No good deed goes unpunished

When I get home from work, I tell The Man, if you have anything that needs to go to the cleaners, give it to me, because I've got errands to run. He's gone for ten minutes. And he comes back with a bag as big as Santa's sack. Take that any way you want. Ahem.

I just look at him. WTF, dude?

Well. You've got stuff in this bag too, he says.

So I drag this bag to my car. Go to pick up The Brat's bus pass, stop by the beauty supply place 'cause I need hair stuff. And then I head to the cleaners.

The lady just looks at me as I pull shirt after freakin' shirt outta this bag. I feel like this is some sort of magic bag, and eventually I'm gonna pull out a rabbit or some shit. And under my breath, I'm saying ... Is this m'fer SERIOUS? I thought I had some shit in this bag too.

Oh, look. There it is!

Let's tally this, shall we?

The Man                                           Me

15 shirts                                           1 Cream Slacks
6 pants                                             1  Black Dress
1 FREAKING PEA COAT

He better be glad I had money to pay this NOW, so that I could get a discount. Because I would be mad as hell if I would have had to pay $100 damn dollars because he tricked me into taking every shirt he owned to the dry cleaners all at once.

18 years ago

I was 19 years old.


It was my first solo trip. Me and the boy were going to visit the boyfriend/baby daddy. He was stationed at Kaneohe Bay in Oahu. He’d been there for about a year, and I had been DYING to go visit and get laid lei’d. (To-may-to..To-mah-to)

I had taken time off work, I was going to stay with a couple he knew who had a small apartment in Honolulu. Seven days. I was going to go to the beach, see the sights, and go to a Hula show. He was going to take leave, so we could do all that and whatever else we could squeeze in during my time there.

I was excited. And nervous. I was going to take a 5 hour flight with a 2 year old. Alone.

He was there to meet us when we got off the plane (Do you know how long ago it was when you could be standing at the gate to hug people as soon as deplaned? A LIFETIME ago. Damn! I’m old). He drove us around in his friend’s car, took me to the base to introduce me to his friends. We went out for dinner. Sizzler, because we’re fancy like that.

We did a shitload of sight-seeing. I went to an awesome hula show. I went to the mall and rode a tram (because the mall is THAT BIG). We shopped at the flea market, and ate shave ice. I bought a coconut bra. I was having so much fun, I didn’t want to go home.

Then, I missed my flight. I came back to my room, and made a few phone calls.

And then I missed my flight again.

After I finished cussing because dammit I need to get back to California asshole, I have a job and SHIT TO DO there I can’t keep missing my flight because you can’t get me to the fucking airport on time, he asked me to marry him.


18 years ago this afternoon, I stood on Waimea Beach and married the boy I have been in love with since I was 16 years old. I love you from the boy who used to get into fist fights (before/during) after school to the man who fought wars.

Happy Anniversary, baby.

The thoughts I keep inside my head

So it's like 10:45 in the evening and I'm sitting in the Emergency Room. The Man is sick. I really, REALLY hate it when he's sick. He's been sick before, and he's been sick recently, and every. single. I tell him he's gonna be okay, but in the back of my mind, I worry that he won't be.

Now that they've pumped him full of Morphine for his pain, I can cry without worrying him, or having HIM trying to comfort ME while he's lying there in his hospital gown, with his IV and the blanket we always take when he has to go to the hospital (no matter what hospital we go to, you can be sure it's gonna be FREEZING). I don't have to tell him that he's going to be fine when I'm desperately afraid that he won't be and that one of these days he's not going to make it. I know the body can stand a lot of pain, and that he has been through worse...but what if he doesn't want to anymore? What if he just...gives up?

I try not to let these thoughts of doom and gloom get to settled in my head. I have to be strong for him. I kiss his head and tell him that I love him (because if something does happen, I want it to be the last thing that I said to him), and I shove the scary thoughts out of my head again. He tells me that he loves me too (for the same reason?) and goes back to sleep.

And I will read my book and sit here. When he wakes up, I'll be sitting here waiting for whatever happens next. No tears, no drama, calmly ready to help The Man with whatever he needs, for as long as he needs it.

and I'll say a quiet prayer that he'll be okay. Please let him be okay.

The joke that probably almost gave my husband a heart attack, or at the very least several small strokes

I can't remember ever trying to pull an April Fool's Day joke on The Man. I mean, I think I once half-assedly tried to convince him that I was pregnant. But. You know. It's a much scarier joke when you're single, not already married with one kid you didn't expect.

This year the joke wasn't even mine. It was The Boy's. He called me earlier today to tell me that he was going to be coming home for a few days of his spring break. Awesome. He calls me around 9pm and says he has bad news. He tells me that he & his friend got pulled over and the cops found bags of weed...(cue the choking up) and uhh....he thinks they're gonna get arrested for possession with intent to sell.

Let me just say that normally, this would have freaked me out but I remembered that today was April Fool's Day AND neither he OR his friend smoke weed. So instead of going apeshit, I say, "Uh huh. Well you may as well tell me this is a joke now. Because I'm too tired to come bail you out of jail." Silence. Then, "Yeah, I was trying really hard to fool you.." Mmm hmm... You and your friends are assholes for trying to scare the living hell outta me. Even if I didn't... Have you called your Dad and tried to prank him?

So I'm sure you know where this is leading. OH PLEASE, let me call your dad... Sooo...I just got a call from The Boy and he says that he's gonna be arrested for possession and...and....OMG, can you please call him? He says he's in the Valley.

