I’m boredom emailing people – it’s the office equivalent of drunk dialing… Some one save me!

Bump in the Night

When a sound comes crashing through the night and wakes me, I fully expect my husband to jump to his feet with a bat in hand and go scan the house, in hunt of the culprit and beat it to a pulp, assuming it isn’t one of the kids or pets.

This is never the case. Instead it goes a little more like this:


I startle awake and sink lower into the covers trying to think of what I had worn to bed and what could be making that noise at the same time. I whisper to my husband, “did you hear that?”
He of course replies that he did. I then get a bit impatient with him, or is that just the immediacy I feel from the terror triggering a need to pee. “well…are you going to go see what it was?”
He rolls over, sniffles a few times and huffs, “Why don’t you go look?”

Um hello?!? Because I’m supposed to be the wife in the relationship!!! “Please go look, I’m in my panties and a t-shirt, I don’t want to die in my panties and a t-shirt”
“Oh, so you are going to send me to die in my underwear?”
“Just go look – you have all those weapons”
I start to get whiny and beggy but I know, it will be me. He pushes me out of the bed and I stumble around in the dark. I sneak around the house, peek out the slider into the back yard and out the bay window in the front and then, I turn on all the lights I can. I wait a few minutes before moving, check in on the kids, open and close the front door, lock it again, and then finally turn off all the lights, go pee, and crawl back to bed.

“well?” He asks.

“Nothing” I sigh…

Five minutes later, it happens again and I lay in bed wide-eyed, waiting for him to get up.
He never does…
That’s my night in shining armor for you.

Ewww--That Smell

I was out camping this weekend and after the children went to sleep, we all sat around the campfire and stared off. We would chit chat about this and that and I even was able to educate my father on exactly what a glory hole is (although I would have much rather had him look it up) but the conversation seemed to die and the wind was howling so I retreated to the tent.

It was within minutes of my escape that I could hear the conversation move to passing gas and then, I heard something I would have never, in my wildest dreams, been able to make up. It went sort of like this:


Sister: sometimes my burps can compete with Denver’s farts

Dad: oh I know, your mom can be terrible

Sister: No really, like I burp and the smell in my mouth is so foul that it has to be worse than any fart I have ever done

Me from the tent: That is just wrong

Sister: there was this one time when I went to get revenge on Tyler so I walked up and burped in his face and just the smell of all those sulfides coming out of my mouth almost made ME throw up. Tyler’s eyes watered. I was almost embarrassed.


Makes me really glad she wasn’t sleeping in the same tent I was!

Bathroom Confessions

I have a confession: everyday, for a minimum of 20 minutes, I try to hide from my family in the bathroom. It is the one place that I think I can escape and should deserve full privacy so, somewhere between putting dinner together and doing the dishes, I sneak away and relax.

I’ve been doing this since I was a young kid and would have to go to the bathroom conveniently when the dishes needed done and I knew if I spent enough time in there, when I got out, they would be done. I would read ranger rick and highlights magazines and zone out for a while. In a weird way, it was my favorite part of the day…


Now that I am a grown-up, (sort of) I still seek an escape with a book or magazine into the bathroom and can just sit there for as long as the kids will let me. My husband has walked in several times and stated that with the amount of time I am in the bathroom, I must be pooping far more than is healthy. I have told him time and again that I am not actually *going* to the bathroom but he does not seem to understand. I wonder if I am at the beginning stages of this woman

I may be but if I am, at least I know I am happy there…

Suck a Doofus!

A little email correspondence that hopefully some of you will find humorous…someone? Anyone?


From: A
Sent: Friday, June 06, 2008 8:56 AM
To: G
Subject: Suck a doofus!

I realized right after I talked about national donut day how that sounds coming out of the office fat girl’s mouth… I swear, I’m not that huge of a heifer.


From: G
Sent: Friday, June 06, 2008 8:59 AM
To: A
Subject: RE: Suck a doofus!

You shut your mouth!! You are NOT the office fat girl, get real!! Um hello I love food more than shopping, napping, indoor sports, pretty much everything. Food is my friend. I’m so hungover that donuts sound absolutely delicious, why the hell didn’t sandy bring in anything today LOL!!!


From: A
Sent: Friday, June 06, 2008 9:14 AM
To: G
Subject: RE: Suck a doofus!

I just noticed I wrote “suck a doofus”, not “such a doofus”. Yep, I think that confirms it!

