Wednesday, August 31

Done Caught by Johnny Law

Or: Bruce freaking out is not a pretty sight, people.

Our day was going fairly well, if I do say so myself. Other than the stupid work my stupid work has been making me do, that is. (Would you like to pull crap out of boxes all alone in a dusty, hot warehouse and then count them and then put them back after making labels for each thing in the box and writing down how many of them there is in the box with a label-maker that's always running out of batteries and a printer with battery issues as well - how was I supposed to know how to charge it the night before? I've never used one of those damned machines in my life! And why don't we have more than 1 (ONE) charger for 10 batteries? BLAH! And then lift the boxes and then lift them some more and then stack them up and pray they don't fall on your head(s)? You wouldn't? Me neither.) But half-way through the day today, they assigned me to another task. (I didn't kiss "them", but I thought about it. A lot. And yeah, it was because the 1/2 charge I had on my printer ran out. I did kiss the printer.) So my day went ok. Much better than yesterday! Whee!

But then my darling husband asked if I wanted to go out to eat. He even offered Buffalo Wild Wings, which I love, and used to work at, and still love. And we were on our way.

And then we got pulled over. Yeah, so there's something about the tags and the sales tax and a bunch of other stuff that I just don't understand, seeing as I'm not from these-here parts. It all gets jumbled around in my head until I curl up under the dashboard and moan, "Why can't we live in Wisconsin? I know the rules in Wisconsin. And they let me drive for four months with expired tags in Wisconsin." Much to the annoyance of my husband. Just kidding, he thinks it's adorable when I piss and moan. AT LEAST HE BETTER.

Long story-about-how-we're-evading-the-local-law-enforcement short: Someone got a ticket for not having an updated insurance card in their vehicle. With all the major things that have been being avoided when it comes to all that local gook that makes my brain melt and is obviously wrong with someone's car, the Really Sweet Policeman gave someone a ticket for the smallest thing, the thing we can take care of tomorrow without paying any sort of fine. Guess who's car it was?

I'll give you a hint: It wasn't mine.


PS: What's up with asking for license and proof of insurance down these parts? In Wisconsin, they only ever asked for my license.

Monday, August 29

I'm Working on Some Categories

I've decided that once I'm done with blogger, and move on to bigger and brighter horizons (a new url, etc, nothing to worry your pretty little heads about!), I'm going to want some damn categories to keep tabs on what I'm doing, and to better sort my thoughts.

I'm talking categories about things I've seen lately, stuff I've done lately, books I'm reading, movies I'm watching, Drunken Shenanigans, the whole freaking enchillada, people. Are you excited? I am excited!

To make this a little easier on myself, I'm going to keep a notebook for the time being with a list of the movies I've watched and the books I've read. And for your sake, I'm going to add a "Reading" segment to my (right) sidebar. You know, the one that's all about me. Did you notice I did that? That I split up my interests like that? Were you as not-surprised as I was that My Sidebar took up way more space than Your Sidebar? I wasn't. I'm self-centered like that.


That's right. All 3 of you. Huzzah!

Sunday, August 28

Quick Poll! How Fun!

Hypothetically speaking, what would you do if you realized your spouse/someone you live with had been in the bathroom with the fan on for nigh on 15 minutes? What about if they'd been drinking? Would you:
  1. Ignore them, hope they got it out of their system without intervention*?
  2. Knock on the door and announce you were going to bed, hoping that would rouse them enough to finish whatever business they were taking care of, and then leave them to it**?
  3. Bug them until they either told you what was going on, or threatened D-I-V-O-R-C-E if you didn't leave them to vomit/poop in peace***?

*I do have an extremely vague memory somewhere in my files that makes me not want to go with option #1. Suffice to say it involves my mom telling me a scary story about an old man (My Grandpa? Who knows?) who was left to his own devices on the toilet, and found that he couldn't lift himself off. He apparently got a RED RING around his ass, and that, to me, terrified me so much at seven that I can't seem to leave a hypothetical man on the toilet without assistance. A RED RING! THE HORRORS!!

