My Whole Vagina

My husband plays a church gig on Sundays and because he doesn’t know any of the songs they sing, the pastor sends him songs to listen to each week. It’s funny because if anyone followed him on Spotify they’d think that he listens to religious music all the time.

Anyway the lyrics of one of the songs he was listening to last week were almost impossible to decipher. Singers really should try to enunciate so we know what they’re talking about. After listening to the chorus a million times I think I finally figured out the words.

My whole vagina
My provider
You hold my knees see
You rain in the train
You are my shadow
My recipe
And I worship you because of who you are

I kept singing along and my husband kept insisting I wasn’t getting the lyrics right, but he’s admitted many times that he doesn’t pay attention to song lyrics. I think he has no idea what he’s talking about. My lyrics make perfect sense and I’m quite sure I’m right.

The Thrift Shop

My husband made a new discovery last month. It’s called the thrift store. I’ve been a thrift store aficionado since high school, but somehow my husband never really caught on. I’ve been trying to figure out how this happened, and the only thing I can think of is that the only time he’s been with me to a thrift store was when I went to the charity shops in the UK. Brits must not have nearly as many things to throw away as Americans because those shops are tiny. American thrift shops contain acres of items. It’s a regular bonanza of discovery. (I just wanted to say bonanza. There’s something satisfying about that word.)

The first time I took my husband to my favorite thrift shop here he marveled at the number of items there. “There are just so many clothes,” he said as we started sifting through button-down shirts. There were tons of clothes, but because my husband is so thin, there were only like six shirts in his size. That happens no matter where I take him to shop. Pants choices are usually limited to four, shirt choices maybe ten. It’s so annoying.

“I can actually have enough gig shirts without spending a fortune,” he announced holding up a blue button-down. My husband somehow manages to ruin clothes. I’m not sure what’s going on, but after only a month his new shirts start looking like they’re ten years old. I can have clothes for years and they still look brand new, but he’s got a special talent for ruining clothes. Well everyone is good at something.

patrick

Preparing for the New Neighbors

Someone bought the house next door to us. I noticed the sale pending sign on it a few weeks ago and immediately went into panic mode. Most everything sends me into panic mode, but the idea of new neighbors seems particularly terrifying.

What if they are members of a deaf metal band whose perfectionism compels them they rehearse constantly? What if they are serial killers who bury the bodies of their victims in their backyard? What if they are a family of clowns who wear their clown suits and makeup while doing yard work? Even worse, what if those clowns make balloon animals and try to give them to me?

We fixed our fence the other day in preparation for the new neighbors. Two of the posts had rotted and it was leaning against the neighbor’s fence.

My husband and I make a good team because he’s such a perfectionist and I’m so impatient. Fixing the fence involved string lines and levels and standing in the cement section of Home Depot for what seemed like ten years trying to figure out which type of cement was best.

“How about this bag of cement?” I say pointing to a random bag with red writing on it. “Quick setting, that sounds good to me.” All I’m really thinking about is the half gallon of milk in the car. I have to say something otherwise he could spend hours in Home Depot comparing post diggers and trying to decide which company makes the best cement.

When my husband told me that fixing the fence was a two or possibly three day job, he was including one full day in Home Depot in his calculations. It turned out to be a two day job just because we had to wait for the cement to dry.

My husband makes sure things get done right and I make sure decisions are made so they can actually get done.

Just This One Thing

You know how I provide you with so many opportunities to laugh at my craziness, and I never ask you for anything? Well, except for that one time when I really needed your help with that really important thing, I’m sure you remember. Anyway, today is the day when I’m asking you for a favor … again. Don’t run away. I swear it’s an easy one this time. I wouldn’t want to put a strain on our relationship or anything.

It’s not like I’m asking you to dog sit for me or count all of the pennies in our multiple penny jars. I’m just asking you to go to a little website and click one tiny little button. It would take a minimal amount of effort on your part. It doesn’t even require the movement of very many muscles maybe 27 muscles at the most. Compared to the 642 muscles in the entire human body that’s practically nothing.

My husband is applying for a small business grant through Chase, but in order to get through the first round of the application he needs 250 votes before the 15th of this month. If he gets the money he’ll be able to make more goofy songs for this blog like this one ….

