Ok, so I tried to play it cool. Girls aren’t supposed to call boys. That’s what my parents said when I was 11 and I had a crush on the boy around the block. I was supposed to wait for his call, and I did, and he kissed me, so it stuck! When I give my friends advice, I always say “make him come to you.” So why was I sitting around for nearly 8 days, completely devastated, wondering what did I do?
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My husband just confessed that he makes me mad on purpose. He said he likes it when I get all feisty. He thinks it makes for some mean make-up sex. There’s only one problem with his confession…
When he pisses me off, there’s no way in hell I’m headed to bed to rip off my clothes! This is not a B-rated movie where there lovers get into a heated quarrel that leads to a mad-passionate-make-out session.
I’m not saying he has to bring wine and roses every time he wants to get lucky, but shutting his mouth about how much laundry is left to do might be a good idea. Putting me on the defense leads to only one thing– Bitch-mode!
Maybe I should just greet him in Bitch-mode from now on so he won’t feel the need to egg me towards it. He could walk in the door, I could call him a jack-ass, and we could straight-up get naked on the living room floor…
What do you think?
So the hubby has always had a girl following. He’s cute, he’s funny, he’s hyper, he’s outgoing. The girls love him. They Facebook him. They text him, They call him. They need their cars fixed and their kids chased and I think truly they just want to laugh, and he’s a big goober, so he makes them laugh. I am not bothered by that. My years of being the jealous type ended long ago. Hell, I’m the one with an arsenal of boy toys- the Cable Guy, the Pawn Star, the Coach, the Boyfriend, the Professor… so what kind of hypocrite would I be if I had a cow every time he said “hey sexy lady”?
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I don’t really know how to be a bad girl. The “boyfriend” says I shouldn’t live my life without being bad at least once, but that cracked me up considering the fact that seeing me had his hands shaking like a vibrator. I’m not gonna lie, I have wondered a thousand times if I shouldn’t just throw morals out the window to make room for my fantasies instead.
Despite his many years of being a bad boy, I guess he grew up to be a class act. He’s seen me twice in recent months and both times he kept his pants on. He didn’t even try to kiss me. I thought for sure he’d try to kiss me, but he has all these morals, and I guess he couldn’t bring himself to kiss me, because, as he put it, I belong to someone else. But he did buy me a case of beer! Continue reading
So I haven’t blogged much the past few weeks. It’s been busy around here. Busy falling in love! With, of all people, MY HUSBAND!
My teenage daughter finally ditched her loser boyfriend. This boy has kept me up late at night for weeks at a time wondering when he is going to disappear. I just couldn’t stand watching my gorgeous daughter settle for this total douche bag, and no, I’m not exaggerating.
This guy doesn’t have a car, he always rides in hers. Okay, fine, not every kid can get a car. But has he ever once paid for the gas in that car? Then a few months ago my overachiever who happens to be the busiest girl I’ve ever seen decided she needed a job too. On top of school and the hundred other things she was involved in she started waiting tables. I couldn’t understand her need for more money. We pay her for taking her little brother to school, and we pay her to clean house- not a fortune, but enough for a kid her age to have pocket-money all week. Then I figured it out. The only time the douche was calling her is when he was hungry. So off she’d go to take him to McDonalds or Taco Bell and he couldn’t even come watch a movie with her. Continue reading
Dear Man of mine,
It has come to my attention that you are in need of a little advice. Apparently, you don’t understand the art of pacing yourself. I can see clearly why you ended up burnt out. You started too soon and did too much. At fourteen you were too old for Little League but you spent all your time trying to get on first base anyway. You begged, pleaded, and offered up teddy bears holding stuffed hearts for the chance to actually touch a little cleavage. Meanwhile, my daddy was telling me to steer clear of first base, to stay off the field all together, so you really had to work for it back then.
Then sixteen came along and we got cars, and you spent all your energy trying to get me in the back seat. You got a job after school bagging groceries and loading feed into pick-up trucks just so you could afford dinner, a movie, and since I was so boobaliscious I even got little gifts from the mall like the little silver necklace dangling a heart I wore for so long thinking it meant you loved me. Don’t worry, I don’t expect an apology. I know now that it wasn’t really love, you just wanted to bury your face between the twin peaks. It’s okay, I can appreciate your admiration for the girls. I’m not saying you were wrong to love them, I’m just saying you spent way too much time and energy trying to see them. You should have relaxed a little bit, enjoyed our time together more. Continue reading
As I sat on my bed crying the other day, my mind drifted into some imaginary place. Damn you Mister Rogers. Thanks to you I ride the trolley to world of make-believe all too often. This time I was pretending I had a place of my own to escape to.
Sometimes I wish I had my very own apartment. There wouldn’t be much in it. My real life is cluttered with knick knacks that preserve all my precious memories. But this fantasy apartment would just have the essentials. The lamps would be there for lighting, instead of because they had been handed down for 40 years. The linens would be perfectly coordinated high thread count delights. There would be one photo album, with only the best snapshots of the moments I most long to go back to instead of 47 scrapbooks falling off the shelf. Continue reading
It’s no secret that I’ve been pretty vocal with the hubby about spicing up the bedroom boredom that has sunk in. Part of the problem here is that he set the bar so very high in our early years. I remember living in our first apartment, furnished in everyone else’s toss outs… It was nothing for us to shake the sheets 3 or 4 times a day. The old lady who lived underneath us once told me she knew exactly when he got home every night! But its not the quantity I miss nearly as much as it is the quality.
I used to think it was ironic that I called my hubby the energizer bunny only to find out his ex-wife had given him the same nickname. Now, let’s just say he could use some fresh batteries because he no longer keeps going and going and going… Continue reading
So I have a new favorite blog, it’s from a PUA. (That’s pick-up artist for those of us who didn’t realize there is a community dedicated to this shiznit!) First of all, this guy spends a fortune clubbing! He could feed my kids for a week in what he spends on a night out. But what really got my attention was the conversation going on in the comments. They were talking about those girls who just use guys to get a few drinks.
Uh-oh, I have been that girl! There’s no shame in my game. I can remember before I was even old enough to drink I was able to get into this little bar in town. I must’ve been about 19, 20 years old. I would go there on Friday nights and sit next to this one old man. Shame on me, I can’t remember his name. I’d walk up and flash him the biggest smile. Then I’d talk about all the things I’d been doing at work, throw in how I needed some extra money to get my car fixed. He’d steady order me drinks. We’d talk, and I’d be sure to do my best Marilyn Monroe sultry-eyed impression. I appear to be hanging on his every word. Sometimes he’d peel out a few extra twenties and tuck them in my pocket. Gas money!
Here’s the thing every girl knows, or should know. All you gotta do is lean in a little. Stare deeply into his eyes. Smile. Laugh. Brush your hair out of your eyes and let it fall right back and there you’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker. You don’t have to be a supermodel, just pass out a few ego strokes and he’ll be wrapped around your finger. This was my Friday night magic for months. I’d go in that bar around 8 or 9, and by 11 he’d been giving me directions to his apartment, so I could come by and say hello to him sometime that next week. He always offered to pay me some extra money if I’d do the dishes or run the vacuum. I kind of got the feeling he was hoping I would sit on his lap and call him Daddy. Unfortunately I kept losing those darned directions. I don’t know how that happened?? Continue reading
Constant Confessions 
