25 Things You Don't Know About Me

25 Things You Don't Know About Me . . . .

1.  I never wear blush.

2.  I sleep on the left side of the bed, unless we’re in a hotel room, in which case I sleep furthest from the door.  This way, if a monster breaks in through the door, he’ll get YOU first.

3.  I could easily work at IKEA as the person who puts together the furniture.  I'd have to work alone though; IKEA furniture assembly nearly ruined my marriage.

4.  I can keep the book at a baseball game or on the GameChangerApp.

5.  I hated Twilight, 50 Shades, and Harry Potter, (though I have enjoyed reading Harry Potter with my boys.)

6.  My toes are ALWAYS painted.  I'm vain.

7.  I found my first gray hair on my 26^th birthday.

8.  I get anxious about impending pain, but I seem to have a high tolerance for it.

9.  I had plastic surgery before I was 5 years old.

10.  I’ve known two of my oldest friends since we were 3 years old, and they are the closest to sisters I’ve ever had.

 

11.  I believe my Mother-in-Law likes me WAY better now than she did when she first met me.  Apparently I'm an aquired taste.

12.  I need a lot of sleep.  Naps make me a better person.

13.  I remember having my first experience with depression at age 13, and I worry that it’s a trait that will be passed on to my children.

14.  I use Oil of Olay products simply because my grandmother did, and smelling it makes me think of her.

15.  Friends is still my favorite tv show.

16.  I do laundry every day.  Every.  Friggin’.  Day.

17.  I believe in Karma . . . the energy you put out into the world surrounds you at all times.

18.  I have a tattoo - because no one ever believes a girl like me has one.

19.  I believe my husband and I are like Yin & Yang.  We are two pieces of a puzzle that complete each other; not in the sappy “you complete me” way, but in the way that we complement each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

20.  I loved being pregnant because I felt like I finally fit into my body.

21.  I feel guilty every day about my parenting – that I’m not good enough, I’m not paying enough attention, and that I need to be more engaged.

22.  I am addicted to my computer. 

23.  I wish I had rushed a sorority in college.  I'm really good at making those alphabet letters with the little dots on the ends.

24.  I don’t know how to whistle. 

25.  Misplaced apostrophes make me crazy.

Stuff That Could Only Happen to Me.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: you can’t make this sh*t up.

All I wanted to do was sell my light fixtures on Craigslist so I could fund the purchase of fabulous new, more BoyMommy-appropriate lighting.  I figured I’d post an ad which would lead to a drama-free transaction between two consenting adults with differing tastes in lighting, and we’d be on our merry way.

Lo and behold, I found a buyer.  Using my master sleuth skills on the World Wide Internets, I discovered, inadvertently, that they are worth more than I first thought, so I placed the ad on CraigsList.  After a few days with no bites, finally a gentleman said he was, to use his words, "VERY interest" in all three pieces.  I told him I was firm on the price, he agreed, and he prepared to send me a check.  And then it got weird. 

Turns out “Frank” is not local.  He’s REALLY not local.  He’s from a state that I shall not name in order to protect his privacy, but let’s just say it rhymes with Schmichigan.   Therefore he has hired a mover to come pick up the light fixtures for him.  Frank told me he had mailed the check and that I would be required to use the excess funds he had sent to pay the mover he has hired to pick up the light fixtures.  It seemed like a lot of effort to go through, but I am willing to comply, and I expected that the amount would be for $200 or so more than the price of the light fixtures.  When I finally received the cashier’s check in the mail, however, the total was TWICE the price we had settled on.  So he's paying his mover just as much as he's paying me.

Dallas - deep in the heart of Schtexas!

But instead of paying the mover with that money,  I have now been “instructed” to send the remaining funds to a woman whose address indicates she lives in a state we’ll call Schtexas.  Wha?  Now I'm supposed to write a big, fat check to some woman who lives in the heart o' Dixie?

Then I get an email that “instructs” me to please continue correspondence using a different email address because he’s having “problems” with his other account.  And then I am told, and I quote, “You are required to send excess via money gram from any walmart shop or money gram outlet near you, the cost of sending should also be deducted from the excess.”  For the sake of brevity, I will ignore the obvious errors in grammar, mechanics, spelling, and syntax, though it pains me to do so.  I’m also going to ignore Frank’s tone, which I do not appreciate. 

At this point, I’m kicking myself for thinking this transaction was going to be simple, and I’m getting worried that I have gotten myself involved in something shall we say skeevy.

And then came the phone call.

It seems that, in Frank’s humble and unsolicited opinion, I am not conducting “good business.”  Apparently, I can trust Frank.  He told me so.  And if I am trustworthy, why then clearly I don’t have any reason to worry.  Frank wants to know, “why can’t you just complete the task?” 

Really, Frank?  IF that is indeed your name? 

I am done.  I am prepared to tell Hubby, “you were right.”  (You saw it here first, folks.)  Hubby was right.  I should have been content with those f*cking chandeliers and just let them continue existing like enormous, brass, formal eyesores in my otherwise casual home.   I mean, what goes better with Walmart slipcovers and too-small area rugs than fancy Framburg Napoleonic Lighting? 

