ok, first of all, i can’t be held responsible for the title of today’s post. last night when i was going to bed, i came up with it and thought it was brilliant. and no, i wasn’t drunk OR on drugs. i can’t explain it, but for some reason i thought this was the most clever title ever. EVER.
i wanted to get up and at least write it down, but my body wouldn’t follow. i was insanely exhausted. so as i drifted off to sleep, i repeated the title over a hundred times in my mind so that i wouldn’t forget it in the morning. when i woke up, i reached in my memory bank in search of the “greatest title ever” and this is what my brain spit out.
so, “greatest title ever?” no. not feeling it. i’m not even sure what it means. but i felt it necessary to post it anyway since my brain worked so hard to keep it in queue. i think there’s something wrong with me. i know i say that a lot, but i’m serious this time. is this a new development? probably not. maybe i was hungry for chicken nuggets when i went to bed?
moving on. i know many of you have been wondering where i’ve been (mostly because of the oodles of harassing emails that all begin with WTF?) and i’ll tell ya–i’ve been busy. you know tommy and i escaped for an anniversary weekend sans the kids. i learned a lot on the trip. i learned that i really like tommy. i learned that away from the kids we have fun, we get along, and i enjoy his company immensely. (shocking, i know) even when we’re by ourselves his farts aren’t nearly as noxious–and his shuffling feet, his slurping and gulping and his obsessive throat clearing don’t have me plotting his untimely and accidental (wink, wink) death. the common denominator in all these scenarios? the kids. or rather, lack of kids. it seems that having the kids around and my noticing that i do most all the work has me resenting him–and therefore not appreciating all his little quirks/eccentricities/annoying habits. (we’ve only been home one day and my left eye has already begun twitching uncontrollably–the feet shuffling has GOT to stop!) when it was just the two of us it was easy to let go the fact that when the clock strikes a certain hour, his ability to function (other than his thumb fashioned on the channel up and down button on the remote control) turns to something that would make a coma patient appear mobile. in fact, it was downright adorable.
but we’re not alone at the beach anymore. and no, his letting me know how tired he is from his long day of returning emails and talking on the phone doesn’t make me feel sorry for him. it makes me want to run over him with my car. on accident, of course.
god love him. i just think it’s a man thing. and if you’re one of those lucky few who has a helpful husband, do not comment here. no one wants to hear how great he is with the kids or how he does most of the work–or even some of the work. odds are you’re lying because such a man doesn’t exist. well, except that i personally know two. and one of them is my little brother. he makes all other dads look bad. i mean REALLY bad. when i’m around him and i see how he is with my nephew it makes me want to punch tommy in the face–just once, really hard. i think i would feel so much better if i could do that.
but wait. i meant for this post to be about how much i appreciate tommy and how much fun we had on our trip. oops, i guess i got off on a little tangent there. so as i was saying, tommy’s awesome and we had fun. there. i said it.
on saturday i got a pedicure from this spa down the street from our house. i’d never been there and wanted to try it out. the actual pedicure was just so-so (actually it sucked–it was the worst pedicure ever) but what i enjoyed was the girl who *performed* the service. she told the most fascinating, heart breaking story i’d ever heard. i think i’m even going to write about it. it’s a sad story–probably the saddest, jaw dropping tale of a young woman’s life EVER on the planet, but somehow also a testament to the tenacity of the human spirit. the problem with me writing her story is that normally i write funny. and this ain’t no funny story. so if i do it, i may have to inject humor–like maybe the story takes place in a town where nobody wears pants. pants are not worn because zippers and elastic waistbands have been outlawed or haven’t been invented yet. it’s rough–definitely a work in progress, but you get the point. it’s a fucking sad story and it needs fart jokes or vagina talk. i’ll let you know what i decide. i may scrap the whole idea and just tell you the story here. one thing is for sure– i’ll never forget cindy as long as i live. i’ve thought about her every day since i met her.
and that’s about all i got for now. oh, there’s more don’t you worry. but i have to go. my real life is calling.
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