I'm Out!

Puerto Rico, watch out. The Zube's are on their way!

I promise to return to my blog on June 5th, which is incidentally our one year wedding anniversary!

Peace out bitches!

Sock It to Me

You know what really sucks? No, no. Not that. I know it sucks when you pee a little while your laughing. Or, I mean, I've heard that sucks, too. But, do you know something else that really sucks? No. Well, let me tell you.

Let's say you've just gotten home from a hard day of work and you plop your stinky, big, lumpy* ass that looks like a baboon with an infection* on the couch and let out a big sigh. You decide the evening will be made perfect once you remove your boots.

You proceed to take them off one at a time. After wiggling your toes and realizing your socks are a little damp, you figure you'll just FREE YOUR FEET! 'Cuz feet love that shit.

Anyway, as you remove the last sock, for some godforsaken reason, your cerebral cortex decides it wants you to bring the sock to your nose and take a big whiff before you toss it back into your shoe. Yes, my friends. You smell your stinky dirty work sock. To make matters worse, opening your eyes midsniff, you happen to lock eyes with your husband.

I mean, seriously, what the FUCK can you SAY when your husband catches you smelling the socks you've been wearing for nine hours. It doesn't help that whenever you try to speak for the remainder of the evening, he cuts you off and says, "Shut up sock sniffer!"

But, I'm just sayin' that would really suck. You know. I'm sure it's happened to someone.

*Guess who helped me type today's entry? I'm married to a punk. But, he's making me a hot dog right now, so I'll keep him.

Nostalgia For What Never Was

So, I’ve composed a conversation I imagine Zube Boy and I would have if we had met in high school. It goes something like this:

Zube Girl: Hi!

Zube Boy: What?

ZG: What’s your name?

ZB: *stares*

ZG: Umm, hello, I like asked you a question.

ZB: Whatever.

ZG: So, like, is black like your favorite color?

ZB: Yeah. Is that cheerleading uniform your favorite outfit?

ZG: Hee hee. Give me a, yes sirree!

ZB: *eyerolling*

ZG: So.

ZB: So, why are you talking to me?

ZG: Oh my God, like, I’m just trying to be nice.

ZB: Okaaay.

ZG: *eyerolling*

ZB: What are you so happy about?

ZG: Why are you so grumpy?

ZB: Pffbt. Cheerleading bimbo.

ZG: Hmmph. Grumpy Goth dude.

Then, we’d each turn to our respective crowd. The Cheerleaders and the Goths.

ZG: *doing the cuckoo ear thing* Dude, that guy is psycho! Oh my God.

ZB: *acting cool, like he doesn’t realize he was just in the presence of greatness* What an irritating bimbo.

To say the least, I am oh so glad we did not meet in high school. ‘Cause we woulda not been BFF. Know what I mean?

Peeling Out

Zube Girl: Hi Honey.

Zube Boy: Oh hi.

ZG: You're never gonna guess what happened to me this morning.

ZB: Do tell.

ZG: Well, I was on my way to work thinking about how much I love you-

ZB: Pfffbt!

ZG: Shoosh. So, I was on my way to work, and I ran over a banana.

ZB: Oh God.

ZG: I really felt pretty awful about it.

ZB: Are you okay?

ZG: Yeah, I guess so. I mean, a banana just layin' in the middle of the street has gotta have some sort of a death wish, you know?

ZB: Yeah, but still. It's not like it could've changed it's mind and gotten out of the way or anything.

ZG: Whatever. I'm not gonna feel guilty about it. Hell, it would've gotten eaten eventually if I hadn't run it over.

ZB: I guess so.

ZG: But, that's not really why I called.

ZB: Sweet Jesus! There's more?

ZG: Hello. Yes! So, the Senate came to a compromise.

ZB: I know. Are you happy.

ZG: Well, yeah. I mean at least they can still fillibuster Superme Court nominees.

ZB: I know honey.

ZG: Actually, I'm almost too happy. Watching CSPAN for 10 hours yesterday got me really scared.

ZB: I don't know how you can watch that shit. It's so boring.

ZG: It feels more like real news somehow. Although I did click over to Fox every once in a while just to get myself all riled up.

ZB: Heh.

ZG: I've got to get back to work.

ZB: Me too.

ZG: Love ya.

ZB: Ditto.

ZG: Okay, Patrick Swayze.

ZB: Buh bye.

ZG: Bye.

Brad is Crazy, Y'all.

I heard a rumor that Brad Pitt visits a friend of his in our ski town. Sometimes when I'm at the bar playing pool I think how suave I'd be if he happened to walk in. I'd wait a few minutes for the crowd around him to dissipate. Then I'd saunter up while suggestively holding my pool stick. I'd order a cosmopolitan, and wave towards Brad when the bartender brought it over, all oh he's got this one...

ZG: Hey, so I hear you're my biggest fan.

Brad: Well, I wasn't until you just said that.

ZG: Yeah, I know. That was like, a really cool thing to say, wasn't it?

Brad: You are totally hot.

ZG: I know.

Brad: And cool.

ZG: So I hear.

Brad: Wanna hang out?

ZG: Oh no. I already have a husband.

That would be the beginning of the end, so to speak. He would be so enthralled with me that he would start showing up wherever Zube Boy and I were having dinner, and peeking in my windows while I was getting dressed for work. It would be a bit of a thrill in the beginning to be 'Celebrity Stalked' but then it would just get old.