So I tell Frank that I am not writing a check to Miss Ellie at Southfork, but that I will be happy to return the excess funds to him if he will provide me with an address.  This makes him nervous.  He mumbles something about “family,” reminds me that this is not “good business,” questions me again about “completing the task,” and says that he will get back to me and that I should wait for further instruction.

Here are my thoughts:

1.   One possible scenario: Frank is going to smuggle pounds of cocaine (Liters?  Kilos?  Bricks?  How does one measure cocaine?) in one of those chandeliers.

2.  Frank, who now has my home address, (which he needed for the check,) and my home phone number, (which I provided for purposes of correspondence,) is going to send someone to my home to breaka my kneecaps.

3.  I am going to stand trial for money laundering, tax evasion, drug smuggling, racketeering, etc. in front of Judge Judy, who will not appreciate my biting humor and witty sarcasm. 

4.  I will not do well in prison for several reasons:

• ALL the beds are close to the door.  [Please refer to BoyMommy's Hotel Room Theory.]
• I tend to cry when people are mean to me.  I think people in prison are not very nice.
• I’m quite sure their wine list will be too limited for my liking.
• I’ve already tried to knit one of those Martha Stewart Jailhouse Ponchos, but it did not go well.
• I will suffer from performance anxiety when I have an audience to pee, I’ll hold it, and, consequently, I will develop a bladder infection, to which I am already susceptible. 
• Orange is not my color, and I’d have to wear my flip flops with socks, because I sure-as-hell ain’t wearing open-toed shoes without a fresh pedicure. 

I leave you with this: should I go missing, tell my family I love them, and check for my body in Schmichigan or Schtexas.  Wink, wink.  Otherwise, I'll be hanging out in the slammer with my new,  above-pictured BFFs.

A Vomit-Induced List of Reasons I Adore My Husband

Hubby is not a big fan of the blog.  He says he feels like I trash him on here.  That is certainly not my intention; my intention is to write about real life, and sometimes we are not perfect.  I am giving a BIG shout-out to Hubby today, though.  Some days I love him for entirely different reasons, so these are the Top Ten reasons I love him today.      

First, a little background.  All you really need to know from the outset is that our family has been struck by some sort of stomach bug, and Daddy came to the rescue in a big way.

1. The only words I could get out were “please don’t go to work today.”  I literally begged him.  He didn’t once mention how much work he needed to accomplish or any meetings he would have to cancel.  This may be due, in part, to the fact that I was sitting on our bathroom floor, clutching the toilet for dear life, and dry heaving because ALL of my stomach’s contents had already been purged during the dozen or so previous times I had visited the bathroom during the night.

2. He washed all the sheets.  Large and I spent ALL day laying in bed, either sweating with fever or shaking with the chills, so Hubby did a large load o’ linens before the family retired for the night.  (AND he put the stripes on vertically because he knows I hate it when the stripes are sideways, but that’s another blog.)

3. During one of my puking excursions, he must have noticed that I was wearing his pajama top over my nightgown.  Go ahead and take a moment for that image to sink in . . . me, sitting next to the toilet, hair looking like a rat’s nest, clutching a bath towel, and yakking while wearing my granny pj’s and HIS pajama shirt.  I had gotten the chills again, and it was right there.  I’m pretty sure seeing someone else projectile vomit while wearing your clothes is a deal-breaker in some parts of the world.  He never even said anything to me about it, but I noticed it in with the clean clothes today.  Obviously he felt it needed a good washin’.

4. He made two trips to the grocery store yesterday to stock up on crackers, soup, Gatorade, and Ginger Ale, and then he hand-delivered it to us in The Cesspool of Germs and Virus, formerly known an our bedroom/love den.

5. He picked Medium up from the bus on time.  If you are a frequent reader of this blog, then you know that this is a task that even I do not complete 100% of the time.

6. He cleaned the play room, did the dishes, did lots o’ laundry, got Medium to and from school, and entertained Small, who was very confused about why Mommy was around but was not paying any attention to him.

7. He put Large in the bath to try to ward off the chills and break his fever, and then asked if he could run a bath for me too – complete with bubbles.  And I didn’t even have to put out in return.

8. He made soup and didn’t complain when I didn’t eat it.  I woulda pulled the old I-made-this-now-you’re-gonna-eat-it. 

9. Our bed is positioned so that his side is closer to the door, which works out well for me because when the kids get up in the middle of the night, they usually stop at Daddy’s side first.  He got up with Large that first night and Medium last night.  (This is not to be confused with my hotel room theory that states that I must have the bed furthest from the door . . . this way, if robbers and/or monsters break in, they’ll get to you first.  This works well when I stay with my girlfriend, A, because her hotel room theory is that she needs to be in the bed closest to the bathroom.  We are perfect travel companions.)  I was so out-of-it, I didn't even realize I wasn't the only one who was sick.

10. He refrained from fussing at me about all the lights and the television being left on in the basement.  My legs ached so much I couldn’t bear the thought of going up and down the stairs, and then I accidentally fell asleep before I could ask him to do it for me.  This is one of his big pet peeves, so it's a major accomplishment.

So for all my b*tching, I have to say he takes pretty damn good care of us.  I’m not easy to live with on a good day, so I imagine going to work today was a welcome reprieve for him.