Wednesday, February 15, 2012

My love/hate affair with auto correct.

Listen, your trying too hard. 

If, now and then, I want to type a word that you don't approve of, it still doesn't constitute your intrusive insistence into my conversations. 
I meant what I said and said what I meant. When you change the word, or better yet, don't allow me my freedom of expression (i.e. When I say fucktard, I mean just that! Not some similarly sounding, less powerful, politically correct replacement.) you thereby take the umpf outta my thought. 

That's not to say I don't appreciate you, I do. I wouldn't appear half as intelligent as I do without you in my life. Yet, I feel that you try to refine me too much. At times, I admit I can abrasive and, yes, even down right naughty. Guess what? I like it that way. Ya, get what I'm saying? 

What it comes down to is this, I like me the way I am. You might *try* to (and this isn't a criticism, think of it as more of a suggestion), insert yourself into my life when I *require* assistance. 

Until then, I'd appreciate it if you sat back and enjoyed the ride, *occasionally* helping me navigate along the way. No one approves of a snarky backseat driver. So please, do us both a  favor and sit tight, hold on for the ride and let me plow through my own thoughts. I'll let you know when your expertise is required. 

I know your crushing on me right now, but don't take it so hard. Here's a little hint for your next endeavor: Though It's been said a little spontaneity is good, that's true, but your a tad over the top. Take it down a notch. Desperation does not make for a long term partnership.

I'm by no means breaking up with you, but I would like some distance. Some time, if you will, to reflect on our relationship with regards to one another... In other words, it's not me, it's you. 

Its become apparent that I'm just one of those people that has to have the last word (of my choosing) and clearly your more assertive than I would like. Let's agree to see each other only now and then. In other words, I'll look you up when I need you. Bottom line, don't pimp yourself out, your not a whore. 

Your Badass grammatically/misspelling/politically challenged crush.

Monday, February 13, 2012

How the Hubster and I fell in love.

One of my favorite bloggers wrote an extremely funny recollection on how her and the Hubs met, in honor of Valentines Day.

I felt inspired enough to relate the story of how my own Hubster and I met (and our first impressions of each other), also in honor of the big heart day.

Flash back to the year 1991, we were all still struggling out of the fashion nightmare that defined the 80's. The hold was strong, especially for certain people (ehm, Hubster).

Some of us, however, were more than ready to bypass the era of the 80's. For instance, I was the only girl at my prom that sported a pixie cut. Ghost had come out the year before starring Demi Moore and I was a huge fan (She was the shit!). Everyone else (that I can remember), still had the long/big poof/curly/sprayed/teased/frosted, "do". I felt refreshingly free and different. Though, I must admit, I did not "wow" anyone in particular, especially not my date. Douchbag, that he was... What? I'm not bitter that he spent my prom (he was older) mooning after his future wife. Humpf.

I had been single for some time, I dunno, maybe it was because I was a bitch, or perhaps it was that I was a cops daughter and a "good" girl (why are boys so terrified of cops??), most likely it was that they found me uninteresting. Who knows. Either way, I was *surprisingly* free from any commitment, when I started community college that fall.

Ahhhhhh, Fundamentals of Art 101, where one is allowed to be creative and unique! A few of my pals from high school art class were in my new class, so there was some familiarity, as well as a world of new expressions. 

One of our first projects was a repetitive pattern, I cannot for the life of me remember what any of them were. I DO remember that we had to stand up, individually in front of the class and explain our piece of crap, umm, I mean "art". I was bored, let's face it, two hours of people rambling trying to impress each other with their artsy talk can be down right annoying. 