A


From: G
Sent: Friday, June 06, 2008 9:15 AM
To: A
Subject: RE: Suck a doofus!

i think that may be my new favorite insult….’suck a doofus!’
when is egg mcmuffin day, I’m totally down for that too!


From: A
Sent: Friday, June 06, 2008 10:12 AM
To: G
Subject: RE: Suck a doofus!

I like it!

Sadly, I don’t think there is an egg mcmuffin day, which sucks because that is the ULTIMATE hangover breakfast.

I think we should make one. And spread the word. Maybe, Mc Donald’s could pay us for the advertisement. And we could be rich and quit…
Ah, who am I kidding, We should just go stuff our pie holes with Greasy, gooey, delicious egg mcmuffins and shout “suck a doofus!” at anyone who looks at us the wrong way.

A

Kids these days...

You know, sometimes, I am fairly certain that my children are fully capable of transforming into Goblins straight out of the movie
Labyrinth…

So, as promised, here's a bit more updated photo of the kids and me. We were in St. Maartin, the first port of a beautiful cruise in April of this year. I know you're jealous, I can feel it. I just don't know if you are more jealous of the cruise or the fact that we have mastered the ability to get our kids to sit in their strollers even though they are old enough to know better.

And here is a picture of little man and me. Aren't we cheesy?

I swear, this boy would be my shadow if he could! Didn't they

cut the umbilical cord 2 years ago?

And another super-cheesy picture of Lexi and I from back in the DARK brown hair hair days...

Kind of heavy, huh?

See...I promised new photos...

and as a grand finale:

Ruben at the entrance for the nude beach in St. Maarten.

Pinching the girl's butt, of course!

A Hairy Situation

For my entire marriage my husband has been clear about wanting me to forever look exactly as I did when he met me. Of course, that meant to me that I should change my look in every way imaginable to see if I could make myself even MORE desirable to him. It was simple in my mind, he just didn’t know what he really liked so, I cut off all my waist-length blonde hair and I changed make-up, I experimented with every tone of blonde dye there was, I got tattoos, and piercings, and you name it, I changed it at least 3 different ways. And this past year was no different.

This last time, I asked Ruben how he wanted me to style my hair next and having had very poor luck telling me to leave it alone, he told me to dye it dark – very dark. Not recognizing his reverse psychology, I did just that. I went to the salon and told my stylist to give me the darkest brown my complexion could handle. Boy was I surprised when I walked out of there 4 hours later looking Italian. I asked Ruben what he thought but he just shrugged the way he always did. So, I kept it up for four months. Finally, I was ready to go back – back to the way I looked when we got married. So, I went to the salon again but this time, my stylist, damn her, was on vacation so, I was seated with the newbie in the salon. She sat me down and asked what I wanted and when I showed her a picture, she immediately excused herself for a moment. Sweat bullets started to pour off my forehead. I had chosen to come in on the day of my birthday party and if this young, frightened chick screwed up my hair I was going to be pissed!

She returned after 5 or so minutes with the owner of the salon. A woman in her mid 60’s with spiky hair and an apparent urge to belong to Jem and the Rockers, needless to say, she was a bit frightening to look at, almost like a train wreck, terrible but you just can’t bring yourself to look away. She jumped right into my 18 inch comfort zone and said, “this will not be happening today” . My heart sunk. She spent the next half hour arguing with me about the fact that I was not a natural blonde, not now, not ever. She offered me heavy highlights and said to return in 6 weeks for more work.

I got the heavy highlights because I felt that some blonde would be better than none. I walked out of the salon with white blotches where the bleach had been left too long because – low and behold, I really was a blonde under that dye and the bleach really took. Despite my own insecurities about the look (I thought I looked like an albino leopard had planted itself on my head) I got a ton of compliments.

I of course, thought I could make it better. I could do what I had wanted because, after all, what would a professional know that I wouldn’t?

Perhaps that peroxide can lighten hair but not lighten dye?
Shit!
I went through 4 boxes of hair dye in one night and sadly ended up with the top 4 inches of my hair an white-orange color and the bottom, no different from how I left the salon. Through the course of the weekend I would dye my hair another two times, finally to a brown to cover all my mistakes and made an appointment to head back to the salon on Saturday.

I sat and bawled my eyes out at how terribly I had screwed up and my husband just sat there and laughed.

I went on Saturday and had them put it back EXACTLY the way it was for my birthday.

5 months later, I’m still slowly adding to the heavy highlights and killing my hair slowly to get it back to what it once was…