When you're lying on the couch suffering with a modified version of your husband's "man cold" and he brings you a container of Whipped (!) Betty Crocker Cream Cheese icing you know that it's absolutely true love. When he hands you a spoon to go with it and a kiss on the head, you know that you love your husband too.

When I tell my stories people typically say, "You should write a book!" or "You should do stand up!" I'm not sure that I want to do stand up, but I know that I want to write a book.

The problem is, I open Word and I stare at a blank screen.

Where to begin...

What do I write about?

Uggh.

So I took a sick day...

what am I doing?

Emailing back and forth with my friends from work because I miss them...

Keep in mind, I live 30 seconds from where I work.
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John's off too, so we'll be making a third trip to Lowe's or Home Depot (Home Despot) to finish gathering supplies for our master bathroom. We've been living with one toilet in the house while we waited for the tuition reimbursement money to come in from my grad class. It's here and now we're going buck wild. Imagine when we can poop simultaneously in the same house!! It will be glorious! (bad choice of words Michelle, my bad!)

Whatever you do, never live in half a double house...take it from me. Tonight for the first time in our (going on) five year relationship my neighbors came over and asked us to turn the music down. It was 6 pm at night, we were cleaning and vacuuming the house because our friends are coming over to play games and drink some beer (avoiding the bars y'all!).

Seriously, in all the times that I've had the music loud on, the parties I've thrown, and all the wacky things (and strangers) that I've done (ha ha, obviously the somewhat distant past) they picked tonight? Ah, the injustice of the world...oh and I thought John's vein in his forehead was going to burst as I asked him to turn it down.

I guess we're the bad neighbors in the relationship. I can't wait until we don't have neighbors for miles...that's a long way off I suppose.

For years (obviously not many), I've been trying to get John to post on here as a guest. He has always shied away but tonight, after a bottle of wine I've talked him into dictating a post to me. Here is his story:

"I've been hiding something from my wife. I've been hiding something from my family, my co-workers, my dog and sadly, myself. Like a Republican senator I rail against the very thing I've been doing since before I can remember. I spend evenings and weekends feeding the washing machine, running the vacuum and painting, it's a vicious circle. I give off every indication that I'm obsessed with neatness and order. But still, there they are. In the wooden salad bowl above the refrigerator, in/on the floor and seat of my car, littering the depths of my soul...my dirty work socks.


In my defense, I hate socks. Wait! Wait, don't get me wrong! I'm not one of those guys who doesn't wear shoes without socks, I hate shoes! I've always hated shoes. If at all possible and/or sociably acceptable, I refuse to wear them. But one of the downfalls of a corporate world accounting job is...you guessed it...shoes. Every day...shoes! I think of plenty of excuses as to why these socks aren't removed and properly put in the washer, but that's not the point. The point is gathering this massive pile on cold Martin Luther King, Jr. Day is, I am John, I am a sock monster and I'm sorry".

Last night I chose to chaperone an underclassmen dance. I don't teach underclassmen, I don't even know what to do with these small children, however, I do know what to do with thirty dollars an hour. Who doesn't? But I didn't expect such culture shock. Seriously, it's a world of difference between 14-15 and 17-18. I'm no scientist, nor do I know the actual difference I'm just trusting my own ability to cope with children and their hormones and at 17 they must be getting laid steadily or something because 14-15 year old seem like they have hormonal hotflashes. They are crankier than Bea Arthur was on her worst day as Dorothy on the The Golden Girls. (That's a little shout out for my new reader B).

I did the boring job, I offered to do it. I checked kids in and out of the dance and let other people watch the actual dance antics (my one friend referred to it as "girls trying out for the pole"). Since I didn't actually know the kids, I couldn't make fun of them (it's a little rule I have), I save that for the Prom. Part of my job was to make sure that kids who wanted to leave had a ride home. Sure enough, I found the "Crier" of the evening. Crier heaped herself in the corner very close to me so that I would be sure to notice her.