**That's what I love about the Hubster, he didn't care to impress (still doesn't), he just "is". 

So it's been hours now, that we've sat listening to each other drone on about our projects. When this skinny, unbelievably tall guy gets up to discuss his work. I take one look at him and dismissed him. His hair was thick, untamed and really wavy (the kind a girl would kill for. That in and of itself made me dislike him.), his face had what can only be described as a scruff to it (since hair was only sparsely coming in). He wore a thermal shirt (I know!! Again with the thermal shirts... *sigh*) under a shrunken flannel, of which the sleeves barely reached his wrists. Compound that look with too tight jeans, tied with some sort of woven string like material (think Jed Clampett on Beverly  Hillbillies) and rolled. Yep, he was still wearing rolled jeans! On his feet were mangy high tops, with apparently no socks. 

Man, he had a killer grin though, but he appeared smug, definitely not my type. Plus, he also was known to sport leather pants with multi colored Suede patches AND snakeskin boots complete with chains around the heel(eye roll).

In the weeks that followed we had formed definite opinions of one another. I thought he was quiet, far too smug/smart/sure of himself and had no sense of humor. He found me to be loud/obnoxious/uptight and bitchy. Imagine that?!

We steered clear of each other, except for the assigned seat thing. ugh.

Then one night, while nannying (that was my job, I was a Nanny and worked at the local root beer stand. Fun times!). I awoke from an awful dream, that the little girl I was responsible for and myself were stuck in her burning apartment. Who should come to the rescue, you ask? You got it, the annoying, fashionably challenged guy from my art class. He swooped in and saved us, my hero! Instincts are amazing things...

The next few days I was secretly crushing on him, but didn't let on. *snort*
During drawing time, when the class was supposed to be quiet, (my good friend Jeanna and I would always try to make each other laugh. We proudly and consistently annoyed the fuck outta our teacher, who was rather uptight herself), so when no one was looking (or so I thought), I threw her a tragically funny face. I crossed my eyes, stretched my mouth and stuck out my tongue. Basically, I resembled a deranged frog. I heard a snicker in the opposite direction, apprehensively I looked over and there was the annoying guy, my now crush, beet red trying his damnedest NOT to crack up during class.

Needless to say, I was mortified (incidentally, years later, this is the moment the Hubster said he fell in love with me. Told ya our sense of humor was warped). 

After that, moment we lived for nothing more than to antagonize each other. Yet, neither one of us was going to bring up the dreaded "D" (date) word. Instead he bet me that I couldn't go a week without picking on him, if I lost I had to make him dinner and we'd see a movie. If I won, he was supposed to buy me a tiny toons key chain. I lost on purpose and we've been together ever sense.

To this day when people meet the Hubster they say, "He's not at all who I envisioned you with". I guess it's because he's well over 6' ft and I'm barely 5'ft, he wears small hoop earrings and seems anti social-until you get him going, then he's funny as shit. Either way, it always comes as a surprise. To me, he's completely hilarious, still has that killer grin, will always be dreamy and however fashionably challenged he may have been, he'll forever be my hero. 

Happy Valentine's Day Babe! 

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Shopping with the family can be somewhat embarrassing. Especially if it's my family...

You'd think I would've figured this out a loooong time ago and just cut my loses but, it appears I'm a glutton for punishment. Or lack common sense. I'm going with the former...

Each family member has a Moment that stands out, as their *worst* shopping moment ever. Here's a few of the monsters golden moments, before I entertain you with the Hubsters.

The oldest, Sam was about three years old and we decided to head to the local mall for the day. While the Hubs and Sam are in GameStop, I make a quick run into Victoria's Secret for some "me" time. I'm rummaging through some items, when I notice the famdamily enter the store.*sigh* I'm making some final decisions, completely unaware that the Hubs is beyond distracted by all of the glory that is VS, when I glance down and see my child happily rummaging intently through a drawer of thongs with a pink polka dot bra tied (by tied, I mean knotted.) to his head. Yep! It's as craptastic as you've just pictured it. The cups are up like bunny ears on the top of his head, and the straps are *tied* under his chin. I smack the Hubsters arm (very hard! HE was suppose to be watching the monster, instead of oogling merchandise/people/mannequins etc...). Mortified, I quickly glance around to survey the situation of being observed and untie said bra from my sons head, drop my potential purchases on a random table and beat a hasty retreat! Looking back, I Soooo wish we'd gotten a picture!! 

