Irony
When your husband tells you he won’t go to your baby shower because its gay, and as you are opening your gifts, he’s across the street getting hit on by a man.
Held Captive: Week 30 (or 31, or something like that)
Yes, I’m still pregant, and I’m beating the bars of a prison with a tin cup! All foods result in severe and extreme heartburn. I’m thinking that a strange man could possibly lure me into his bedroom at the promise of an endless supply of Tums…or perhaps an erotic massage using Phillip’s Milk of Magnesia? Not that it matters, because my tummy is so big, I can no longer see my va-jay-jay. So if anybody has any advice on one handed ”grooming” pre-doctor’s visits using a lipstick mirror in the shower, I am all ears!! Oh, and if there is any way I can relieve that incredibly sexy “I’ve just swallowed John Goodman” feeling, please let me know!
In other news, I got on my high horse, got out my lasso, and roped Mr. Blogarella once and for all. I made an “honest man” out of him on June 28th.
In Sickness and in Phlegm
As women, we wear a lot of hats, most of which we do not get on sale. Most recently Mr. Blogarella and I had our first ever joint bout of the dreaded lurgy. Being one who likes to share, it was no surprise that he came home, kissed me on the mouth, and then told me his throat was scratchy. Despite all my avoidence tactics, I still got the bed time snuggles complete with coughing and the sensual sounds of cough drops being chewed directly in my ear. Ah love! Isn’t it grand?
I did my best to take care of him when suddenly I had the scratchy throat. I decided to simply suck it up and do what I had to do when my vocal chords were taken over by the voice of a drag queen. This was fun while it lasted because I was saying things to Mr. Blogarella like “come over here big boy, I have something I want to show you!” But alas, I’m full on sick, no voice, no energy, and only annoying hand signals to communicate what I am feeling. Naturally the most used hand signal involves the middle finger. My primary caretaker is a male who is clearly more concerned with breaking his current record on Tiger Woods Golf. He should be thanking me for being sick because due to my ailment, he’s been able to play even more and is now ranked in the top 800 in the world in the online standings. And yet, I still get stuck having to eat delicacies that have emerged from our freezer and can be reheated in a toaster. Woe is me indeed. If I have to eat another corn dog, I’m going assault him with the left over stick. I will continue to love honor and cherish him, but I think next time he gets sick, I’m going to throw a party.
Update: There has been an official apology, however, I still plan on ratting him out to his mother as soon as I can talk.
And the award for worst yard goes to…
Me!
Blogarella is a stone cold city girl who had concrete for a front yard. Mr. Blogarella is stone cold country and grew up playing in acres and probably rolling around in poison ivy . As you can imagine, I could’ve cared less when the grass in the yard got tall, mostly because there are obscene amounts of pine needles in the front yard. If you can’t get rid of “pine straw” then why bother with anything else. So what we are left with, and some would say its a gift…dandelion salad - yum! Mr. Blogarella couldn’t disagree more. He argues that we have the worst yard in the neighborhood and that a lawn mower needs to be a priority. His words exactly where “We have the only white trash yard in the neighborhood.” But what really strikes me about that statement is the fact that he thinks its the tall grass that makes the yard white trash and that it has nothing to do with him sitting in front of the house smoking cigarettes and drinking beer with no shirt on.
When Life Imitates Being a Parent
The following is an actual conversation that took place between Mr. Bogarella and myself bestowing the “fun for the whole family” virtues of the Playstation 3:
“We got to get a Playstation 3. It would be something everybody could enjoy, and its a Blueray DVD player, and we’d actually be saving a few dollars by purchasing it as part of the PS3.”
“We have a DVD player!”
“We don’t have Blueray.”
“Why do you want a PS3 so bad?”
“Steve has one.”
“And if Steve ran out and did something stupid, would you do the same thing?”
“But Ryan is getting one and Jorge is getting one!”
“You don’t need it!”
“I can’t be the only one of my friends without a Playstation 3!”
In the end, like a BAD parent, I caved. Why? Because I was sooo sick of hearing about it.
Lessons learned:
1. A PS3 will NEVER be fun for the whole family.
2. Just because an attempt will be made to get you to enjoy this system doesn’t mean it will prevent him from playing Tiger Woods 2008 for 20 hour intervals.
3. If you go out to a movie and have a really great night and expect it to end romantically, you are wrong. Mr. Blogarella has the phone in hand, and if he thinks Steve is awake, he’s calling him to challenge him for a nightcap match up.
4. The longer the boys have these devices the more brain cells they lose. Now one is accusing the other of tampering with the controller so they can’t shoot the ball strait. They both need a time out, and you’d think living an entire state away would be enough space to keep these two seperated long enough that they can behave themselves when it comes to gaming, but no.
5. Everytime he turns on the machine I hear an “I love you!” But I don’t think its directed at me. He says it is, but he’s lying.
6. Don’t ever EVER ever agree that a purchase like this can be made based on the premise of shutting somebody up. Sadly, a similar method is also how he finally got me to agree that we needed a flat screen television.