The Boy says that he got him good. He said that The Man was good & freaked out.. My guess is that The Man had a flashback of all the hell he got into at his age, and forgot that we raised a pretty decent kid.

I haven't talked to him yet. Because I called him while he was hanging out with the boys. I don't think he's gonna drop everything to come straight home to punch me in the eye, but he's gonna come home eventually.

Payback is gonna be a bitch.

The post where I prove that I am KLASS-AY

Yeah, I really am.

Friday I took The Man to the ESPN zone for drinks with my girlfriends. He LOVES to hang out with them, and he's been the only guy so often that we gave him the nickname "Mr. Bitches" (and I mean that in the least disrespectful way possible. Heh.)

ANYWAYS, we watched the Laker slaughter game against the Clippers (I don't really NEED to say more do I? Fine, I'll say it: Free Tacos!). We decided to leave about 3 minutes before the game ended because a) The Clips were NOT going to make a come back and b) have you ever braved Staple Center traffic? Yeah...no. You don't want to. Trust me.

Have I ever mentioned my ever shrinking bladder? And how I ALWAYS have to pee? Yeah, I do. And so, even though I had JUST WENT...by the time we got to the parking lot, I had to go again. And so...I tell The Man that I have to pee. Again. "Well, you can't go right here," he says...

Except, I can. Because as coincidence would have it, I'd been carrying around one of my Christmas gifts from my cousin. A go-girl. A gift which, I might add, I have been totally excited to use since I got it. I had originally been planning to use it for my next concert because one time I went to a concert, I chose peeing in a cup, to getting in the bathroom line. Srsly.

But he wouldn't let me. Something about us only being 10 minutes from the house...blah blah blah...Why can't I just hold it...yakety smakety...I mean, I was even wearing a SKIRT for goodness sake! It would have been super-easy. I was all excited because it was the PERFECT TIME TO TRY IT OUT!

Mr. Spoil-All-My-Fun shoved me in the car, and made me hold it until I got home.

And on the way home, I told him that if I could have a penis for a day I would get head (because really? I need to understand why men act like they can't live without blowjobs AND why you can pretty much bring a man to his knees by getting on yours) and I would write my name on the ground. Heh.

Well. I'll never know know what it's like to get a blow job, but I did learn what it was like to pee standing up.

What? Did you REALLY think I wasn't going to use it anyways? I mean, it was the PRINCIPLE. Also, it's the best thing ever, and I called up my sister AND my cousin and told the whole world how awesome it was.

Please believe that I washed it and wrestled it back into it's carrying case this morning, and I'm putting it BACK in my purse. Because even though I am PLANNING to use this for the next concert venue with shitty bathrooms, I may have another PERFECT OPPORTUNITY...and I wouldn't want to be caught with my pants down, now would I?

So I'm a freak and NOT the good kind

My husband and I cook in different ways. I make a list of what I plan to make for dinner for 7 days. I will check the kitchen to see what I already HAVE, so that I know what to get. (I had to start doing that after I started buying insane amounts of tomato sauce because I kept forgetting that I had some). Add in crap for The Brat’s lunch, which she takes because HELLO? It’s cheaper, AND she can have what she likes – hot cheetos and pears, instead of scary cafeteria food, and shit for MY lunch and we’re done. That list of what’s for dinner? Is now on the ‘fridge so that I don’t forget – because my memory is THAT BAD y’all.

The Man? Will dig around in the kitchen and throw something together that is usually pretty good. Awesome, right? I come home and dinner is already cooked. Most wives would be all grateful and “wow the house bitch husband made me some dinner”. Not me. I’m slightly pissed because he just used my jar of sun dried tomatoes (don’t ask) in a dish that he just threw together and that I NEEDED to make some random recipe I found in a cookbook that I HAD to try. I’M ALSO GRATEFUL, but still. You know I was going to use them for something, said so right on the ‘fridge. And of allll the groceries that I bought, why would you pick the most completely random – never been purchased before item? DUDE. WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING MY STUFF?!

And that’s when I realized it. I never thought of myself as a control freak, but maybe I am.

Even though (I think) I am fairly laid back...I am a list maker, a picky eater (I can NOT eat a salad that I did not make myself. REALLY), I will re-write something because it doesn’t look the way I want it to look, I wrap my friend’s presents for her because O.M.G is she a horrible gift wrapper, and every time The Man makes dinner and uses something that I bought for something else, I want to junk punch him. WTF is wrong with me?

I’m a control freak. ::SIGH:: There, I said it.

I’m so used to doing it all; I don’t let anybody do anything. I will do all the cooking, all the cleaning, all the laundry (because did you REALLY just fold my towels like that?). Because I feel like if I don’t do it, it won't get done. Because my kids are lazy assholes who also incur my wrath if they do it wrong not my way, so they stopped doing it. Until now. I’ve started making The Brat accountable for stuff, like dishes – because I don’t want to do them anymore. And I talk mad shit to the house bitch husband when dinner is not ready when I get home from work.

As someone pointed out recently, I don’t HAVE to do everything. And I remember….I was all excited when The Man retired because that meant I’d have help, so I DON’T HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING. Anybody seeing a trend? Yeah, me too.

I’m trying. But its hard, so very hard (yeah yeah…. #thatswhatshesaid). But I guess I don’t have to be in control of the universe, as long as I can still be the Queen.

