The Cycle

Families share everything. Mother and daughter, father and son, it’s one big sloppy mess. Take me for instance… Currently, our little one has a penchant for Dora the Explorer. I’m not one to follow the exploits of a curious, little Hispanic girl and her ill-dressed monkey friend. And yet, I get valuable Spanish lessons from this little bilingual cartoon. “Soy Dora” means “I’m Dora.” How about that?

My wife doesn’t like football, but she watches it when it’s on, and she gets invaluable information about the game. She tried asking questions once, but I guess she didn’t like my answers, just like she didn’t like my explanation of the infield fly rule.

Anyway, there’s something else that three people living in a two-bedroom condo get to share…bacteria and viruses. Isn’t it grand? As I write this, I am sporadically coughing, my wife is blowing her nose so loud, I can’t hear the television, and, when the two-year-old sneezes, she looks and sounds like a party favor filled with tapioca pudding and a firecracker. I’ve actually stopped wiping her nose because, eventually, I won’t have to. It’ll get plugged up.

In her last post, my wife complained (sort of) that we never got to see each other. Well, we’re married. We don’t have sex, talk, or really look at each other much. It’s not the end of the world to be apart for a period of time. (Although, it does make me sad.) However, at this point in time, when we are together we can’t touch each other for fear of getting sick. Not that it matters, I suppose, because we’re sick anyway.

So, let’s add to the list of things that are great about being married. Both of us work and never see each other. We never agree on what to watch on television (or anything else really) when we are together. And, we get to share in each other’s filth and infestations. For those of you singletons, just bask in the glory of married life, and look forward to the decades of happiness that await you.

Well, I’m off to bed now where my sick wife will snore like a humpback whale, and I’ll cough so hard that I’ll shake the bed, nay the very ground, while, in the other room, my daughter produces enough mucus to patch all the holes in the Great Wall of China. If you hear us, we apologize in advance. Adios!

Chris

I think I have a husband

I think I have a husband, I really can't be sure though. You see, we have reached a crazy amount of craziness in our life, and we only know the other one exists because of the mess left behind by the other, not because we see eachother. (Ok, the truth is, I know HE exists because of the mess he leaves behind, I however, never leave a mess :) )

Today is Thursday, and at 830 tonight, we will see eachother for the first time since Sunday. Now, in some respects, this is a very useful tool to maintaining a successful marriage. We don't see each other so how in the world could we possibly fight? Good question. I often wonder how we manage to pull that off myself.

When 830 rolls around, you would think we might want to sit and talk, catch up on the week. Sadly, we will both want to veg on the couch doing our own thing because it takes far too much energy to converse at that late hour. (Did I mention we are getting OLD?)

Such is life. From what I hear it will get much worse before it gets better. We do manage to talk on the phone a few times a day. That is nice. He says bye in the morning before he goes to work, and I try to mumble something akin to I love you, have a good day in my state of unconciousness. At night, when I get in from work, it's the same ol' routine. Except, he is snoring away, and I'm the one trying to convey my goodnight wishes.

I shouldn't complain, we have it good overall, but I think that is why we both go into shock when we have these periods of feeling like the other doesn't even exist. He is home A LOT over the summer, and I guess we are spoiled. Geez, if he would only get a year round job, then we wouldn't have this problem. Kidding of course.

Honey, if you see this, hi. I'll see you tonight, maybe :)

Janice

Ignorance Is Bliss

As usual, I’m forced to ignore my wife, and apparently all of you out there who manage to ignore everyone else. No wonder there are so many wars and human suffering. No one is listening to anyone. I don’t know why I’m surprised by this. I’m a teacher. I spend the whole day saying stuff that people won’t listen to. Until you’ve taught, you don’t fully feel the frustration of saying the same thing twelve times and still not being heard. Between my wife and my students, I have the patience of Job (he’s a Bible character with great patience).

Now, on to my main point… I’ve covered this in the past on my personal blog, but I figured I’d bring it up here because I think this format is more fitting for the subject matter of having a daughter. Yes, I know she’s only like two or something, but you can never start planning too early.

