'Til Death, Dammit.

I don't know why they're so tired.  I sleep fine, as long as someone nurses me constantly after dark and puts my binky back in my mouth after each of the 8,000 times I spit it out at night.

Making up from a sleep-deprivation-induced marital skirmish last week, this exchange took place as we read our respective books (his on statistics, mine on hiking - neither of which we practice) and attempted to make up (MULTITASKING!) before going to sleep.

SLB:  (grudgingly) I love you, you know.
Me:  (pain in the assishily)  Say it all romantic.  Say it like Shakespeare.
SLB:  (ghoulishly) WOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOOO!   I looooooove YOOOOOUUUUUUU...

At which point we both laughed, because Shakespeare is dead and the only way he can say anything, even romantic stuff, is like a ghost.  Ha!  Silly dead ghost bard making us stop hating each other!

And that, my friends, is why I can't stay mad at this face for long.

"I'm sorry for all the times I was always wrong and you never, ever were wrong.  Never.  Not once.  Have some flowers"

Community Property Is A Cruel Mistress

Because SLB can't divorce me without losing a lot of money, I'll be buying this dress for Olivia immediately.

I will, of course, be getting a matching shirt for myself.  And SLB?  Well, there's a bottle of bourbon with his name on it, provided that he's changed his name to "Mark."

We Took The Long Way

Last Tuesday was SLB's and my 8th wedding anniversary.  He surprised me with tickets to tonight's Rhett Miller show at the Triple Door, where we were certain to hear our wedding song, "Question."  You know, just like you're certain to hear it now.



Happy belated anniversary, SLB.  I'd say O.K. all over again every day, all the time, forever.

Buy Me That: Bug on a Bike!

I'm not even joking.  If one of you freeloading blog-enjoyers doesn't buy me this to hang in our new downstairs powder room, WE'RE THROUGH.

GET ON YOUR TRIKE AND RIDE!

SLB is out of town, but I can already imagine the conversation we're going to have if one of you doesn't pony up and mail this to me immediately.  It goes a little something like this:

Me:  Hey, look at this bug on a trike!  I love him!  What do you think about me getting it for the powder room downstairs?

SLB:  It's weird.  I don't want a bug on my wall.

Me:  Tough titties, Meal Ticket!  I'm buying me that bug!

SLB:  I'll be having bourbon with my oatmeal this morning.

End scene.

Get your - er, I mean MY - new bug friend here!

Love, Like Justice, Is Blind

I have a type.  I was thinking of this in terms of some tabloid TV show's promised countdown of the hottest guys of the past decade, which prompted me to consider my own list.  This is what I came up with.

1.  Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson

The more shirtless (less shirted?), the better.

2.  Naveen Andrews

Slightly too much shirt.

3.  Jimmy Smits

Criminally over-shirted.

4.  Javier Bardem

Charmingly shirtless, and now with 25% more erection!

All are barrel-chested caramel-hued men.  All are the exact opposite of the man I married, who looks more like this than any other celebrity I can imagine:

Flowers?  For me?  Oh, SLB, you shouldn't have!

When asked if he wanted to be represented by Teenwolf or Alex P. Keaton, SLB requested Doc Hollywood.  Noted and delivered, my love.

Fate, she is a cruel mistress.  But then so am I, so I suppose we'll call it no harm, no foul.

Love That Man

Tonight in our PEPS group we had as a guest speaker a woman who specialized in infant movement and development.  Her props, which were all awesome, included a gym mat for the babies to wiggle around on, shiny streamers for the babies to play with, a large lycra sheet for swinging the babies hammock-style, and two large sacks of dodgeballs on which to roll the babies around.

SLB, my mate and true love, in a flat monotone with a perfect deadpan expression said in the general hubbub of conversation "That's a lot of balls."  Of course I couldn't look at him, or else I'd have laughed, which was his exact intention.

Oh, sweet SLB, you were truly made for me.  And I, having written "two large sacks" earlier, was clearly made for you.

Our married hands on Parisian beers.  Le sigh...