A Birthday Wish

This morning I had to come to work at 8AM. I am generally at work by 7-ish (I know! SO freakin’ early), but I decided to use that extra hour I could have slept in at the gym. After my not-quite-an-hour workout, I went home and got ready for work. USUALLY, as I’m walking out of the door, they’re just waking up. Because my normal routine was thrown off, I threw off everybody’s routine. The Man overslept, The Brat overslept, so he was trying to hustle her out the door for the bus.

Seems like a pretty normal-ish routine, right? It’s not though. It’s taken 20 years to get to a point where I’m waking up every night next to my husband. Because for the last 20 years, The Man has been an Active Duty Marine. What that means? It means he goes wherever the Marine Corps tells him to. Sometimes he’s home to eat cake & ice cream for one of the kids’ birthday, sometimes he’s just barely managed to squeeze in a 5 minute phone call before communication is shut down. There have been times when he was home so frequently that I WISHED he would go somewhere – anywhere, and times when I only wished he would come home. Yeah, the Marine Corps wife is a study in contradictions – we complain when they’re underfoot everyday and cry when they’re deployed.

He retired this year. So he’s home everyday now. He’s taken over getting The Brat off to school, and because he’s home, I decided to finish school, since somebody will be home with The Brat while I’m wasting away in class during the evenings. His military ID now says RETIRED. It’s different, but he is definitely getting used to not having to PT junior Marines at zero dark thirty (read: the ass crack of dawn). And I’m getting used to having him around to help with dinner. Plus, I get to call him my house bitch husband. I’m a real romantic.

As it happens, he DID manage to get her up & out on time. And before he did, I stopped him at the door, gave him a kiss and wished my Marine a Happy Birthday. 234 years old looks good on him.

Once a Marine, ALWAYS a Marine

Semper Fi

All these things that I have learned

#1. After years of hating the texture of my hair...I. LOVE. MY. HAIR.

(me. getting ready for the U2 concert.)

When I was younger (MUCH younger) I would be jealous of the girls who's hair was more fine (read: "good hair") because OMG is my hair thick and a big giant pain in the ass to maintain, and I couldn't just wet it and throw it into a ponytail, it required gel and maybe a clip and DEFINITELY a scarf. And please believe that I would throw down over somebody getting water in my hair if I hadn't planned to get wet because now my hair was all jacked up ESPECIALLY if I didn't have braids a perm a plan B.

Anyways. I don't feel like that anymore. As my hairdresser likes to say, there is no such thing as good/bad hair --only healthy and not healthy. And my healthy, thick hair? Is pretty hot.

#2 on the list of things that I've learned: If I'm going to indulge in my enjoyment in completely inappropriate movie material, I should leave The Man out of it. I thought that he was completely aware of my inner 14 year old boy when it comes to movie watching. But apparently, even *I* can go too far. This weekend I asked him if we could watch one of my blockbuster online flicks that I got. Team America: World Police (fuck yeah!) He gave me look like I had either impressed him OR that his opinion of me had lowered several notches. I'm still not sure which. And I don't think he is either.

#3. If I have a choice between doing anything and going to see my most favorite-ist band in the world...? I'm never, ever going choose the other thing. Last night I went to VH1 Storytellers with the Foo Fighters. It was the most fun EVAR. Today, I am exhausted, but still abuzz from last night. Also? Every time I see them in concert - which, to date has been 14 times - I fall in love some more.

#3.5. I'm a really lucky Lady to have a husband who puts up with my ridiculous fangirl-ness.

#4. If I'm gonna be PMSing...watching sad tear-jerker type movies. Is a bad idea. Because once the tears stop, they can't always be turned off.

On Year Seventeen

[Him & Me and baby makes 3, taken August 1992]


This picture was taken while I was vacationing in Hawaii 17 years ago. The boyfriend was stationed there and I had been dying to come visit. A couple of days later I would miss my flight back home, and let my THEN boyfriend/baby daddy talk me into getting married RIGHT NOW, instead of waiting for a big fancy wedding. Instead, He & I got married at Waimea Falls Park, with 2 people we randomly asked to tape our vows because the couple who were going to be our witnesses ended up having to go to the emergency room.


So it ended up being just me and him. Because the minister's husband took the boy off to look at the boats because he was pitching a major fit because he was hot and it was past his naptime and the screaming OMG the screaming...MOMMY-DADDY I JUST WANNA GO TO THE WATER...so off they went before I knocked him into next week with a bunch of strangers watching because I was getting ready to marry this 21 year old Marine who've I been *in love* with since I was 15 years old, and I was nervous and completely freaked out about the whole "til death do us part" thing, because holy hell is THAT a long time, and even though I was pretty sure I wanted to do it thats a pretty large commitment from somebody who couldn't even buy a drink.

Anyways, back to what I was saying. Being in love is a funny thing. People always say that when you are as young as I was, that you don't really *know* what love is. It feels like love to YOU, but maybe it was just the orgasms. 'Cause let's face it, when you're young and fairly innocent, that's probably the best feeling in the world. Sorry. Digressing again. I was a senior in High School when I got pregnant with The Boy. Not young enough to think I had to get married RIGHT NOW because I was too stupid to realize antibiotics + birth control pills + fucking like rabbits = pregnancy.



