The other evening, my husband and I were getting ready to turn in for the night. The house was dark and silent because the kids were fast asleep. He'd been working some pretty long hours over the past week, and we hadn't spent much quality time together. So naturally, while we were pulling the covers back and getting ready to dive in, our eyes met and we gave each other one of those looks--you know the kind. I'm sure you can all guess what happened next:
We grabbed the flashlight and made a tent out of the covers! This, of course, resulted in laughing and snickering that didn't end until he trapped me under the covers, yelled "Dutch Oven!" and farted. Then, I repeatedly punched him in the leg until he finally let me out.
I bet you thought I was gonna tell you a sexy story, huh? Pfft! We've been married nearly seven years now. That is a sexy story, friends. If you newlyweds out there don't believe me, just wait. If you've been married longer, you're most likely nodding.
In speaking of romance, I've actually been tossing around the idea of writing a series of un-romance novels. I figure the world will eventually grow tired of deviant sex with sparkly dead things (vampire novels, for those of you who are slow on the uptake), and I figure someone needs to be there to catch them with something incredibly different when they fall. That someone probably won't be me, seeing as I can't make myself finish a 1,000 piece puzzle--much less a novel. Still, I'm tossing around the idea. It's the thought that counts, right?
...and if you steal my thought, I'll hunt you down and run over your mailbox or something. I mean it.
One last thing! It's Monday. Just incase you woke up in a good mood this morning, I thought I'd ruin it for you with that one little sentence. It's not because I hate you or anything. I just like knowing we're all on the same page. I get a sick satisfaction from knowing you're all in the same crappy boat as me.
That is all.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
I Suck At Auto Accidents
It's true! I completely, most-definitely, without a doubt, incredibly suck when it comes to having a proper auto accident...
In my defense, though, my absolute suckness comes from not ever having an auto accident before this one. I guess I'm just not practiced enough. Some would say this is a good thing, but "some" obviously have never had to deal with insurance after playing what I now call, "EXTREME PARKING LOT CRASH-N-SMAAAAASH!" This is, of course, in all capital letters because there is absolutely no way that you can say "EXTREME PARKING LOT CRASH-N-SMAAAAASH!" quietly. If you disagree, I'd have to say I'm disappointed in you, but I digress...
The actual accident happened almost two weeks ago in the Wal-Mart parking lot of Small Town, America. There are serveral details surrounding the event, but the most important ones include a 4x4 Dodge crew cab truck the size of your house raping the front-end of my precious, virtuous Jeep without so much as foreplay. Of course, the resident monster truck driver decided she haaaaad to have a police report. So, Small Town, OK, put its best (wo)man on the case. We'll call her Supercop Sally.
Small Town, OK, fancies itself to be a bustling metropolis where crime could be lurking around any corner. So, naturally, Supercop Sally had places she'd rather be (like tackling jaywalkers and superman-punching litterbugs). I'm pretty sure she wanted to take the police report as much as she wanted a wedgie because the most enthusiastic thing she did was try to convince Monster Truck Lady that she didn't need to file one. To make a long story short, Supercop Sally just wrote down whatever Monster Truck Lady said and pretty much screwed up the whole police report to the point of mixing us up in such a way that I actually had an accident with myself by her account.
Here's where I suck at this kind of thing.
I am not agressive. I'm more the "Oh my gosh, I'm so, so sorry!" type. This applies even when things aren't exactly my fault. You could purposely dump hot coffee in my lap for no apparent reason, and I'd probably still be the one apologizing to you. Now, don't get me wrong. I'll still secretly wish that you'll get eaten alive by something evil and scary with sharp teeth (like my mother-in-law), but rest assured I will apologize.
I also can't get by without making some sort of nervous, painfully awkward joke. In this case, Monster Truck Lady had just moved to Small Town, OK, from out-of-state. I kid you not, the first thing to come out of my mouth was, "Well.. um.. Welcome to Oklahoma! As you can see, the welcoming committee still needs work." I followed that up with, "This is kind of disappointing for my first auto accident. There wasn't a single explosion," a little bit later.