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He’ll also be able to help other people record their songs. You need the proper equipment to do all this stuff and right now he has the improper equipment. (Yes, I know that was the incorrect usage to the word, but it made me laugh.)

If you like music, or know someone who likes music, or have ever heard any music ever in your life, I think you should vote for him. All you have to do is click the link below and then click the vote button on the page. I think you need a Facebook account too. It doesn’t matter which country you live in. Every vote counts. Click here to vote.

Labor Day Flags and a Song

labor-day-flags

I never thought of Labor Day as a patriotic holiday, but the people who live in a certain house in our neighborhood definitely do. They have fifty flags on their front lawn. Today when I passed their house while walking the dog, I wondered if their flag display really did have anything to do with Labor Day. Maybe they’ve simply decided that they want to have a bunch of flags on their lawn all year round. Maybe they’ll stick some Jack O’ Lanterns out with their flags for Halloween, or a big inflatable snowman for Christmas.

Maybe I should buy a bunch of flags to put out on our lawn. My stepson would certainly like that. Instead of American flags though, we could have pirate flags. I was thinking about building a model pirate ship out of all the pennies we’ve collected and putting it on the front lawn too. What else are pennies good for anyway? I’m trying to class up the neighborhood, but that’s me, classing it up everywhere I go.

I decided to post this version of My Country, ‘Tis of Thee on the blog today in honor of Labor Day, the house with the flags, and The Queen. Everyone really knows that the song is just God Save the Queen with different lyrics … God save her. I know because I thought I had to learn it a few years ago. Now I’m glad I did because I sing it everyday in the shower.

My husband put on his Tom Waits hat before recording this song. That hat didn’t really look good on him either. Some people just can’t pull off hats, but the the song sounds good.

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Play

Coffee and Thunderstorms

I have difficulty sleeping. I lay in bed for hours tossing and turning. Every little sound wakes me up. It’s always been that way. Not sleeping well has become part of my personality. I’m shy. I’m quirky. I’m a bad sleeper. That’s why when my husband started claiming that I was just dreaming about not sleeping instead of not sleeping in reality, it really threw me for a loop.

My husband claims that on all those nights that I didn’t sleep a wink, I was snoring away. Yes, sometimes I snore, but it’s a very nice lady-like snore that sounds like fluttering angel wings.

Recently, the dog has been keeping me up. If he sleeps in our room he moves around and breathes too much, and if he sleeps someplace else in the house he still moves around and breathes. When I ask my husband if all that moving around and breathing bothers him he just looks at me like I’m crazy. “Would you rather he didn’t move or breathe because maybe we should’ve gotten a stuffed dog instead.”

He’s got a point. I never considered the stuff dog option before–less walking, less feeding, less poop. The downside is that I’d have to work a whole lot harder to annoy a stuffed dog, and everyone knows I like to work as little as possible.

Last night I swore I smelled the dog brewing coffee in the kitchen. I sat bolt upright in bed and said to my husband, “He’s making coffee.”

My husband groaned and rolled over, and I ran to the kitchen. The dog was in there, but he was just wagging his tail. There didn’t seem to be any coffee brewing, but he could’ve have been hiding it.

After that I kept smelling coffee, and then there was a thunderstorm. I just couldn’t get back to sleep.

My husband thinks this was all a dream, but why would I dream about the dog making coffee? It really happened. That’s why my brain has been mush all day. That’s why I can’t seem to form complete sentences. At least that’s what I’m telling people when they ask. I’m tired because there was a thunderstorm and my dog kept making coffee last night. It makes sense, right?

The Sting of Defeat

paperwaspI was stung by a paper wasp last week, and I did nothing to deserve it. They’ve taken up resistance somewhere beneath the siding of the house near the front window. I was minding my own business checking out the progress of some herbs I planted when suddenly one of those evil little creatures decided to sting me. What? Was I a little to close to the rosemary for you? Did I touch the Holy Basil in the wrong way?

That wasp sting hurt so badly that it prompted a spontaneous dance of pain and a short sprint up the sidewalk. I still bare the scars of the assault, but my husband just keeps saying, “I was stung by a yellow jacket once and it really wasn’t that bad.”