After I had The Boy, The Man & I had a falling out of sorts. But in the way of teenagers who just can't get enough of each other, we went from not speaking to friends again (although, I won't lie. I'm a bitch who can hold a mean grudge if I'm so inclined. And I was). It wasn't easy, but I kind of figured I was going to have to deal with him anyways because he had anytime access to The Boy since he was stationed in San Diego and only home for the weekends. But somewhere between the letters and phone calls -you know, to check on us- he fooled me with trickery (and frequent trips to Knotts Berry Farm for roller coaster riding and funnel cake) into falling back in love. And I was all starry-eyed and thinking of Happily Ever After...which, of course, it wasn't.


There were fights, Lawd.Have.Mercy...the fighting. There were deployments, and another kid...there was moving, tears, re-enlistments, late night talks, pancakes, hospital visits, and death. There was drinking, because you can't be a Marine wife if you can't drink. Tattoos, fighting over the remote control and water balloon fights. Field ops, tummy rubs and playing darts. And sometimes, there was just lying in bed holding hands falling asleep while watching TV.



I dunno. The love I had 17 years ago seems so pale in comparison to what we have now. Love that we've held on to, and fought for, and MADE last though everything that we've been through. It's the difference between the first time you have sex and the best sex you ever had. You know, that OMG, I'VE NEVER EVEN KNEW I COULD FEEL THIS WAY feeling. The same and TOTALLY different at the same time.



Maybe that's what it is. Different, because this is definitely not the puffy heart and rainbow love of a girl of 19. This love is solid and real (although there are SOME puffy hearts & rainbows...usually after sex, but sometimes when HE fixes breakfast and I get to sleep in). This love has kept us together through all kinds of bullshit, it's kept ME from murdering him in his sleep and probably kept him from punching me in the eye. I know. All this true love and romance is sickening.



I'm sure that we've done lots of things wrong in our relationship, but I guess since we ended up in the right place, I won't complain (much).




So. Happy Anniversary to Us.

Tainted Love

I’m sure in the beginning it was cute. He was so in love with you that he wanted to know where you are all the time, and you were so in love with him that you told him…because trust is the basis of any relationship. You didn’t have anything to hide, after all. He wanted to have babies with you. And you, so accustomed to men that hit you and kept you in fear, men that raped you and made you believe that this was how a husband was supposed to treat his wife… you were enamored of his insecurities, his neediness, his non-threatening behavior. This was the opposite of everything love had been for you.

Every couple has ups & downs, but yours were extreme as roller coaster rides. Clicking slowly to the top of extreme euphoria then hurtling warp speed into downward spirals of anger and confusion. Why can’t he love me the way I need to be loved? Why is he acting this way? What did I do wrong? And I have no answers for those kinds of questions.

He’s alternately told you that he loved you while doing things that mean the opposite. There are no sticks & stones, but words he uses to hurt you. He destroys your self esteem by telling you that you’ve gained so much weight that it’s hard to be attracted to you, and yet…sabotages any effort you make to lose weight. He says you’re always crowding his space, but stops talking to you for weeks at a time if you go out with the girls. Even after all of the ridiculousness he put you through, you want him to marry you, you INSIST that he marry you, and so he does.

It’s been so many years. You are still unhappy. His insecurities have increased, so much so that he is jealous of any time you spend away from home, even work. He hates all of your friends and sees us as competition for your time, when he's not hitting on them and pretending it's the alcohol. He’s done the unthinkable, and it almost destroyed you. And even now you sleep under the same roof, maybe even the same bed.

Even today, you say that even though a part of you hates him, you still love him. I don't know what you want me to tell you. I'm not going to tell you to go, and I'm not going to justify why you should stay.

I can't tell you who or how to love. I can only tell you that love to me, is comforting and loving, sexy and fun, safe and uncertain, even scary. Because you're trusting someone with your heart for safekeeping. It doesn't tear you down with words leaving you internally broken and bleeding, praying that he would just hit you already, so you can show somebody, anybody at all the scars that he is leaving behind, instead of pretending to be okay.

I imagine it's a little like watching a recreational drug user take the downhill slide into full blown, life destroying addiction. You know what this relationship is doing to you and still you remain...trembling, waiting for his affection. You ingest his apologies and get high breathing in the smoky stench from the latest "I'm Sorry"...Hoping this time he meant it, he WILL change. And that quick, the stars are back in your eyes until the newest betrayal.

I would call this behavior a lot of things: crazy, dysfunctional and more importantly delusional.

But I would never, ever call it love.

2nd Wives Club

In less than a week I will have a new mother-in-law.

I'm not really sure how I feel about that. Okay, well...that's not entirely true. I like Miss D. I've always liked her. She was an old friend of my husband's Mom, she went to their church, SHE was always nice to me even when the other ol' bitches would make snide remarks about me getting knocked up before me & The Man got married. She was at The Man's going away party for Boot Camp and every welcome back party (from Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan) I've had. And I've pretty much always thought she was awesome.

I remember when my MIL was in and out of the hospital and we were discussing all the church ladies (ahem. VULTURES) circling my FIL bringing food and offering a "sympathetic ear" (I guess that's what the old folks is calling it) and basically hoping they could ease their way into being Wife #2.

Hazy memories hazy memories FUNERAL more hazy memories......and then Miss D was there. I don't even know when they started dating. All I know is that in almost a year later, my FIL took Miss D to HIS Mom-In-Law's funeral (and all I could think was "the fuck? did he really bring a date to a funeral?!") Then he pulled me to the side and told me that he really liked Miss D a lot and he didn’t know what was next but he wanted to know if I was okay with it.

