped out the back door. I looked back at Max and he quietly MEOWED.

I felt like the biggest asshole in the world. I think Max knew what was going on. I think he knew we were going to shoot him.

I tried to slip my hands under his front legs and help him out, but he didn't like that...he never scratched me though.

Charles came back inside and Max finally got his front legs out of the the vent with his paws just resting on the edge of the carpet...then I saw his back leg move...just one, and I prayed that maybe his back wasn't broken....maybe he just didn't have enough room to move.

To be continued............

So What Did You Do With Your Sunday Morning

RRRRRAAAAAAOOOONNNNNNN

RRRRRRAAAAAAAOOOOOOONNNNN

What in the hell is that? I looked around and listened.

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOONNN

Max? (the cat that Stinky and Redhead left behind) How in the hell did Max get inside? (I knew it was him. He has a very distinctive meow - which isn't a meow at all ... he says "raon". Friggin weird cat.)

So I got out of my comfy cosy computer chair - where I had made a very comfortable ass imprint - and went to go get him and shoo him out the door. I emerged from my cave (aka the computer room) and called to him.

Kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty! Maaaaaaaaaaxxx. Here kitty kitty.

Immediately, the floor answered me RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOONNNNN.

It was deep throated, a distress cry and he called over and over again. He was stuck under the house. My first reaction was DAMN IT! HOW'D HE GET UNDER THE HOUSE???? my second was THAT FURRY LITTLE BASTARD, LET HIM STAY THERE FOR A FEW MINUTES. and my third and final reaction was DAMN, I GUESS I BETTER GO GET HIM BEFORE HE TEARS SOME SHIT UP. So I turned around to put out my cigarette and again I hear

RRRRAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNN.

...and then it struck me....the cat wasn't under the house...he was in my VENTS. The reason that the floor answered me was because the furry little bastard was IN my floor.

THUMP THUMP THUNK tick tick tick scratch RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNN

He had traveled across the room to the other vent and proceeded to scream in kitty language "GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!!!!! AND COULD YOU AT LEAST TURN OFF THE HEAT - IT'S BURNING MY FACE AND CHAPPING MY ASS"

I panicked. Holy SHIT!!! That was the only thing running thru my mind at this point. I ran and got Charles....or more to the point, I awoke him gently by barging into the bedroom and yelling excitedly CHARLES! WAKE UP! THERE'S A CAT IN THE VENTS. WAKE UP!!! YOU GOTTA GET HIM OUT!!!! ....because I'm considerate like that.....and ran back into the den to listen to Max cuss at me in a whole new language.

OH SHIT!!! What should I do???!!!! ... and then that little voice inside me spoke..you know the one...the one that you want to slap the shit out of for making you feel stupid in times of crisis..... "Get a screw driver you dumb shit. Undo the screws, remove the vent and the cat can crawl out of the ducts." I nodded my head "Good idea" I said to the voice.

Normally, finding a screw driver in my house wouldn't be a problem. Charles keeps a liberal sprinkling under each sink so "They are there when you need them"....but I had had enough a few weeks ago and told him to get them out from all the cabinets before the baby got them and stabbed himself in the eye or his cute little baby belly...and like a good man he did it....he dutifully took them all out to the locked shed....and put them in the locked tool box...and I was shit out of luck when I needed a screw driver.

The voice said "butter knife" and I nodded my head again and set to work. I laid the vent beside me with the screws and called to him again and again and he swore back at me again and again...and then CHARLES THE BEAR emerged from the bedroom and he was not a happy bear...but to give him credit he looked at me as kindly as he could and said "Listen to him...he's hurt or something....I may need to shoot him when we get him out."

My jaw dropped.....

To Be Continued

CHA CHING!!!!!!

To all of you who have made fun of me for hoarding old statements on things I have paid....

I have only one thing to say to you.....

Click me.

Happy Anniversary To Me

Yesterday was my anniversary. I've been married for 9 years.....9 long, painful, smelly years.

Years filled with flatulence, burping of the ABC's, and dirty underwear on the floor right by the hamper. Years filled with the toilet seat up, the toothpaste cap off, and beard and mustache trimmings in and around the sink.

Years of having to put up with wads of papertowel all over the house, shoes in the middle of the floor and hogging the remote control. Years of enduring the torture that is Nascar...or most any sport really. Years of him swatting me on the ass and saying "Good game."

Years of playing "What will my farts smell like if I eat this?" and "How many body parts can I grope while she runs past me?"

Years of watching him walk around in his old stretched out Hanes he won't let me throw away while scratching his ass. Years of him shaking his willy at me to "get me in the mood", and offering to help me with my headache.

Years of him telling me "You're fucking special" and kissing me on my forehead. Years of him laughing at me when he claims I did or said something stupid (that doesn't ever really happen btw).

*sigh*

It's a damn good thing the sex is still good huh.

Quality Time With My Man

Hubby and I went to town today. That's a big event in my house. Hubby never wants to go anywhere on the weekends and he SUGGESTED it. I wasn't going to tell him no. I'm usually the one asking for us to go together and he's usually the one making up excuses not to go.

We went and got Super Baby a new pair of shoes, a new ballist for the kitchen lights, a filter for the shop vac, and a few other things that needed to be picked up.

It was a wonderful day. Lauren was spending the day with S next door making soap, going to the movies and eating large quantaties of junk that I don't let her eat, and Super Baby was in a very good mood and kept smiling and he even tried to wink at me while we were having lunch.

It was warm and sunny and had just the right breeze and I had my husband with me and my son, and my daughter was living it up raising cane and I felt full inside you know?

That is until after lunch.....

Charles farted the smelliest fart ever to explode from any human's ass EVER ...I even gagged a little....and we were in the car...and my window wouldn't roll down, and we were moving in heavy traffic so I couldn't just throw the door open. Even he was making that "ick" face (and you know it's gotta be bad when a man thinks his own fart stinks cause they usually don't seem to mind...they just sit in it and try to rate it on their own personal scale of Odoriforousness). The other windows in the car were already down, but the Green Cloud of Doom would not be dispersed and hung around like 70's fashion on my 6th grade english teacher.

My one good eyebrow started to twitch involuntarily - that quick jumpy twitch that you usually get in the corner of your eye and the only way it will stop is if you pull on it until your eye turns to slit and then you suddenly realise you shouldn't be doing that because you're over 30 now and wrinkles are starting to settle in and you're HELPING them by doing the eyeslit manuever so you put up with the jumping and contemplate some form of suicide instead - you know what I'm talking about. (that is possibly the biggest run on sentence in the history of man - no applause please)

"DAMN CHARLES!!!! You made my EYEBROW twitch!!"

He was suddenly so happy. He started laughing and clapping his hands and yelled "YES! YES! I CAUSED NERVE DAMAGE!!!"

I hope I left a really big, PAINFUL bruise...on his privates.

........

Well boys and girls,

I have only one thing to say...

Ticketed for 62 in a 45mph zone.

Ain't that a bitch.