In my own blog, I laid out a plan of fear, intimidation, and gender issues to prevent my daughter from having any life involving the opposite sex. As I sit here listening to “Rock Your Body” by Justin Timerlake, and just having finished listening to “I Loved Her First” by Heartland, I realize that I will be as effective at controlling my daughter as the Empire was at destroying the Rebel Alliance. As Leia said, “The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.” I’m Tarkin, and my daughter are these supposed “systems.” Get it?

(We interrupt your normal programming so that we may bring you some silliness… I am watching Monday Night Football as I write this, and, in an attempt to do…something, I’m not sure what, the folks at ESPN just gave an “anatomy” lesson about the appendix on Monday Night Freaking Football! What the hell?)

Where was I? Oh, yes… I wasn’t anywhere. I was making stupid Star Wars analogies and wasting everyone’s time. No wonder my wife and everyone else doesn’t listen to me. Have a good night…

Chris

Note: As for the picture, are you really surprised? Come on, really!

Blah, blah blah, blah blah

Alright fellow women, please let me know that I am not the only one who hears "blah blah blah" in lieu of actual words when their husband speaks. I guess it is the female version of Active Ignorance . I mean seriously, I can only pretend to care about PS2 for so long. Then, it turns into blah blah blah.

I can only pretend to give a hoot about Lindsey Lohan or some other whorish young pretty girl that makes me feel bad about myself for about a nanosecond, then I hear blah blah blah.

I am sure I'm not alone, and I'd like to hear from those of you who feel the same way :)

Janice

Reflections on Opening Weekend

The NFL Network is promoting a new documentary, entitled “America’s Game.” It is a ranking of the great Superbowl teams. I wonder how does the NFL dare to call football “America’s Game?” That’s a bit pretentious, don’t you think?

Then, I watch a football weekend that started on Thursday and went through Monday night. Of the sixteen NFL games that were broadcast between those days, fourteen of them were broadcast on major networks—all the major networks, in fact, except ABC (and ESPN, an ABC partner, got the two nonnetwork games).

What does this have to do with being married? Have you ever heard the saying, “A millions screaming Elvis fans can’t be wrong?” Well, I hate to break it to my wife, but there aren’t a million football fans: there are more like a billion. The people who talk on my TV told me that a billion people worldwide watched the World Cup. Many Americans actually watched this year. But, remember, the World Cup is a series of over sixty games.

How many people in America do you think watch the Superbowl? To keep it simple, all of them. Even if you don’t like football, you watch the Superbowl. A statistically insignificant number of Americans (most of them homosexual or of foreign origin) don’t watch the single biggest annual television event in America, probably in the world.

My wife doesn’t like football, and, hey, that’s cool. But, the simple response to that is that she’s wrong. Everyone (and I really mean that) watches football. I’m not saying she should be able to talk about how many yards Randy Moss had last night (not many, if you care) or talk intelligently about who is going to win the Superbowl (I really don’t know, but after last night, I’m thinking the Chargers look pretty good).

Women out there with sports fan husbands, you have to remember that football is a way of life. It’s religion. It has the power to reach the most people of anything ever. Relationships are a two-way street. If you expect me to go apple picking in October and enjoy it, you may try showing a little interest in a team that isn’t the Patriots (or whatever your home team is).

Girls, if you play along, you may get some romancing later. Who knows? And, if you wear that Dallas Cowgirls outfit, you’re guaranteed some loving, as long as you can spell “C-O-W-B-O-Y-S” with your body. Ladies, hit the costume shops tomorrow early. When this blog goes live, everyone will be looking for one, and you don’t want to be the only wife/girlfriend on the block with a Browns cheerleader outfit. (Are the Browns cheerleaders called the Brown Eyes?)

Chris

(P.S.: Randy Moss is pictured above, if you don’t know.)

Holy Week

Sorry, I haven't forgotten about you, it's just that this past week was holy week in this house. You know, the week leading up to opening day of football. Yeah, that week. If you are my husband, you find this to be a most reverent occasion. If you are me, you find it to be insanely annoying that is the only thing you hear about with each and every breath all week long.