My response? If you’re happy, then I’m happy. And I’ve always kinda believed that older people –the 60 years and older set - get married quicker ‘cause they don’t wanna waste time (one foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peel, don’tcha know).

Fast forward to this past Sunday:
She had a bridal shower, which I was all, talk about last minute notice…but apparently she had MEANT to tell me earlier but it slipped her mind in the chaos that has been her life trying to prepare for her wedding (They’re called invitations, people. Send them). I was late, because I had a school project to attend (I swear school is taking over my freaking life).

I didn’t have time to go out & buy her a completely inappropriate gift, which I’m still gonna because that’s how I roll. AND I got there just in time for dinner. Heh. So, I’m sitting with Miss D and The Man’s aunties, and they’re discussing weddings.

Auntie #1: I didn’t care that my husband had a big wedding with his 1st wife, it was MY first wedding and I wanted a big white wedding.

Miss D: My first husband and I got married at a Justice of the Peace. When he found that out, he started planning a church wedding with the works and so, here we are.

And with that sentence I was REALLY okay with her marrying my FIL.

Not that I was ever NOT okay with it, just conflicted because I really did love my MIL very much…and even though she was gone I felt like it’s SO SOON and how could he already be with somebody else? Not that I expected him to live the rest of his life alone and lonely or anything, because I really didn’t.

And so, congratulations Pops and Grandma D. I love you both.

P.S. It should be noted that I fully expect for no one to compare in my husband’s eyes and for him to mourn my passing for the rest of his life, that is…if I don’t figure out a way to take him with me. Because really I’m a selfish bitch and if I can’t have him, nobody can.

P.P.S. You think crotch-less panties are an inappropriate bridal gift? Do you think I can get them in a pack of 3??

Who's down with OPP?

(That would be Other People's PROBLEMS...I'm a married woman, you know)

The man & I have a very close friendship with another couple. Of our group of friends, they have probably come the closest to having been married anywhere NEAR as long as we have. The Man and his friend have been friends since birth, their moms were preggers around the same time....you get the idea...

The wife? We hit it off immediately; it was like finding a long lost sister.

And then? Do you remember a little story about a girl that cried divorce? Well, this is her. Their relationship? Imploded. And I don’t mean in a we-had-an-argument-that-just-shows-its-time-to-move-on way. I mean, it was explosive. There was crying, and drama and cops*! (Oh my). Obviously I can’t tell allll her business but she doesn’t have a blog and I do and for a while there I thought that maybe if I didn't say something was going to explode and not in the wow-that-was-awesome-wake-me-in-20-minutes way (nudge nudge..wink wink. I'm such a dude sometimes) but as in there was gonna be bits & pieces of brain matter all over the walls because my head completely exploded from listening to the craziness that was somebody ELSE’S life.

The Man says Hey you! Don't get involved. It’s gonna get ugly.

Me: Nah, I'm not going to get involved. I'm just listening. (and listening, and listening...)

And then..Me: He did what?! (see what just happened there? I'll bet you can guess)

Instead of just listening, I got involved. Even though I said I wouldn't. And even though The Man claimed he wouldn't get mad if I got involved "because that's what girls do". He did.

I ended up getting mad at everybody. Mad at The Man’s BFF for being a jackass, mad at the long lost sis for being weak…mad at myself for taking this all personally, I’m even mad at The Man, mostly because while he wasn’t completely RIGHT about me getting involved, He wasn’t completely WRONG either. Because getting a little bit involved turned out to be like being a little bit pregnant. And lemme tell you, I have a 19 year old AND a 13 year old. I don’t even want to have a passing acquaintance with pregnant. I’ve raised all the kids that I plan to, and that includes grown people acting like 3 year olds.

And then after a couple of sleepless nights, I woke up, literally. THIS was not my fight. I can be sympathetic, I can be angry at the situation, I can listen… I cannot BE long lost sis. She’s going to have to be the one to put on her big girl panties and deal with it. I got my own issues to deal with, I sure as hell don't need hers.

As for my opinions, which, you know..are LEGION…?I’m going to keep them to myself. Because six months down the road, when the two of them are back in “love” , and she is no longer trying to play the divorce card (again), you know who’s going to be the bad guy? The friend that told her that her (in)significant other was not just an asshole, but quite possibly the WHOLE ASS. Not that I would ever SAY that. Heh. (but he is…really.)

*I think it’s a little weird that makes TWO times where there was police involvement, and I didn’t see it coming either time. I guess you never really know you’re gonna need the cops, until you do. On the other hand, nobody’s ever called the cops on ME, so I guess I can be grateful for that. Then again, third time's the charm. 

**Also, thank you for listening while I verbally vomited all over my blog. But, like when you hurl in real life (except for when you have like some horrible tummy virus and you just barf and barf and you feel like you're never gonna stop & you end up curled in a ball around the toilet hoping for death, sweet death), I feel loads better now that I got it all out. 

Next post, my Prince concert, and why he was awesome even though he didn't sing darling nikki.

Because all sense isn't good sense...

It's my own fault. Over at Tattooed Minivan Mom she was giving her hubby free reign to write a post and I thought it would be a cool idea to let The Man write a blog post over here. I forgot that 1. He likes to exaggerate 2. He can REALLY talk 3. He's an ass..LOL.
So, as your hair greys while reading this post, remember: He loves me, he's pretty good in bed and he pays most of the bills.

Introducing...my husband aka The Man better known as Mr. Fucking Funny Man.