The last thing that absolutely sucks about my "EXTREME PARKING LOT CRASH-N-SMAAAAASH!" technique is not knowing that I had to be the one to contact Monster Truck Lady's insurance. You would think, with as much money as we pay in insurance premiums, that Pretty Pricey Insurance would at least do that for me. Heck, I had to give them all that info. That is why, after I was found not-at-fault by my own insurance company, I had to call Equally Pricey Insurance to start the process all over again.
The End.
(You'll have to pretend I wrote that in a big pretty fairy-tale ending type font.)
Oh! I almost forgot. I'd also like to send one of those shout-out things to Small Town Police Department in Small Town, OK. Thanks for giving me a pile of dung and calling it a police report and then acting like getting it to the insurance company within a two week time period after they requested it is really hard. Way to go! You're the best!
In my defense, though, my absolute suckness comes from not ever having an auto accident before this one. I guess I'm just not practiced enough. Some would say this is a good thing, but "some" obviously have never had to deal with insurance after playing what I now call, "EXTREME PARKING LOT CRASH-N-SMAAAAASH!" This is, of course, in all capital letters because there is absolutely no way that you can say "EXTREME PARKING LOT CRASH-N-SMAAAAASH!" quietly. If you disagree, I'd have to say I'm disappointed in you, but I digress...
The actual accident happened almost two weeks ago in the Wal-Mart parking lot of Small Town, America. There are serveral details surrounding the event, but the most important ones include a 4x4 Dodge crew cab truck the size of your house raping the front-end of my precious, virtuous Jeep without so much as foreplay. Of course, the resident monster truck driver decided she haaaaad to have a police report. So, Small Town, OK, put its best (wo)man on the case. We'll call her Supercop Sally.
Small Town, OK, fancies itself to be a bustling metropolis where crime could be lurking around any corner. So, naturally, Supercop Sally had places she'd rather be (like tackling jaywalkers and superman-punching litterbugs). I'm pretty sure she wanted to take the police report as much as she wanted a wedgie because the most enthusiastic thing she did was try to convince Monster Truck Lady that she didn't need to file one. To make a long story short, Supercop Sally just wrote down whatever Monster Truck Lady said and pretty much screwed up the whole police report to the point of mixing us up in such a way that I actually had an accident with myself by her account.
Here's where I suck at this kind of thing.
I am not agressive. I'm more the "Oh my gosh, I'm so, so sorry!" type. This applies even when things aren't exactly my fault. You could purposely dump hot coffee in my lap for no apparent reason, and I'd probably still be the one apologizing to you. Now, don't get me wrong. I'll still secretly wish that you'll get eaten alive by something evil and scary with sharp teeth (like my mother-in-law), but rest assured I will apologize.
I also can't get by without making some sort of nervous, painfully awkward joke. In this case, Monster Truck Lady had just moved to Small Town, OK, from out-of-state. I kid you not, the first thing to come out of my mouth was, "Well.. um.. Welcome to Oklahoma! As you can see, the welcoming committee still needs work." I followed that up with, "This is kind of disappointing for my first auto accident. There wasn't a single explosion," a little bit later.
The last thing that absolutely sucks about my "EXTREME PARKING LOT CRASH-N-SMAAAAASH!" technique is not knowing that I had to be the one to contact Monster Truck Lady's insurance. You would think, with as much money as we pay in insurance premiums, that Pretty Pricey Insurance would at least do that for me. Heck, I had to give them all that info. That is why, after I was found not-at-fault by my own insurance company, I had to call Equally Pricey Insurance to start the process all over again.
The End.
(You'll have to pretend I wrote that in a big pretty fairy-tale ending type font.)
Oh! I almost forgot. I'd also like to send one of those shout-out things to Small Town Police Department in Small Town, OK. Thanks for giving me a pile of dung and calling it a police report and then acting like getting it to the insurance company within a two week time period after they requested it is really hard. Way to go! You're the best!
Monday, February 21, 2011
The first post on a brand new blog...
