Monday, August 27, 2012

I Scream for Ice Cream

"You know those Drumsticks you like? The all chocolate ice cream ones? Well they had one box left at the store. No, I didn't get them because you said you wanted to eat good this week and oh my GAWD I'm sorry! Don't cry! I was joking! There's a box in the freezer! I couldn't do that to you! Oh baby, I'm sorry! I got you your ice cream!" Me, trying to be funny but instead reducing my large hunk of a husband into a near-blubbery mess over ice cream treats.
I'm a bad wife. :)

Sunday, August 26, 2012

For Whom the Bell Tolls

I'm trying to get my sister to make a Taco Bell run with me a la 2003. She would come in from Virginia around 11pm and then call me to come pick her up at Mom's house and driver her to Taco Bell. We were not seeking food. We were not seeking hot sauce. We just missed each other and our reason for "needing" to go out could easily be explained, as per the norm, with tacos.
But now that she lives a mere two Minutes away from me pulling her crack from the cracks of her couch is not unlike trying to get the nut meat out of a stubborn walnut.
She'll feign tiredness.
A headache.
A missed text.
But sooner or later, she will succumb to me, my persistence for nostalgia and the thrilling thrall of The Bell.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Dirty Thirty

I found an old notebook today in which I penned a paragraph that predated my arrival into my "Dirty Thirties":

At the age of sixteen we are given the ability to drive, to operate heavy machinery. Two years later, at eighteen, we can die for our country or vote or even be convicted of adult crimes like Murder and Tax Evasion. At twenty-one we can drink.
A lot.
But as thirty looms before me and I enter another age box on most surveys, I'm in a time of my life when my eggs are numbered, my career is settled and my love for all things Harry Potter is readily apparent I find that I am --- scared shitless.

Note: a year later I was pregnant, jobless, and scared even MORE shitless. Hahahah!

Thursday, August 9, 2012

High School Musical

I watch "Glee."
A lot.
I can't help it. It's high school.
It's musical.
But it's NOT High School Musical.

And I can't help but think that High School would have been so much better with a musical soundtrack. I know that I could've aced any math quiz with the theme from "Rocky" being sung behind me by a Santana of WV. I could've nailed the auditions for Drama club if I could've tossed in some notes by Queen. And how much better would any dance have been if someone would have choreographed a few routines in there?

I really think that any situation, in life or on tv, can be made that much better with the addition of Jazz Hands. :)

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Boredom Washes Over..

I'm watching my husband wash his car and, yes, that is as boring as it sounds.
Oh- now he has out some weird squeegee thing going over it in quick, squeaky, motions. It's like slightly-buffered nails down a chalkboard.

My child stands a few feet away slowly and meticulously dumping out all of the water in his Pirate Sea Table. A scoop goes on to the deck, one for his homies, one on his toes and the last on his forehead where he then sputters and looks around for the culprit who just attacked him from an unseen location


Now the hubs has out a large cloth and is carefully rubbing the Caddy as if she is Slave Leia and he is Han Solo there to soothe the pains of the past/grit from the past's journeys.

His buttcrack, on view for the entire neighborhood to see, cements his uncaring attitude about what others think of the forbidden love between him and his vehicle. Surely breaking a few covenants with his machismo so much on display he gyrates and shimmies to reach every nook and cranny.

Some cars have all the luck.