So Ole Girl wants me to write something for her blog site. I told her I would do it, just because she thinks I can write some funny stuff. If there is an easy way out of something I will try it, so I suggested she use one of my stories from some of my adventures around the world, she shot me down saying “that I had to do something new”. I told her to give me a topic or some guidance on what she wanted to see, she sends me back a list of things, all talking about her. Wow, you want me to write out of the blue, but it has to be about you. I gotta sit here and type for who knows how long, but you need to be the subject. Well since I am doing all the typing, I will write about what I want.

This is just a few of my favorite people, places and things.

Ole Girl: She is in my list of favorite people and tops the list of people I want to do…

My little people: When you see them in action, you wonder where they get their brains and talent from. Not from me I know that. They know math, I don’t. I know when I go to the atm and it says your broke, I figure somewhere in my spending, I forgot to carry the 1 over and move the decimal point.


My Mom: If time could be bought back, I would be flat broke. There is no amount that I would not spend to bring my mom back….

My Dad: Yup he is in my list of my favorites. When you think of role models and super heroes, he is both of those wrapped up into one. Wisdom, Strength, Compassion, Faith, Trust and so much more. I remember growing up, I would do something stupid and my dad would lecture me for hours about it. One day he talked so long, I saw the sun go down and the street lights come on. I was like “dang, now would be a good time for a run away car to come and hit me, at least he would change the subject”.


My Sis and Bro: Now when I say that none of us are alike in anyway, it’s the truth in all ways. Not saying anything bad.

Bacon: if you are a vegetarian, your missing out on one of God’s greatest gifts to man.


Spam: If someone told me that I had to choose between Spam and Bacon and I could only have the one that I chose, for the rest of my life and could not change. I would ask that person if anyone else knew that we were having this conversation and if they would follow me out to this little cabin that I have in the desert. That person would never be heard from again. Those are my 2 favorite meats. Some folks like a nice big juicy steak, not me.

Sports: What would I do if there were not sports to watch? I would be broke, because I would have at least 18 kids. All I would do is bang Ole Girl day and night and have her think she was making doughnuts, the way they would be rolling out of her.

Papas and Beer: Holy Shit, they have a place that you can go and start clubbing at 9 am. When I say I thought I had made it to Mecca (that was before I drove up to the Spam museum in Minneapolis, that was my Mecca (I really like Spam)), I knew I had made it to the promise land. A cool place to party, and we opened up a tab.. By 11am this place is Asshole to Elbows packed. The sun had not burned off all the morning dew, but the club was jumping and drinks were being served. We drank from 9am – 5 pm for $90.00. Ole Girl will testify, that we don’t drink lightly and I don’t mind buying a group of folks a round of drinks. I bought a lot of rounds of drinks and for a lot of folks and we all had the best time ever.

Ole Girl wants me to keep this short so, those are a few things that made my favorites list. Hope you enjoyed reading…

All I want for Christmas

So The Man called me the other day to ask what I wanted for Christmas. My response? Nothin’. NOTHING? Nothin’.

Which is true. I’ve asked for a Wii Fit, and a bracelet from Tiffany's. But not for Christmas. I asked for the Wii Fit because, well...I want one. The bracelet from Tiffany’s? I ask every year for my birthday present. So far, not yet. But I keep hope alive. After all, he completely surprised me 2 years ago with a brand new car (He surprised me by having my friends take me out drinking and when I went back to my car found a NEW ONE in my parking space. He also scared the sober into me, because I thought my car had been STOLEN), so there’s still a chance. Although probably not until my car is paid off…

Every year, we go a little crazy buying gifts for everybody we know, whether or not we can afford it. This year, I put my foot down. We pulled names this year at Thanksgiving dinner, so that we all had to buy ONE gift an adult, and then we can buy for the kiddies only. I did the Yankee Swap with my girl friends. I baked cookies for co-workers.


Not those two. Those 2, I gave to The Man. He likes head. What can I say?

This year, he’s already given me everything I asked for: He’s fixed my bike, so that I can go riding;He drove all the way to the hospital to get my prescription when I realized the MD did NOT give me strong enough drugs after surgery on my ankle, 25 miles away AT 5 PM IN rush hour traffic; He pumped me full of vicodin held my hand when I had a slight melt-down because I was absolutely positive I was going to die if I couldn’t get my cast off RIGHT.NOW. And, he buys me cookies (you know, those sugar cookies and have icing & sprinkles.? Yum).

I can’t think of anything that I want to see under the tree for me, so, I told him that I already got what I wanted. I’m relatively easy to please (obviously), and he knows this. Still he says, I can’t get you NOTHING for Christmas. Sure you can, I say. I don’t want anything. Except maybe some sex. I know... How about you put your dick in a box?

Anyways, I hope your Christmases are filled with the kinds of gifts that keep giving all year through. Have a Happy!

The Girl Who Cried...Divorce.

A few years ago, The Man and I were having some differences of opinions. I thought he was an asshole, he didn't. Anyways, his suggestion was separation. In my own "all-or-nothing" way, I told him kiss my ass No thank you. We are either married or divorced. I don't believe in halfway, so if you'd like I can divorce you. That is, the ONLY time he ever brought it up. In fact, he began to straighten up & fly right not too long after that conversation. And we lived happily ever after. Okay, umm... mostly happily? I don't hate his guts right now? Let's just say we worked it out.



