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One 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?
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.
Our 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.
Some people say that dreams give you a window into your subconscious. If that’s true I’m starting to wonder what kind of person I really am. I like to think of myself kind and good-natured. I’m the kind of person who’d pick up a struggling worm on the sidewalk and return him to the dirt.
In my dreams I’m someone completely different though. I’m the person who steps on the worm on the sidewalk or steals the puppy you left tied up outside when you popped into the store for a few minutes. Yeah, that’s the dream me and it’s about time I admit it.
Just last night I had a dream that my husband and I went on a road trip with our six small children. I wanted to stop to eat lunch at a nice restaurant. My husband insisted that we couldn’t afford to feed all eight of us in a nice restaurant. Than the dream me came up a brilliant solution to the problem.
“How about I go to the restaurant and you can all wait for me in the hot car?” I suggested.
My husband who is very agreeable in my dreams agreed. So we went to Sizzlers (when you’re looking for a nice restaurant Sizzlers is always the first one that comes to mind).
I paid $17 for a salad and a slice of apple pie. While I ate it, I watched through the window as my husband struggle to keep the kids under control in the parking lot.
Who does something like that? The dream me, that’s who. I’m just warning you in case you ever run into me in your dreams. Chances are you will. I realize that once you reach my level of popularity that you make guest appearances in most people’s dreams.
The Super Bowl is finally over. That means that instead of watching football games on television my husband will be regularly checking NFL.com to keep up to date with all the football gossip. Have you seen the stuff they put on NFL.com during the off season? I swear it’s like The View for men.
I strongly dislike the idea of watching any sport on TV, except of course power breaking which is universally loved. There’s nothing like the drama of watching a martial arts nerd try to break a stack of concrete slabs that is almost as tall as he is with his elbow. Everything else is just meh comparatively. I think it’s because there are way too many rules to learn in most sports, and I’m a rebel. I don’t play by the rules because I never take the time to learn them. It’s February and I’m wearing my Christmas socks. That’s how much of a rebel I am. That’s a big reindeer up yours to rules … about Christmas socks.
Even though I have strong feelings of disdain for watching sports, I did go to a Super Bowl party once. At the time I was trying to break out of my shell and do things a bit differently. I’m not a party person, but I decided that I needed to start becoming one. So I showed up ready to paaaaaaartyyyyyy like it was 1999 and there was no real party to be had. Since when is sitting around on a sofa watching football and eating pizza a party? There was no DJ, no dancing, no one laying in a pool of vomit on the bathroom floor, and everyone kept talking about football.
Now I spend the Super Bowl at home where I can enjoy a nice cup of tea and watch documentaries about power breaking in the next room while every one else “enjoys” the football game.
It was 11:30 last night when my husband said, “You know our UK taxes have to be filed by the 31st of this month, right?”
This wouldn’t be a big deal if we weren’t living like hobos right now. Have I explained our living situation to you yet? Since we moved to the US we’ve been packed into the guest bedroom in my parents condo along with all of our earthly possessions. If you’ve ever been in a living situation where you can’t seem to get organized and you don’t know where anything is multiply that by 7 million and you’ll know what we’re going through.
“Can’t they wait until March?” I asked my husband after I opened the closet door and looked at the stacks of boxes and clothes. We’re supposed to close on the house we’re buying on March 1st and once we’ve moved in I’ll be able to get a handle on things.
“It doesn’t work that way,” he said.
What does he mean it doesn’t work that way? I think countries should let you file taxes whenever you get around to it. That would be so much more convenient for me and you know every nation in the world should make their laws according to my convenience.
I started pulling stuff out of the closet and realized that I have so many silk scarves that someone might mistake me for a magician. I’m also quite good at making money disappear, but that’s a different story. Among the silk scarves, musical instruments, and sweaters I probably won’t wear again any time soon where a stack of unlabeled boxes. Labels … who needs the labels? I’m a magician. I can see through cardboard. My tax records were in the second box I checked. I’m a lucky magician.
Once I found them I spent a few minutes … okay probably like 15 … sitting amongst the mess feeling sorry for myself. I don’t know what made me feel worse the fact that I had to put all that stuff away again or the fact that I would have to do my taxes. My ultra organized husband probably finished his taxes in the time it took me to find my records. Okay, that’s not true. He didn’t do anything about his until this morning.
My taxes are done now and I don’t have to panic again until it’s time to do the US taxes.