Being maternal, loving and made of all that's good in the world I went over to her and attempted to soothe her. My attempts were thwarted with bitchiness and whatever this generation's Electic Youth is...seriously, she smelled worse than a syphalitic whore...and I'm trying to be charitable here. Anyways, my job was to make sure that she had a ride and that she wasn't trying to run out into the night dramatically in her tissue which was tastefully fashioned into a dress. This is how it went down:
Me: Are you OK? I mean, I know you're not and that you're upset. Can I do anything for you?

Her: NO! I don't fucking need anything!

Me: OK. Have you called your parents? Do you want to go home?

Her: I fucking called my dad already.

Me: Alright, good. And...I know you're upset and everything and I would be cursing up a storm too but...since I'm a teacher you probably shouldn't use the word fuck around me and since I'm trying to help you get out of here quicker maybe you should try being polite to me? (ok, had I been the Crier, I would've punched me as a 14 year old, but she was seriously pissing me off so I pulled on my passive aggressive authority mask)

Her: Are you fucking kidding me?

Me: Well, now I know why your boyfriend broke up with you.

PS. I didn't really say that, because I'm not evil but I wanted to...and that made me a little evil but kept me mostly sane because this same scene played out about four times throughout the evening.

Well my excitement (from yesterday's post) came to an end this morning which is no big deal we haven't been trying long enough to be concerned in any way, shape or form...but damn was I excited and I think I got John a little excited too and that makes me sad because the let down isn't all that fun especially when most of our friends are getting pregnant just by looking at each other! However, there's always next month and that means more sex and who doesn't love that deal? Seriously? In fact, I'm already looking forward to it...

And because I don't want this blog to turn into something where I post when and if I get my period this is the last I'm going to say anything about it all until/if I'm actually pregnant. So sigh a little sigh of relief my faithful readers. And John put on your game face becauses now that means that you and I have to do something truly ridiculous, hilarious and/or scandalous so that I have something fun to write about.

My period is two days late and I'm excited!! Oh the 23 year old me of the past is seriously confused by that statement and would be praying to see only the control line while quietly praying and promising not to have any more one night stands! But the 30 year old me is secretly crossing her fingers and hoping the next time she pees on a stick she sees a plus or two lines or whatever the hell I'm supposed to see. Of course all the while, I know that two days is absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things...but I don't care. *squeal* I'm late!! Wooo! I know a bunch of people who are probably squinching their faces at the computer screen muttering to themselves, "Oh good lord, another one of those girls..." I'm sorry, I just. cannot. help. it.

I'm whispering silently in my head, "Please don't come, please don't come! For the love of all that's good in the world, please don't come!" I'm constantly running to the bathroom and checking (sorry for that bit of TMI), and so far so good. Seriously, I think I'm neurotic.

That being said, the cheap little stick tests that I purchased online keep telling me that I'm not pregnant...but I'm not ready to believe them just yet.

I'm still alive and I'll post again soon, but right now my life is full of chaperoning, baby showers,helping people move, grading, and study for my Comprehensive Exam (although not enough, it's fast approaching and I'm absolutely not ready). All in all, nothing good to post. In the meantime, I can hardly believe this woman didn't make it further in the pageant circuit:


Poor lady, here's a recent interview with Stacy Hedger (the woman in the video). I think I love her.

My lack of posting is due to two incredibly dumb reasons.

1) Cloverfield is coming out next week and I've been scouring the Internet for clues about the monster and the whole movie. I'm well aware of how pointless this is, but it keeps me going on a day to day basis and I have to say, it's kind of fun to share my conspiracy theories with anyone who will listen to me...it's mostly John and a bunch of 16 year old boys. What can I say? I like monster movies!

2. These people...crack me up for some odd reason:

Last night I was feeling an inordinate amount of love for John before he came home...like seriously, I was radiating love, lust and everything I've ever felt for him. I even sat down and made him a "mind-map" of all of his awesomeness of the year. I saw it on a website as something someone could do as a cute thing for Valentine's Day, I decided just to make him one yesterday (You've never felt creative freedom until you've purchased 50 blank greeting cards with matching envelopes...I make EVERYONE homemade cards and I feel like an artist again).

Today, I realized that I went out with him for the first time two years ago last night...had I really known, aside from the psychosomatics I would've made us tacos!

John, I love you.


Everyone else, I'm sorry I made you throw up in your mouths.