February 25, 2011
So The Hub was gone almost the entire month of February. That’s a long time. He came back for a few days last week and then left again. For those few days he was back I felt like a Super Model. Or a steak. Or a cold beer on a hot day. Things like that. He was staring at me a lot. Following me around a lot. Touching my butt a lot. And then The Boy got sick. And then The Hub left. Again. And you all know what happened next because I bitched about it all week. Thankfully The Universe finally took pity on me and The Boy went back to school on Wednesday. I. Was. Happy. I missed Pilates. I missed my time alone. I missed going out in public.
Four days alone…totally alone….with ANYONE is a lot of days. The difficulty is amplified when the person you are alone with wants you to wait on them hand and foot and touch their booger rags and rub their feet. There are lots of people in this world that I like. Really, really like. But even after 4 days I would be sick of most of them. I think that the only way 4 straight days alone is do-able is if (a) alcohol is involved, and (b) you are the opposite sex, attracted to each other, and nude.
Anyway, this post is just a weekly wrap up of totally random crap that I am too burned out to expand into multiple posts. Key word: Random. And I’m writing it super-fast while I make dinner. And I’m not even gonna proof-read it. So it’s probably gonna suck pretty hard. Anyway….
When The Hub was gone for the first 10 days, I’m pretty sure there was a ghost in my house. Like, 99% sure. I heard voices. I walked around the house for long periods of time trying to locate them and they seemed to be coming from the attic. So I went downstairs and tried to forget about it. Then The Cat has to go and get a all freaky and growl at things and look at nothing with her big bug eyes and totally freak my shit out. Ghosts freak me out. And you know what you guys? They’re real. The Hub can shut up. They’re real. They freak me out because if they’re mean I can’t kick their asses. You can’t kick an invisible ass. Unless you have special invisibility/ghost seeing goggles or something. It’s just Science. If they’re nice, they can live all up in here. I’m completely cool with that. So anyway, the morning after the attic voices night, I got up and this was in the corner of my bedroom:
|This is The Boy’s Penguin. And he’s standing in the corner like that dude at the end of Blair Witch. And I do not approve. Not one freaking bit.|
The Boy said he didn’t put it there. But I think he’s bullshitting a bullshitter. At least that is what I’m going with.
And I am afraid of Zombies too. Well, not really afraid. I feel totally prepared to survive any impending Zombiepocalypse thrown my way. I suppose that I’m just afraid of the initial surprise of them. Like, there’s that moment when the world is fine and you are just going about your normal business, then there’s that next moment when….. Holy mother freaking crap! My lawn guy is a Zombie! But at least with Zombies you can see them. So you have a fighting chance. Especially if you watch every Zombie movie like I do. The Hub won’t usually watch them with me, so he is probably screwed. It’s research, dude. Zombie Apocalypse Preparedness. Duh. Anyway, this is a bedside table I found online that is specifically for the killing of Zombies, but could also be used for regular humany murderers as well as husband’s who are trying to get some when you have a headache, and kids who are trying to wake you up too damn early in the morning:
And speaking of Zombies, I saw an amazing movie called “Zombie Strippers” that taught me a lot about Zombies. (a) Some of them strip, (b) Some of them are whores, and (c) sometimes Zombie Strippers fight each other by inserting pool balls into their privates and shooting them at the other zombies. I am gonna stick with the Zombie Killing Nightstand. But now you have that info if you ever need it. But as my Pilates friend John “Don’t use my last name” pointed out while we were discussing this today, this newfound vaginal Zombie killing technique is not possible for men. So basically, men are dead meat.
Also, when The Hub came home from Australia (Yes, the bastard got to go to Australia. A place where everyone’s accent makes you want to have sex with them. Or maybe that’s just me? I was jealous, but I told him to have fun and see the sights, but if he saw a mother-effing koala bear I would kick his ass), he says to me “I was gonna buy you something but it was $30.00 so I just brought you the brochure instead.” Which, let’s face it, is a really crappy way to preface the handing over of a piece of paper that is not an actual present, but a picture of the present that it is not. And you know what? I’m totally pissed (no pun intended) because I would really like to get my hands on one of these:
So while The Hub was gone, I bought a new vacuum. And because I’m lazy, I left the box in the kitchen for two days, during which I kept talking to it because I thought it was The Boy. Because I get easily confused. And I drink wine. Anyway, after talking on FB about how I’ve been talking to it, my cousin Mindy and my friend Jenny suggested I give him a ‘stache and a top hat. So I did. And I named him Colonel Hooverstache:
And one night The Boy wanted tacos so I bought some shells and this was on the box:
|Thank you, Old Elpaso.|
And on Valentine’s Day, (ok…. 4 days after Valentine’s Day because I lost it for awhile) The Boy gave The Hub this card. And he drew the ‘stache on Garfield all on his own:
|Son, I’ve trained you well.|
Ok. Now I am exhausted. Here is a frog that I want to be friends with. We could sit on fence posts together and just gossip the day away. But I would make little pants for him, because, dude, that’s a little vulgar:
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