If I tell you every day, two, three, four times, that you are my heart, that you make me feel safe, that I would spend every minute of every day of forever with you, that I love you, does it make you feel trapped? Do three words become your prison or do they set you free?
If I never told you that the smell of your neck is like a drug, that your smile makes my heart skip a beat or that every time I hear your voice I smile, would you forget that I love you?
I wish you knew that each day that passes with out I love you I drift a bit farther down the stream of happily ever after headed to the ocean of what used to be. Your silence speaks louder than you know.
Does I love you get stronger or weaker each time it's said? I wish I knew, because the answer may be the only thing that brings us back to us.
Bad first day for UPS guy
or
brakes optional
or
good thing I was in the bathroom and the UPS guy had to wait for me, otherwise he'd be dead and that would be a big old mess
or
Hello, Cute Firemen, I'm feeling faint come give me mouth to mouth!
or
Don't worry, no one died
or
Crown Victoria + 50mph + UPS truck - brakes = late delivery
or
Meth + Pot + McD's run = go directly to jail
Some people think the Bible is the greatest book ever. I disagree. I say it's the phone book. Because really, when was the last time the BIBLE ever helped you find an all night pizza place that delivers AND excepts pennies for payment? HMM? NeVeR, that's when.
- Yesterday, I saw a bum riding a bicycle with a 35 gallon trash can strapped to his back and a bag from each handlebar with 2 boxes each of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. I thought about running him down and stealing his doughnuts, but then I figured they were probably stale anyway, so I didn't.
- It's bulk garbage week in our neighborhood. That's where you can put out anything non-hazardous and the city will take it. I put out the dogs cracked wading pool, some yard waste and some old modular shelves. Yesterday, when I came home, someone had taken half my trash and spread the rest over my driveway. Seriously. If you're going to steal my trash, at LEAST have the manners to pile it back up!
- I figured I'd cheer myself up a little by playing ball with my dogs. So I locate a newish yellow tennis ball from under the hedge and toss it to into the yard. The dogs go running willy-nilly, or you know, as willy-nilly as a dog with the shape of a walrus can run, and come tearing back hell bent for leather and one drops the ball and my feet. And then pees on it. And my feet. Which were bare.
- I spent all day cleaning on Sunday. Mopped, vacuumed, dusted, cleared away about 200 magazines and catalogues and junk mail. Then I straightened the shelves, organized the hall closet and washed 6 loads of laundry. This morning, after my family spent ONE DAY in the house? It looks like a hurricane went through there. WTF, People? Is it THAT FRICKEN HARD to take your glass to the kitchen and your bag to your room? Are you fundamentally incapable of understanding the concept of "if you got it out, put it back?" It's not rocket surgery. It's called good manners. A concept that clearly eludes them.
- So I thought, you know what? I'll make lemon bars. Who can be cranky when faced with lemon bars? Surely, I will return to my mostly-cheerful self? Oh, goody! I think, I have just enough eggs. Then, just as I'm cracking the last one, the doorbell rings, the dogs bark and I do this.
Yeah, I cracked the egg and poured it into the carton instead of the bowl. Lovely.
- Undaunted I go to find my husband. My (alledged) source of strength and comfort. "Give me some kisses" I demand "I'm having a bad day" and you know what he says? "No, you make me sick." Now, he was probably referring to the fact we're passing around some kind of illness, but damn. OUCH.
- But I soldiered on. I watch some TV, I fold the last of the laundry, I go to bed. This morning, I get up, mostly restored to my usual even temper and good humor and ten minutes ago, M calls. Only, it's her ass calling me, because I overhear an entire conversation about what a "stupid bitch" I am. This after I loaned her a pair of shoes and gave her an extra $5 for after school.
- And to top it all off, a very dear friend has taken to blowing me off. When we do talk, things are just...not right. I'm at a loss as to what has happened, what has changed and they're not saying either.
So that, kids, is what's the matter. A whole lot of things that on their own are not that big of a deal. Kind of funny even in some cases. But added together, it's a lot. Too much. And so I am just...off, I guess. Not myself. I promise, with the proper application of whiskey my good humor will return. Probably. What the heck, it's 8am. I might as well start now...
Me: What's up, man?
UPS Guy: If I told you, would you kiss it?
Me: If I could find it, sure.
M: Can I borrow a shirt?
Me: I guess. If you promise not to stain it. Which one do you want?
M: I like the one you're wearing.
Me: Me too, that's why I'm wearing it.
M: So can I borrow it or what?
Me: Borrow what?
M: The shirt you're wearing!
Me: No, I'm wearing it.
M: GOD you are SO MEAN
(stomps off in a huff)
In the hazy moments of not-quite-sleep I can feel you there behind me.
The breath of the fan becomes yours, warm on the sleep damp curls at the base of my neck and the weight of the blanket becomes your arm draped across my chest.