**I knocked once, and then left him to his business. He's probably fine. But! I had to knock the one time! Just to be sure! Tomorrow, no RED RINGS dare be blamed upon my white soul! For I knocked!

***And, like I said, the fan is on. So, very likely, he's poop/vomiting and doesn't want me to hear. Because seriously? Those fans were invented for people who didn't like the thought of people they lived with hearing them go about "their business". I personally don't like it when I suspect other people can hear "my business", and I know for a fact that those fans DO NOTHING for smell. Don't believe me? Email me, I'll send you over to my parents' house, and you can get ready for school in the bathroom my dad uses. I dare you.

You think I did the right thing?

Now that I think about it, and have taken another 10 minutes to write about it with no change in the hypothetical situation, I think I might just go and knock again before bed. Perhaps with some eavesdropping beforehand. TO HEAR IF HE'S SNORING!

You sickos.

Friday, August 26



Sunday, August 21

Waste Not, Want Not

Last year, I wanted to grow an herb garden. I was having serious yearning issues for this herb garden, and I whined to Lisa for a few hours one day about how stupid it was for me to grow herbs when I was living with my parents and I don't know how to use any herbs in any cooking, and how I don't even fucking cook ever, and what's the point of growing all those herbs, when in reality they're just going to go to waste what with no one eating them and them just growing for nothing?

Lisa: "Since when is 'not eating something' letting it go to waste?"

Me: "..."

Lisa: "'Look at all those trees over there, just going to waste!'"

Me: "..."

We walk on for a few minutes.

Lisa: "God, these bugs are terrible. I can't believe people just let them go to waste like this. How inconsiderate."

Me: "Yeah, yeah, I get it."

Wednesday, August 17


I just have to, before I go to sleep, mention the fact that I have the best husband ever created. I also want to remind him that, although he might not have been created under the optimal circumstances, he has become the best thing I could ever (in my humble life) ever have wished for.

We were talking vaguely of children tonight. I think my biological clock has made it's first (fucking) tick-tock, and it scares me to death, honestly. I'm not prepared to yearn for children. I'm not prepared to feel that strongly about anything. DON'T THESE PEOPLE KNOW THAT?

Anyone else remember that feeling? Anybody my age feeling the first pangs of it?

Email Exchange:

This is pretty cool - it shows you how popular your first name has been through the decades. Lisa, I'm sorry to say that you're going out of style.
Mary, you would think that you have an unfair advantage, but you'll be
surprised who beats you!

I'm such a dork. Check it out!


I don't know about you, but I tend to avoid things when I am stressed
out. Here I am, the busiest time of my internship, the New freshmen
come in two weeks, and now, the numbers jumped from 3,500 students to
4,200 students within one week. I am tempted to pay someone to break
my leg. I've never broken a bone in my body! Does that mean that I'm
chicken shit? Or sheltered? What is the address of the apartment?



Aw, baby.

Just think, in a couple months, I'll be there and can walk over with a
sledge hammer, if you want. You know I'd do it for you. THAT'S HOW

I totally do the same thing whenever I'm stressed. I think it's
pretty common.

Thanks for checking out the apartment for us, we love you!



Awww, I wish I could say I love you the same, but.. alas..

I love you MORE.



* One of the greatest pleasures of having a gay brother is that they use words like "alas".

Tuesday, August 16

Online Shopping

I'm sitting here at the computer this morning, mainly because I have to savor my last few hours alone with it. You see, as early as next week, Bruce might be working from home, full-time. The horrors.

I'm not just saying that because I like to have a few hours to myself/week, I'm also saying it for his own damn good. Who wants to be in their own house 24/7? Not I, says this chica.

So anyway, I'm window-shopping online. I don't really need anything, or want anything specific, or feel justified after that last shopping trip in buying anything, but the thing is, I can't just leave the computer here. Not when this is one of the last Bruce-free hours the two of us will have together in god knows how long. If I were to leave it here and go read a book, in 2 weeks I'd be beating my head against the coffee table in shame for not using this time to my advantage. In two weeks, I'll be ready to kill for some random, useless window-shopping online.