...is always an eager experience. It's sort of like buying a brand new notebook or getting out a clean piece of copy paper. You imagine yourself writing and drawing all sorts of amazing things, but when you finally put the pen to the paper you just end up with doodles of lopsided smiley faces, crappy flowers, and a few stick figures here and there.
Note: If you're one of those people who actually do manage to fill your paper with lifelike depictions of things like waterfalls, frolicking puppies or your grandma... you are cordially invited to lick a light socket. I don't wanna hear about your artsy fartsy pictures, your over-priced coffee, or your stupid cat that you probably named Mittens or Bob.
I should probably do the whole "introduction" thing and tell you (whoever you are) a little bit about myself, but I don't feel like it. Since this is my fifty-gajillionth blog (true story, I counted), I don't really feel the need to introduce myself to the internet. Plus, it's inevitable that I will reveal just about everything no one ever needed to know in the first three posts anyway (also a true story, I can prove it with irrefutable statistics that you can be sure I made up).
I'm going to say something painfully obvious in 3... 2... 1...
This time around, I decided to name my blog "Domestica Etcetera."
Another Note: If you, even for a split second, thought something stupid such as, "Omg! That totally rhymed," please slap yourself really hard for me since I can't reach you. If you don't know why you slapped yourself, do it again.
I named the blog after my day-to-day life. "Domestica" and "Etcetera" provide a good cross-section of the things I write about pretty often. In the "Domestica" entries, you'll find me doing really exciting things likebattling evil robot overlords in a faraway galaxy making sandwiches for my husband in my kitchen (barefoot, of course). In the "Etcetera" entries (which are usually the exact same thing as the "Domestica" ones), I tend to write about stuff concerning my sons, dirt, marriage, and how fruit snacks can turn your poop bright green. If you're uncomfortable with any of these things, I hear Playhouse Disney has some new episodes of Handy Manny for your viewing pleasure.
Whew! That was actually a pretty painless first entry (unless of course you actually slapped yourself when I told you to, but that's more your fault than mine). If you're still reading, have never named your cat Bob or Mittens, and haven't slapped yourself once during the course of this entry, I think we'll be great friends.
If you're still reading but feel like I've stolen a few minutes from your life that you'll never get back, I would feel really guilty if you walked away from this completely empty-handed. So, I'll leave you with a random fact:
Note: If you're one of those people who actually do manage to fill your paper with lifelike depictions of things like waterfalls, frolicking puppies or your grandma... you are cordially invited to lick a light socket. I don't wanna hear about your artsy fartsy pictures, your over-priced coffee, or your stupid cat that you probably named Mittens or Bob.
I should probably do the whole "introduction" thing and tell you (whoever you are) a little bit about myself, but I don't feel like it. Since this is my fifty-gajillionth blog (true story, I counted), I don't really feel the need to introduce myself to the internet. Plus, it's inevitable that I will reveal just about everything no one ever needed to know in the first three posts anyway (also a true story, I can prove it with irrefutable statistics that you can be sure I made up).
I'm going to say something painfully obvious in 3... 2... 1...
This time around, I decided to name my blog "Domestica Etcetera."
Another Note: If you, even for a split second, thought something stupid such as, "Omg! That totally rhymed," please slap yourself really hard for me since I can't reach you. If you don't know why you slapped yourself, do it again.
I named the blog after my day-to-day life. "Domestica" and "Etcetera" provide a good cross-section of the things I write about pretty often. In the "Domestica" entries, you'll find me doing really exciting things like
Whew! That was actually a pretty painless first entry (unless of course you actually slapped yourself when I told you to, but that's more your fault than mine). If you're still reading, have never named your cat Bob or Mittens, and haven't slapped yourself once during the course of this entry, I think we'll be great friends.
If you're still reading but feel like I've stolen a few minutes from your life that you'll never get back, I would feel really guilty if you walked away from this completely empty-handed. So, I'll leave you with a random fact:
The first toilet ever seen on tv was shown on "Leave It To Beaver."
I hope that helped. Happy Monday!
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