Audrey, my middle monster, while shopping at Walmart, was asked to keep her hands in the cart at all times. She choose to forgo my advice and knocked quite a few canned goods off a shelf, by "a few" I mean almost an entire shelf. Which in and of itself isn't that offensive. Except that when I tried to decrease the damage or impact of the cans hitting the floor, one fell awkwardly on my thumb and sliced it right open. Not, Fun! Try finding a bandage in Walmart, FAST,  without having to buy one?! I ended up standing in line, with toilet paper holding my bleeding digit intent on purchasing a package of band aides, while an elderly lady paid for her purchases by check. Rock the Walmart experience.

Then there was the D.S., aka Charlie at the local Target.... Truly, cringe worthy. 
Never go shopping with the D.S., his blase' attitude completely lacks discretion. A warning label should accompany him at all times, or a muzzle. The latter sounds better everyday. While shopping in Target and waiting for Sam by the changing room counter, Auds observed the carts contents and was wondering why we needed baby powder. Charlie was helpful enough to point out (loudly) to one and all, “It’s for Dad’s butt.” To which the Target employee standing in front of us, couldn’t stop laughing as poor Hubs just stood there completely dumbfounded, unable to defend himself. What can one really say to defuse an observation like that, that *doesn't* make you look as if you're trying to down play a child's comment-however erroneous it may be?! 

Ahhhhhh, the Hubsters golden moment.

The other day, with the older kids off to school, the Hubster decided to take the D.S. and I to breakfast at Cracker Bees.

Side note: When my oldest was a tot, he used to get Cracker Barrel and Apple Bees mixed up, referring to them as "Apple Barrel" and "Cracker Bee's". Eight years later we still refer to them as such, because, well, it's funny.

 Anyway, we settled into eating a hearty breakfast and upon our return home, decided to stop at  Farm n Fleet to pick up dog food. You can't gorge yourself full of food and return home to a poor dog with less than a bowl full of dog food.... So, the Hubs is fighting with me the entire way across a very short intersection (the restaurant and fleet are directly across the street from each other), about being obnoxiously full/still drunk from the night before/too tired from pulling a video game all nighter. Being the loving wife that I am, I make him go in regardless of his pleas. 

Big mistake!

Upon finding the dog food isle, the Hubster then bends down hauls a huge 50lb bag *onto* his shoulder. Only, he'd (drunkenly) miscalculated and the bag goes flying over his shoulder, landing with a very loud crash upon the floor behind him. It still hadn't registered that the bag has sailed past his shoulder, his hands in mid air holding where the bag *should* be. I watch (from my vantage point, laughingly crouched on the floor trying not to pee myself) as his face registers, first shock as his eyes go wide, then bewilderment as he looks for the bag, then embarrassment as his face-starting from the neck up-turns bright red. Hilarious, and embarrassing all at once. I would've walked away and pretended not to even know him, but I just couldn't stop laughing. You know what I'm talking about? The silent laugh that shakes your whole body, to where you can't breathe or even stand up right, nor see through the tears of mirth?? Yeah, that was me.

I'm sure one of our BFF's, who works in the office there, would have a field day with the surveillance tape, if she was smart enough to get a cut of it?! Hint, hint, Laura!!! Call and I'll give ya the date and time!lol

After picking up the pieces, and our fallen bag of df, we continued on our walk of shame to the register and then drive home. Laughing hysterically the entire way!!

Now here's where the D.S. gets commended. Usually, he's the one that does this particular walk of shame, but today, sadly it was the parental units...

Moral to the story, shop online where there's less potential for embarrassment. Or, fly solo, if you end up in an embarrassing situation, then you've only yourself to blame, but under no circumstances should one *ever* shop with my famdamily! Each one has earned a Ninja kick.