In the world of near-dreams I know that the slightest movement would find you there with me, my back to your chest, flank to flank all the length of our bodies. You would pull me closer, touching your lips to the spot just behind my ear where the perfume of satisfaction mingles with the scent of dreams to spin it's magic of one more minute.
But one more minute comes and goes and I know the distance between us is far too great to be crossed by hope and so I roll face to the wall, alone.
Morning, Chickens.
I have very many tags to blog this week. I may even actually blog them! That's my dedication to y'all; I will forsake my year end reports to bring you scintillating minutiae.
Today's tag comes from the delightful Miss Lorrie Veasey and is brought to you by the letter
The tag is to list ten things that you LOVE that begin with the assigned letter.
1. Profanity - no shit. I loves me some swear words. Sometimes, nothing conveys the proper gravity of a situation quite like an explosively uttered FUCK.
2. Porn - Shocking, right? Now, I know that women every where are cringing because, OMG, PORN? You like PORN? You (meaning me) are clearly a bad, bad, woman and a shame to the sisterhood! But here's the thing; porn? Very educational. How else would I know about things like Pony Play and Sploshing? Not to mention The Superman and Dirty Sanchez. I mean really! There is a whole world of kink out there and you may not be a freak after all. Then again, maybe you are. But who am I to judge? That's the nice thing about porn, chances are if it makes you feel good, you're not alone. It's like gathering round to sing Kumbaya, but with wieners.
3. Pickles - But only dill. All other pickles are an affront to the sanctity of the pickle species. Do not email me your beloved grandmothers award winning recipe for Bread n Butter pickles, because I will not eat them and I will lose all respect for your saintly Grannie for commit such a sin against taste buds.
4. PDA - Especially among the elderly. How cute is it when a tiny little old lady and a grizzled old man are shuffling by hand in hand? Doesn't it just give you hope?
5. Pie - Oh hells, yes, Mama loves her some pie.
6. Puppies - It's pretty hard to be cranky when confronted by the sweet sway of a fat fat puppy belly. And when they fall asleep?. I swoon. SWOON.
7. Purses - Yes, yes, I'm vapid. And? Carrying around a really nice purse instantly makes you look somehow...more. More put together. More successful. More stylish. Not to mention the construction of a $300 purse vastly surpasses that of a $30 purse. And if you buy something classic - say a quilted Chanel, you'll never go out of style. That said...Louis Vuitton? Not so much. Despite the crazy price tags ($700 for a wristlet!), to me, they look cheap. Also, my birthday is coming up and if y'all love me, you'll buy me a Birkin. Just saying.
8. Purple - I always write in purple pen. Why? Because it's less harsh than black, more whimsical than red and more exciting than blue. Also? Because I'm a wee bit nuts.
9. Pineapple - true story, ladies and gents, consuming pineapple makes certain...fluids less distasteful when swallowed if you catch my drift. What? You don't? Fine. When a man drinks pineapple juice his ejaculate tastes less metallic. Try it. Seriously. If that doesn't work, try sucking on a peppermint while giving head. Tingly and tasty. Altoids work best. And in my experience? A good blow job is pretty much the quickest way to get a man to do what you want. Forever.
10. Peeps - that's right. I love y'all. On days like yesterday, when I was pretty sure I was going to have to beat someone half way to death with my adorable red peep toed shoes, you kids all jumped in to assure me that I wasn't the only one so afflicted. And a burden shared is a burden lightened, right? (I learned that in Sunday school before they asked me to leave and not come back.)
Dear Husband,
This morning, when your alarm went off and you snoozed it three times, I didn't say anything.
When I got up a half out later, I tripped over the boot you left in the middle of the floor. Then, I collected your discarded towel from the chair and carried it to the bathroom where I picked up your dirty drawers off the floor and put them in the hamper that is less than two feet away. Then I hung up the towel that you'd left in the sink, put the lid on your deodorant, picked up and threw away the q-tip that missed the trash can and replaced the toilet paper roll.
When I sat down to pee, I discovered the turd you left floating. It was a nice one, but there's no need to save it for me, promise. Then, I let the dogs out since they were doing a potty dance because you'd forgotten to put them out before you left and on my way to the back door I collected the cup, spoon and pudding containers that you'd left in the living room and carried them to the kitchen where I shut the cupboard you'd left open and threw away the empty milk jug you left on the counter.
I went to take a shower, but first I had to replace the soap. Sorry I didn't shave my legs, it just didn't seem worth getting out of the shower to get the shaving cream off the counter since the one in the shower was empty. You'll find the new can in the shower tomorrow, I put it in there when I got out. Then, I dried myself with a damp towel, because you'd used all the towels in the bathroom and got myself ready for work.
I dealt with our surly teenager, but managed to get her out the door with out screaming at her. I drove her to school and then went on to work where I attempted to placate angry creditors, disgruntled customers and nervous employees. I got yelled at by Scary Corporate Lady at least three times for things that had nothing to do with me, but since I answer the phone, the buck stops at my desk. No big deal, it IS why they pay me.