Well, I lived through it. It's over, or at least almost over, and we are still speaking. It all worked out in the end. The kid and I went to a cousins first birthday party. Yes, the hubby was invited, and should have attended. Eventually I simply came to the realization that it was not worth it to ME to torture him in such a way as to prevent him from sitting around in his underwear, eating chili cheese dip, drinking beer, and watching the almighty football.

And so it goes. He got his way, the kid and I had a good time at the party, until the balloon incident (which is for another entry) and the day is now done, until next year.

Touchdown,
Janice

Reflections of the Hirsute

I have to say that my wife’s last post was a bit angry. Am I gross, as Nancy suggests? Maybe. But, I’m gross for a lot of reasons. I refuse to let my hair be blamed for my grossness.

I personally believe that my wife is a bit of hypocrite. Her hair is everywhere. It’s all over the place. We have cats, and they shed. Everything produces hair. That’s just the way it is. How do I get blamed for all the hair issues in this house? I know what they say about excuses. Everybody’s got them and they all stink, so I proposed a solution to my wife. Why don’t you comment and let me know which of these is the most viable...

First, twobuyfour suggested that I be shaved bald. I couldn’t agree more. I hate hair. I’ve always hated hair. My hair and everyone else’s. So, here’s what I suggest. Janice is welcome to shave me bald. All my body hair—she can do it all. But, my only stipulation is that she continue to do it. I can’t reach all the places, and, due to my rather portly physique, I can’t see what I can reach. It makes me nervous to take a razor to sensitive places when I can’t see. Moreover, after a day or two, it starts to itch as it starts to grow. Thus, the only solution is that Janice will, every few days, have to shave me bald as a newborn baby. What does she think of that?

She’s also very concerned about my wanting a television. I’ll make her this deal. We’ll go out right now and buy a nice 52-inch plasma television. At that point, I will relinquish all rights to the bathroom. I will clean myself outside, and I will make the great outdoors my toilet. The neighbors may not like it. And, it’ll be hard to hide in the winter when it snows, but I’m a man of my word.

So, ladies and gentlemen, which of these alternatives is better? Let us know, and I’ll let you know how it turns out. Evolution is the only real solution to hair, and I’m happy to announce that I’m working on a formula to speed the slow process up. Wish me luck.

Chris

P.S.: Where does a bear go?

Not Something To Laugh About

Hair hair everywhere! I can’t stand it. If it didn’t cost so darn much to get a divorce, I’d say see you in court baby. “Yes your honor, I love him very much, and we have a pretty darn good marriage, but we MUST get divorced right now. I cannot handle the hair.” It is simply disgusting. It is everywhere. I cannot escape the bathroom without little pieces of hair following me. Hair of all kinds haunts me in my nightmares. He sheds like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And quite honestly, it makes me want to vomit. You can’t always tell where the hair came from, which makes it even more of a reason to lose my breakfast/lunch/dinner over it.

My hubby is an averagely hairy guy. Not even gorilla like, so I don’t quite get it. I just wish he could keep it to himself. I mean he doesn’t share much of anything, but he sure as heck has no issues with sharing the one thing that makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit each time I clean the bathroom.

Mind you, he hasn’t cleaned a bathroom even once in the 5 years we have been married-but that’s for another post, but every time I clean, I can’t manage to get every last little hair, and we are back to square one. Don’t you think HE should have to clean the bathroom so he can realize the depth of his disgusting hairiness? He blames the cats, somehow I don’t buy it. There is one source of shedding hair in my life, and it is my lovely husband, no ifs ands or buts about it.

Quite honestly, when we move out of our tiny little condo, the only requirement I have is that there are enough bathrooms that he can live in his own hairy squalor, because I.won’t.clean.it!

I have repeatedly recommended laser hair removal among other techniques to rid his entire body of every last stray hair. I even think we should suck it up and pay out of pocket for it, but no, all he wants to spend money on is a huge ass plasma TV. Sigh…I guess it IS time for him to clean the damn bathroom himself.

Janice

p.s. THIS is a picture of the bathroom that I want for ME!