I can't wait to get a laptop. Mostly for my own sanity. I can't see interrupting his work day for a stroll through things I can't afford. Ok, so I could afford that last one, but I'm a little gun-shy when it comes to shopping, recently. Just kiddng, love-of-my-life.

I want to be at a point in my life where I can afford to get the things I want, even if they happen to be a $.50 set of rubber spatulas. And I can't wait to move. It's a bummer right now, because we have to save up as much as we can. Although, according to our calculations, we'll still have almost $1000 when we move, even after expences!

Then again, neither one of us is known for our crystal-clear memories or quantum math skills, so we're going to play it EXTREMELY safe.


PS: If anyone feels like buying me a spatula, feel free.

Here's the Post What Got Deleted on July 3rd:

1. Bruce is one FABULOUS painter. Not only that, but he actually ENJOYS painting. At half-time, when Terri and I were getting seriously pissed at the fact that we had 1 coat remaining, Bruce was suggesting other areas of the house to paint. Now, that's what we call a husband. I'm going to spent the first year in our new home (eventually, don't get your panties in a bunch) buying paint and leaving the house for the afternoon. He found it RELAXING. He was sitting in his little corner of the room, not saying a word. I think I heard yoga-breathing, even. Terri said that it was his own little nirvana - then modified that to admit that it was a bit of an Asscrack Nirvana, but nirvana nonetheless.

2. Hang out at Terri's more, this weekend's been great.

3. Make sure Terri gives the $15 back to the kid. Will explain later.


Monday, August 15

One More Trip Like That..

Last night I approached Bruce with a deal. I would make him tacos, if he would let me go to the store. (You know, for some veggies. And maybe an ironing board.)

Let's just assume that that will never be happening again. I think my husband might have caught on that, you know, that wasn't such a good deal.

I think he should be happy, though, because I bought lots of meat. And lord, how he does love his meat. Anyway, I also bought an ironing board, potatoes, apple juice, lightbulbs, shoes (hey, these I really DID need), and a box of wine. All perfectly reasonable items, I'm sure you'll agree.

And then on the way out of Walmart, I started getting back spasms of guilt. How could I be so frivolous? Food? We already have food! Shoes? Why not wear the old shoes until the top rips off the bottom? Isn't that what electrical tape is for? (Shit, forgot the electrical tape.) We already have two perfectly good lightbulbs in the kitchen, why do we need that extra third, anyway? Who wants ironed damn clothes? And is this house the sort of house that's going to demand their clothes be ironed once I start damn ironing them? I worry about these sorts of things, you know.

Luckily when I got home, Bruce was on the phone, and therefore it was an awkward moment for him to shout, "DIVORCE!" and then faint away dead. But I'm pretty sure that was the last time I went to the grocery store for "veggies" and came home with an 'entire Walmart'*.

Next time, DIVORCE!!


*his words, not mine. I know that Walmart has more than some vegetables and meat, and apple juice, and a pair of shoes, and an ironing board. Also lightbulbs. But they still had some stuff when I left. I swear.

Saturday, August 13

Rule #1: No Canoes

It's been a long time coming, this update. Let me restate: I have been a near invalid for the past week, so this pause is most definately Not My Fault. Ok, so much an "invalid" as a "lazy bastard", but really, I did have a sprained wrist. Woe is me. Here is the story of how it happened.

On August 4th (a Thursday), we got a phone call from our dear friend Terri. Apparently, Molly and Doug (some friends of hers) were going camping that weekend, and she was wondering if we'd like to go.

"Camping! Yes!" says I.

"Uh. Well, she seems to want to go, so ok," says my husband.

"After all, we already have a tent! Whoopie!" exclaims the foolish wife.

"Shh, I'm on the phone," whispers the husband.

There was much discussion over who would be driving whom, and who would have to navigate by the stars, as everyone seemed to want to leave before we'd even be off of work on Friday. I was unfazed.

The next day, I was much fazed. I'd begun the arduous process of talking myself out of the entire excursion - after all, Bruce and I are not fond of driving places we've never heard of with only the directions of someone who'd never been there before. I'd almost convinced myself I prefered a weekend at home with the playstation, when I got a call from Terri at work.