On the way home I paid the water bill, stopped at the bank and then went to the grocery store. Then I picked up our daughter, went to the gym for an hour and dropped by some books to a house bound friend before going to the gas station and then Hallmark at the mall to pick up a sympathy card for your grandmother, which I signed your name too and then dropped at the mail box.
So when I walk in the door tonight, if once again the first words out of your mouth are "Damn, you look like shit", I'm pretty sure the judge will understand why the cops couldn't find your head.
All my love,
Your Wife.
- Every time I see a woman on the bicycle, I hum the Wicked Witches Theme from Wizard of Oz.
- Am I the only one who thinks the Overstock.com "It's all about the O" slogan is dirty?
- My Wal-Mart has a small selection of Easter items out. Already. Seriously, WTF, merchandisers? I still have up my X-Mas lights!
- Is the whole point of the show 'The Biggest Loser' to embarrass fat people? Because that seems cruel.
- I found this little guy has been living under a hat in my office.
First, I took his picture. And then I killed him. But I didn't hit him with a hammer.
Me: Are you done with the computer yet?
M: No
Me: Well, hurry up. I need to use it.
M: Relax, Ma, the internet will still have porn in a half hour.
So this right here? This is my 200th post (on Blogger. Probably much higher over all, but I can't count those because I deleted the other blog. Because of the naked pictures of Oprah Winfrey. Just kidding. Although that blog did used to get googled for that a lot and I'm all YOU PEOPLE ARE SOME SICK FUCKS. Which is the whole point, right? To connect with other people who are like minded and by like minded I mean FUCKING DISTURBED).
Honestly, I'm as surprised as anyone that I've been blogging this long. The only thing that I've done consistently more of? Breathing.
That's because y'all? YOU ARE MY OXYGEN.
Also?
You had me at hello.
I just made that phrase up. It's catchy, right?
Doesn't it seem like for this monumental occasion I should have had something planned? Some really wicked good post where I charm you and also teach you a little something about life? Like Facts of Life or some other feel good 80's show with a catchy theme song? Hey! Remember Family Ties? Me, too! No, really, what I was going to say is that Alex P. Keaton looks exactly the same as he did back then. Also, the only episode of that show I remember is the one where the blond sister was a Valley Girl and wrote a running away note that could only be deciphered by omitting ever other word, which was "like". As in, "So, like yesterday? Like me and like Tiffany like went to the like mall and like, stuff and like we, like, totally like saw these like hot guys? Like at like Orange Julius? And one of them, like, had THREE NIPPLES, like for real and he like showed it to us in the like dressing room at like 5-7-9 and then, Tiffany like totally like licked it and I was all, like GAG ME WITH A SPOON!"
Further more, once one begins to interject the word "like" into a sentence one begins to spew it uncontrollably and with out reason. Much like "dude" and words of that ilk. In fact, to recover from a "like" fit, the only cure is to trade it for another word. One might substitute "one" for example, but then one would sound pretentious and like one had a proverbial stick up ones backside.
Almost as bad as referring to oneself in third person, which is kind of eccentric and charming if one is a drag queen or maybe a really sparkly hooker but less so if one is a reality television contestant (cough, SUEDE, cough). Actually, I take that back. Kind of. Because what reality television personality isn't just a hooker? Maybe with less leath-ah, but not with out the air of selling ones soul for the possibility of slight financial gain and the certainty of embarrassment?
For that, you could just stuff a hamster up your butt like Richard Gere and then sell the pictures to The Enquirer, or as we call it round my house "The Paper". I bet he talks about himself in third person. Doesn't he just seem like that type? Maybe it's the hair that makes me think that. I don't trust people with hair that looks like the wads of dog hair I fish out of my vacuum. Also? I don't trust people with bad posture. Don't you think it's so telling when people walk around all hunched and slumped? Like Igor. Only less charming. Because, you know, at least Igor had that whole yess master thing going for him.
Also, I don't trust people that don't wear underwear. Seriously, you're not that fucking busy that you can't spare 5 seconds to pull on a pair on chones. I, for the record, am wearing panties. Great big ginormous white cotton numbers from Fruit of the Loom or maybe Hanes! Her Way! or maybe Omar the Tent Maker, I can't see the tag because it's behind me so you'll just have to live your life with out knowing who makes my delicates. Unless you want to send me $5 because then I'll totally send you my panties. Only not using E-Bay because APPARENTLY selling your used underpants as anything other than "used clothing" is considered a violation of it's service terms and you know what that means? Somewhere a dirty pervert is smelling brand new panties because I am being denied my right to commerce! Is this the kind of America that you want to live in? No, I thought not. I should probably be getting some kind of bail out money for this stompling of my rights to free market trade.
This is the part of the show where ALF tries to eat the cat.
Only, now that I've said that? I'm pretty sure that Blogger is going to flag this blog as being of questionable content and you know what I have to say to that? NO SHIT, BLOGGER PEOPLE. But maybe we can bring this back from the brink?
No, probably not. So instead, I will leave you with this.
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