That being said, I didn't play the big D card lightly. When I said it, I had already STARTED looking for an attorney, because really? I was already halfway out the door. After I played my trump card, we BOTH made the decision to make it work. Although, the changes were mostly on his side, since, you know...he was the asshole person in the wrong. My point is, divorce is serious business, it's not a threat you use like you'd say "I'm going to count to three and then I'm going to come over there and..."...then you count to 2, like THIRTY fucking times, when really you should've just counted to 3 and then went over there like you threatened. Either do it, or don't. Either shit, or get off the pot, as my Mom would say.

ANYHOOTERS, I have this friend (no really, I have friends)...she uhhh...counts to 2. A lot. She's a pretty dramatic lady. And while I don't necessarily have a problem with being dramatic (heh), I DO have a problem with people who don't follow through. And more importantly, I hate having to LISTEN while you don't do it.

Her: I've had enough of this, I told him I want a divorce. If he thinks I'm going to put up this, blah blah blah...
Me: Well, I'll stand by you, whatever you decision you make. I am CERTAINLY not the person to tell you to stay or go, no marriage is perfect, ESPECIALLY not mine, yakity smackity...
Her: He said he's sorry, going to change, he brought me flowers, blah blah blah...
Me: I'm happy for you. I hope he means it, I guess this means I don't have to hate his guts...yada yada yada

I am genuinely happy for her. I'm a "you like it, I love it" kind of girl. Especially, if we're talking about relationships. I don't have to sleep with him at night, so who am I to tell you? He may do something REALLY cool with his tongue or something. Whatev.

And then about a year later:
Her: Divorce!
Me: Here to help!
Her: He's sorry!
Me: Ok!

At this point, I tell her that in my humble opinion, you shouldn't say the D-word unless you really, REALLY mean it. Think of it like a gun. If you pull it out, you better be ready to use it. (Yep, that's what she said).

8 months later:
Her: Divorce!
Me: Sure you are...
Her: He's sorry!
Me: I'm sure.


At this point, concerned for both HER sanity and mine, I (and other friends) talk to her about therapy. Perhaps she should get some. So what if he won't go, at least then you will have a different perspective and maybe even learn how to cope with your relationship issues. I've learned in my short life that changing how YOU deal with situations can change how other people react as well. More importantly, I am totally not equipped to deal with this sort of thing. I'm your friend and feel that asshole behavior by husbands should be corrected by being buried alive in the desert on the way to Las Vegas, thus giving you an alibi AND a place to celebrate your newly single status. (Yes, I am totally THAT FRIEND).

She goes for a little bit. Some people can't do therapy. I get it. And then:
Her: Divorce!
Me: Really?
Her: No....not really.
Me: Well. Okay then.

So now, I'm trying not to pull out my hair. I tell her the D-word looses it's scary, get-your-shit-together-or-else power if you pull it out every time you fight. If you say it, you need to mean it. Because, right now, NOBODY believes you mean it. Most especially HIM. Her response: this time he knows I mean it.

So this week, you'll never guess what happened. Or can you?

Me: Sure you are.

Her: REALLY.

Me: REALLY?

Her. Yes.

I'm skeptical. But I'm there for a friend in her time of need. We talk...mostly I listen, because I have no opinion --your relationship, your decision. Okay, well, I HAVE an opinion, I'm just going to keep it to myself. And as I'm listening, she is convincing me that this time she really DOES mean it. And then she says...

I have to make a big statement, so that he knows I really mean business this time.

Dammit! Did I just hear somebody counting in the background?

We've won the war...

And I'm ready for the stinkin' battle. Yep, it's time. Tomorrow is the USC/UCLA game. Every year The Man and I host a tailgate party. Because we're crazy like that. AND, we decided long ago that the easiest way for neither of us to be among the enemy is to have everyone c'mon down and watch UCLA get ANOTHER SPANKING the game, tailgate style.

I've got my Reggie Bush jersey, and my trash talk...the husband has his UCLA crap. (boo...). The beer fridge will be stocked (YES, I really DO have a beer fridge. For just such occasions) and the girl fridge will be filled up fruity beverages that are yummy and alcoholic. Soda & water for the kids AND one of those jumpers, so they will stay out of the way while mommy & daddy cheer for their teams. Hamburgers & hot dogs all around. I know. I'm an AWESOME Mom.

I'm keeping this post short because:

1. I'm tired. So tired in fact, that my boss sent me home because I must look like shit. Which is not all that surprising because I feel like it too (see letter A)

2. I need to clean up, a little bit. Let's face it, how much dust are a bunch of guys focused on football going to notice? Right. But the girlfriend's and wives? Will definitely notice the crap currently covering my coffee table.

3. Those jello shots aren't going to make themselves.

So. Have a good weekend, and if you're a UCLA fan eat crap and die , we can all get along as long as you guys lose. Please ignore any drunk twittering, I'm sure I'll post pictures Monday, and I'm totally willing to take the heat if my team doesn't pull through.

Fight.On.

How I spend my weekends, The Military Edition

Oh yes, it was THAT time again. The MARINE CORPS BALL WEEKEND. All caps, Good Times. It was bittersweet, it was The Man’s last ball as an enlisted Marine. I can never say, “as a Marine”; because once a Marine, ALWAYS a Marine. He retires next spring after 20 years, and I have no idea what I’m going to do with him underfoot am happy that there will be no more deployments.