Isn't this boring? Suffice to say that she convinced me it was still a wonderful idea, and we were still more than welcome to join her, and that she'd drive us in her jeep.

And we gathered our things, shaved our bodies, and were off! We got there a measley 5 hours after starting - due mostly to the fact that we had to stop at every single godforsaken town along the way. Let me tell you, southeastern Missouri is a very unique place. I don't think I've ever seen that many overalls worn in one place. That's just talking about Walmart, mind you. Also keep in mind that I grew up in northeastern Wisconsin, which is heavily populated with farmers. But! Our farmers wear shoes in the grocery store!

When we were almost there, we started exclaiming about how gorgeous the countryside was. And it was! Look at those mountains! Full of leaves! And presumably trees! Spectacular! And Bruce says, "It's so beautiful, I wish I could see it in the rain." You heard me right, folks. My husband brought the rain. I have much to teach him about camping, that's for sure. Needless to say, in about 30 seconds, we were in a downpour. The winding road ahead of us looked trecherous to start, but it only got worse. But we made it alive.

When we got to the campsite, it was a giant pit of mud. You couldn't walk 5 feet without losing half your leg in a slophole of muck. We ran immediately for the nearest shelter - which happened to be set up by Molly's family for this exact purpose. There were a million people under the shelter already, so we crammed in around the edge, and waited for the rain to die down so we could put up our tents. In the rain, and in the dark. That's a camper's wet dream, let me tell you. Surprisingly, it worked out alright. By that I mean, we got the tent up without anyone being sucked into the mudholes of hell, and with minimal biting-off-of-heads. Little did we know what we were in for the next day.

Now, I'm not a native of Missouri, so I find the idea of a "float trip" amusing in and of itself. For those of you who don't know, when you're in this state and you use some sort of device to get down the river - no matter what sort of device that is - you're on a float trip. I've talked to several people here who are confused when I tell them that the rest of the universe doesn't use one universal term for this. "You see," I tell them, "when you use a canoe, we call that 'canoeing'. And when it's a raft, we say 'rafting'. Also, 'tubing'." I usually drop it after a little while, though, because I don't like confusing people. On this particular trip, we were going to be using canoes. "Canoeing" would have made me a lot more nervous than "Rafting", and maybe it was because I assumed the vessels would be rafts that I agreed to the trip. I've been "floating" in rafts several times, and I love it. I have not, however, ever been in a canoe, much less ridden down an unfamiliar river in one. But! I am adventurous, and fun! Also stupid! So we agreed to go.

These people were machines, guys. They woke up in the morning and immediately began cooking breakfast for around 40 people, including coffee. While they were waiting for breakfast, they sat down with 8 loaves of bread and started cranking out sandwiches. It was glorious. They've been doing this for 20 years or so, and some of the kids have never known a summer without a canoe. They're crazy, I tell you, CRAZY. Also very very generous and nice and willing to share all their food with us and I love them.

When we boarded the canoes, I was already feeling better. What could go wrong with so many people there? And then I got in the canoe with my husband and felt a teensy bit worse. But only a little. After all, we'd brought a cooler with lots of beer. I love beer!

We were only on the river for about 10 minutes when the sky turned dark. And then it started to rain. And then it didn't stop raining for the whole trip. We stopped at a sandbar (yes, all 40 of us) and regrouped. Apparently, I was the only one having fun. I LOVE the rain. Except when I'm setting up my tent. Or walking through giant mud pits of hell. Otherwise, I love it! We all had some sandwiches and beers and cigarettes, and somewhere along the way, I got terribly drunk. I think it was all those sandwiches. I knew all that pissing along the sides of roads would come in handy some day! Only with bushes!

And eventually we made it home safely. Or rather, I made it home safely.. You might want to check Bruce's website for an account of his near-death experience. In fact, demand it.


This is where I end things for now. Check in later for a full account of the day after my birthday (AKA: The BAD Day).

Thursday, August 4

Hey, Guess What?

This Saturday is my birthday.

Pretty much that's all I wanted to say.