It’s that time of year again. That’s right, the time of year when the news reports feature lots of stories about the flu accompanied by images of people in hospital beds and needles dripping with flu vaccine jabbing people in the arms. It’s also the time of year when we hear reports that most states are short on flu vaccine so you better go out and get yours as soon as possible.
Normally I scoff at flu season. I live in a shiny internet bubble where my contact with the outside world is limited. It’s kind of like John Travolta in The Boy in the Plastic Bubble only with less drama and more computers.
This year I was one of the lucky few to come down with a case of the flu. The good thing about having the flu is that it got me out of cooking for four whole days. I can’t decide what’s worse a fever, achy joints, and feeling generally miserable or cooking dinner. I’m leaning towards cooking dinner.
I got the flu from my stepson who got it from his mother who got it from work, I guess. This is what happens when you come into contact with actual living human beings during the course of your day.
The whole time I was sick my husband kept telling me that he wasn’t going to get sick because his immune system is so much stronger than mine and if I ate less cake I wouldn’t have gotten the flu in the first place. How could you blame the flu on something as wonderful as cake?
Well, guess who has the flu now. That’s right, Mr. Too-Good-For-Cake-Iron-Clad-Immune-System. Maybe someone’s been eating cake at his gigs. How else would he have gotten the flu?
A few days ago as he lay in bed delirious with fever he admitted that I won. “What’s that?” I asked delighted.
“You won. I admit it. You won,” he repeated.
I walked silently out of the bedroom pulling the door closed behind me. Then I clasped onto the floor in a fit of laughter. There’s nothing like the joy of victory. It is definitely worth a few days in bed with the flu.
My husband: It helped you complain about how you weren’t following your schedule all week.
Me: No, it didn’t.
My husband: Yes, it did. That’s all you talked about. “I’m supposed to be writing from 10 to 12, but I don’t feel like writing so instead I’m checking emails, but this is writing time.” Why not make a list of tasks instead?
Me: … but schedules work for me.
My husband: Schedules don’t work for you. You never follow them. A list of tasks works too and it doesn’t take as long for you to make.
Me: … but schedules are better because I put them on Google Calender, and I can color code tasks, and it’s pretty. I like schedules. You don’t have to like them. I like pretty. You don’t. You’re a man. Now I’m going to go spend an hour of my time making a color coded schedule that I’ll only loosely follow instead of trying to correct the code on my massage site that is making some of the pages shift to the left. Thank you very much for offering your opinion.
Today is our seven year wedding anniversary and of course I have no good pictures to show you as evidence that we actually did get hitched. That’s the nature of being less than sentimental and completely unorganized. Anyway, I found this poor quality one on my hard drive. We were so young back then.
In honor of our seven year anniversary I thought I’d write a list post because we all love a good list. So here are the seven best things about being married.
7. When a giant spider makes its way into the house I don’t have to deal with it. Even if my husband isn’t home I just trap the spider under a plaster container and let it wait for him to release it into the wild. We don’t kill spiders. We set them free.
6. I never have to do dishes … well except when I have to do dishes, but that’s not very often.
I used to think that I hated the beach until I actually started going and realized I like it a lot. Besides the sand getting sand in my bathing suit and the possibility of getting eaten alive by sharks, the beach is a rip roaring good time. That’s why when my husband asked what I wanted to do this weekend I told him that we should go to the beach.
“We can’t do that,” he said, “I need at least three days to prepare.”
My husband is English. I mean really, really English. The lack of sunshine on the British Isles means that the people have to be quite pale in order to absorb enough vitamin D from the sun’s rays. My husband has nicknames like Powder and Casper because of his pasty complexion. Exposing his sensitive English skin to the powerful Florida sunshine could have disastrous results.
But what about sunscreen? Here’s the thing. You know those annoying people who read the ingredients of everything and refuse to use things that are full of tons of chemicals? Yeah, that’s us.
We use extra virgin coconut oil as our sunscreen. Using oil as sunscreen probably sounds like a bunch of crazy talk to you, but it works. My husband has only gotten sunburned once since we’ve come back to Florida and that was because he went out without any oil on.
He feels that his current farmer’s tan situation is not appropriate for the beach, and he’s not convinced that coconut oil will have enough staying power for the beach. He wants to get a bit of color on his torso first.
After laying out for twenty minutes on each side covered with coconut oil, he still had no visible tan lines. I guess that coconut oil really does work.
If you want another good natural solution for sunscreen try using a St. John’s Wort oil infusion. Here’s a video that talks all about it.