But I digress. The ball was at the Stateline this year, that’s Stateline, NEVADA. As in, the very minute you hit the Nevada border you can pull over and loose your ass at the tables or on a one-armed bandit. AND, if you are not a gambler, you can always throw your money away here:

Mmm Hmm.. Have mercy. Outlet shopping. A beautiful, BEAUTIFUL Coach Store, and a SHOE heaven - where you can buy Carlos Santana shoes for $40. (and how hurt were my feelings that my foot is STILL *$#&@ing swollen, I didn’t want to buy shoes because I couldn't wear them out of the store?? Very)

And then there was the whole reason that I went out to begin with*

* Although I make light of the fact that we celebrate the Marine Corps Birthday in such a lighthearted way**, it is an honor to be invited, and INCLUDED in such a ceremony. And every year I'm reminded of that as I watch them celebrate their own; from the oldest (at our ball - born 1953) to the youngest (born 1990. Holy SHIT! The Boy is only 2 weeks older than this MARINE.). To those that didn't make it home:

** Me: Holy crap, did you see the SIZE of that thing? (I was talking about the cake)

The Man: That's what she said.

And this is why I love him

I have to say it. The Man is a good sport.

The set up:
I chose to be comfortable this Halloween. I'm still crippled a little bit, and so I went for comfort with a little cute thrown in. So khaki shirt/pants and some boots. After all, I'm a girl on safari... not a skank on vacation. So I get ready to go to the 1st of a couple of parties that day, and while he's in the shower, I put his costume on the bed.

He goes in the bedroom, and I hear...silence. Nothing. No screaming, wailing or gnashing of teeth. I go in to make sure he hadn't spontaneously combusted from shock, he says, " I didn't ask for one pocket, I asked for two."

Nope, what you said was "I don't care if I go as one big pocket, as long as I have somewhere to put my stuff." So here you go sweetie. Plenty of room for your stuff. I do believe that's the last thing I said before I started laughing so hard, that I had to go back and re-apply my eyeliner.

What's not to love about a man willing to dress up as a kangaroo for you?*


*And by the way baby...can you hold my lipstick and the camera AND some extra batteries? I don't want to carry my purse. Do you have any room in your POCKET?

Bonus pic of me & the girls at the end of the night. Good Times.





And yes. There WAS a Mr. Incredible. LOL.

A tale of two costumes

Well, I've been hemming and hawing about Halloween time and now it's almost here. What are we gonna be for Halloween, dude? Wouldn't be such a big deal, but a friend of his throws a party every year, and now that we're local, we make it a point to attend. He does not know. But, in the way of The Man, who tries to avoid shopping whenever possible...he says whatever I choose is fine with him. What if I put you in a dress? Whatever, he says. I'm not shopping, so I can't be mad at whatever costume YOU pick. And can you just picture where I'm going with this? It's become like a game.

2 years ago...

Except I didn't look as slutty because I'm short AND I couldn't find red sequined shoes..Mmm hmm..that's the ONLY reason. Oh, did I have a good laugh at his expense that year. Mr. I'm-using-a-string-as-a-belt. Hee.

I figured that the next time I asked for his input he will be QUICK to have an opinion. I figured wrong...

Last year...

He DIDN'T have an opinion. I asked him, I did. But when he wouldn't give me a straight answer...well, I picked something cute for me and got him the matching outfit. AND, I sprung it on him the day of the Halloween Party. I am the greatest wife ever, and please don't forget it.

In my defense, MY costume did not come with a wig, just a cute bonnet...so HOW was I to know that his would come complete with sailor hat and ribbon hair? I wasn't. Can I tell you I just about peed my shorts (that I DID wear underneath that teeny skirt...I'm a grown woman, you do NOT want to see what's up there when the wind kicks up) when he put the whole get up on? He either loves me, or is plotting very serious revenge.

After this costume, The Man got a little hostile because his costume did not have...pockets. Nevermind that I take him out in public looking completely ridiculous, his big beef is he has nowhere to store his wallet. I mean, it's not like I'm not carrying a PURSE or anything like that. No, he wants to carry his own shit, and not come to me for money, or his keys, or cigarettes.

So. We can go as cowboys & indian. Cowboys wear jeans and those have POCKETS. No? Really. Okay..how about baseball players? Umm..nooo. Now I'M starting to get irritated. Well what the hell do you want to be?! A freakin' GLADIATOR?! Hell, nah. That does NOT have pockets. And that toga gets COLD. Fine. We're walking through Target (aka "the mugger") and I see a chicken costume...How about that one? It does TOO have pockets. No. Okay.

I've asked you a baJILLION times what the hell you want to wear as a costume, you've been difficult - I'm sure on purpose, just to drive me batshit. Well, it worked, unfortunately for you. Say hello to your costume:

It's got one BIG GIANT pocket. RIGHT. IN. FRONT.

You will not only be able to put the car keys in there, you could probably put the WHOLE DAMN CAR. Or maybe we can forgo the car altogether, and you can hop me on over to the party in your big fucking pocket?

I really hope that since he was so adamant about his costume having pockets, he appreciates my wifely spite wish to give The Man what he asked for.

Do you think next year, I'll STILL be allowed to pick out the costumes? How do you top a KANGAROO?

An update

So...The Man got released this evening. He's tired, and hungry. Which IS a good thing, because that means that he's feeling better.

I thank you for all of your well wishes from the Internet. HE thanks all of the well wishers. Then he says, "How much do they know about me...?" I told him that I would stop posting his naked pictures..if he insists.

...Sometimes, I think he doesn't have a sense of humor...