Because I was tired of hearing that I decided to look up the yellow jacket and the paper wasp on the Schmidt Sting Pain Index. Yes, there is a man who went around the world getting stung by insects so he could rate the pain of the sting on a scale from one to four. You can hear all about him on this episode of Radiolab. I’m grateful for his suffering because without him I would be unable to prove to my husband that I have suffered more than him.

According to the Schmidt Sting Pain Index, a yellow jacket sting is a lowly two on the pain scale. A two is just one step away from a one which, when you think about it, might as well be a zero. A paper wasp, on the other hand, is a three which is one step from being a four which might as well be like being stung a million bullet ants.

When I told my husband that he protested. “But it was a European yellow jacket,” he said.

“Yep, still a two,” I said.

Looks like I won that one. The taste of victory is sweet even when I have a red, blister-covered sting on my side.

Photo by touterse

Nebulous Mooch the Movie

Clapper Board and ReelOne of the best things about having a life as incredibly interesting as mine is knowing that one day it will be immortalized in a motion picture–a comedy of course. I’ve always known that I would be involved in movie making. I’m not interested in the acting side of things. Halle Berry would probably do a much better job of pretending to be me than I ever could. I know she’s like a million years older than me, but I don’t mind.

I’ll write the screenplay which will be a breeze to do. I think it should feature a lot of slapstick comedy–falling down and pies in the face. Who doesn’t think a good banana cream pie in the face is funny?

Does the lead singer of Coldplay act? I was thinking that he could play my husband. My stepson would play himself, of course. He can really ham it up. I haven’t figured out who would play any of the other characters though. As the screen writer that isn’t my place anyway. I’m sure that once I finally convince Martin Scorsese to direct it, he’ll take care of the casting. I picture the movie being a nice family comedy. That’s right up his alley, right?

Note: I just told my husband about my movie plans and he said that Kevin Bacon would definitely play him. “People tell me I look like Kevin Bacon all the time,” he said. I wonder which people tell him this. I don’t see the resemblance, but who am I?

Photo by M4D GROUP

It’s a Special Day

Everyone has a birthday, even if at times they’d like to pretend they didn’t. Whether getting older is good or bad all depends on how you look at it. As of yet I’m undecided, but my husband seems to think it’s a blast. It’s his birthday today. That’s right, on this day 48 years ago the world became a better place.

Happy birthday to the best husband in the world.

39/365 Falling

The LED Light Fight (Not Actually A Fight At All)

lightbulbOur house hadn’t been lived in for a while before we bought it. That means that the light fixtures are all full of incandescent bulbs. When the closet light went out like a million years ago my husband suggested that we replace it with an LED light bulb. I was all like, “LED’s cost like $300 per bulb! No can do.”

My stepson wants to hang onto incandescent bulbs as long as possible because he has an unhealthy attachment to the past. He regularly tells us about how much he likes the incandescent bulbs. While my husband wants to tear through the house replacing all of the bulbs with new fancy expensive ones right away, I think it’s best to at least wait until bulbs burn out before we replace them.

We haven’t replaced the two bulbs in the house that have burned out already because of my difficulty committing LEDs. The last time we were in Home Depot, we spent at least twenty minutes looking at light bulbs. They are much more difficult to understand than it may seem.

You know how you buy an incandescent bulb and it says something like 60w on it as a measurement of brightness? Well the LED bulbs said things like 9W or 6W. That seems super dim to me. I like to read and if that’s as bright as these light bulbs get I might as well read by candle light. One bulb even had little plastic bars all around it like it was a prison for a tiny fairy. LEDs are probably so cheap to run because they don’t use electricity at all. Instead, they use fairy dust to create that pleasant glow.

Since today is Earth Day and I totally forgot to buy the Earth a gift, I’ve decided to reconsider the whole LED thing. I’ve been reading up on them so I know what I’m doing the next time I go light bulb shopping. Even though I’m used to spending a buck on a light bulb and LEDs cost $13, I’m going to buy a few and give them a try. They do use 75% less electricity and last 25 times longer than incandescent bulbs. After all, that will save me money and the precious time I’d normally spend changing light bulbs.

Note: I just made this joke up just now.
How many Bettisons does it take to change a light bulb?
None because we never get around to it.
Okay maybe that wasn’t funny, but it was funny in my head. This is why my stand-up career never went anywhere. That and my crippling stage fright.

Picture by anthonystoro.

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