Zube Girl: Honey.

Zube Boy: What?

ZG: Brad is at the window watching me put on my pajamas again.

ZB: Goddamnit! This is getting really old. How many fucking times do I have to beat up Brad Pitt before he realizes you're my hot wife? Geez.

You know, that would be kind of annoying.

I think that instead of being all coy and sexy if I ever see Brad, I'll wield my pool stick like a lampoon, glare at him, and say, "Dude, you're fucking nuts! Stay the hell away from me you crazy stalker!"

'Cause I just don't have time for stalkers. Even celebrity ones. I mean, I'm happily married, Brad. Get over it. 'Kay? And I don't even fucking like cosmopolitans anyway. I'm just not ready for Hollywood.

I Feel Like Poo...

My fucking throat is killing me. I think I have a fever, but haven't checked yet. My body is sore. My nose is running perpetually. Bleh.

All this, and we're going to Puerto Rico in four days. Shit. So that means that I have to get better. It's imperative. Not to mention that I have a load of shit to do at work before I can skip out of town for a week and a half, and calling out today just throws a big 'ole fucking monkey wrench in my plans of getting so much done there today. I also have to avoid my husband so I don't get him sick. Usually, I would relish a valid avoidance, but unfortunately, when I get sick, I get all clingy and whiney and actually want him around.

Zube Boy: Honey.

Zube Girl: Uuuuuhhhhhhhn. *Cough*

ZB: Do you still feel shitty?

ZG: Mmmm hmmmm. *Sniff*

ZB: I'm sorry sillypants.

ZG: It sucks hundies.

ZB: Do you want some tea with honey?

ZG: Yes, please.

*Brings me tea*

ZB: Here. Does your throat hurt?

ZG: Yeah. It's fucking killing me.

ZB: I hear blow jobs can cure that.

ZG: Whatever. Have fun at work.

ZB: No kissy for you, so I'll have to blow you one. *Mwah*

ZG: *Mwah*

ZB: Feel better.

Fuck This Test

Stupid People and Meetings

You know, it's so fucking annoying when you have Mr. Self Important at a meeting who just looooooooooooves to hear himself talk. It makes me want to say, "Would you just SHUT the FUCK UP already!!! What in the hell does your dinner yesterday have to do with this month's revenue, jackhole?" Okay, I'm exaggerating, but it was off topic business talk which would not make sense to you all unless I went into great detail. Which I don't care to do. 'Cause the meeting yesterday was enough, you know?

It's especially difficult when it's gorgeous outside and you know that as soon as the meeting is over you are DONE WORKING and sitting in a damn office all day and can enjoy the beauty of the outdoors. And the whiteness you've got going on is scaaaaary! So some sun sounds super! (Hee. I love alliteration!)

I think I'm regressing as I approach 30. I totally had little balled up pieces of paper on the table in front of me, and if someone else had not been sitting in front of me, I would have totally threw paper at the back of that guy's head. I was reminded of a little song Zube Boy sings to me to the tune of "Whip It."

"When you feel the need to speak, you must zip it. Zip it good..."

Mom had sent me this funny little e-mail.

Are you lonely???
Don't like working on your own?
Hate making decisions?

Then call a MEETING!!

You can...
SEE people
DRAW flowcharts
FEEL important
FORM subcommittees
IMPRESS your colleagues
MAKE meaningless recommendations

All on COMPANY TIME!!!

MEETINGS...
THE PRACTICAL ALTERNATIVE TO WORK

It's so, so true...

Down and Out.

Our poor pooch, Zack, is depressed. He's got an odd way of expressing it, too. In the past week, he's chewed shoes, chewed cell phones, and knocked chairs off the couch that we put there so he won't sleep on the couch (because he has a very cozy $60 bed to get his hair all over). These are things he hasn't done since he was a puppy (like three years ago).

I can be a pretty dense human and couldn't figure out what was going on. Until I realized that, DUH, our roommate of two years just moved out. That qualifies as traumatic when you just don't get it.

I've tried 'splaining it to him, but my words just seem to go in one ear and out the other. I really fucking wish I spoke Dog and could let him know that the roomie's gone, but maybe in a year or so we'll have a bambino who'll just love Zack to death!

Actually, maybe he doesn't want to hear that because a bambino will surely steal some of the attention of his adoring humans. Sigh. Poor dog.

The cats are fine. Not that I'm surprised by that. Cats don't give a fawk. Zube Boy is convinced that they think we're talking furniture and as long as they can curl up and lay on us, whatever.

I just wish I could make him feel better. It would be good for him, my shoes, and me.

Grrrrrrr....

You've got to be fucking kidding me. Zube Boy and I should just give up now because having cohabited for three years before our nuptials, we're doomed for divorce anyway!

This pervasive religion in government is making me want to claw my eyes out with a fork lately.

The thing is, I would never in a million years deny another person the right to practice their religion and believe in their God. It's all good with me, so long as they respect my right to believe in my Whatever.

Religous freedom isn't good enough for these folks, though. I don't think they'll be happy until I've either choked to death on the God they're shoving down my throat, or learned to just swallow Him. Hold the ketchup. That's never gonna happen people.

I do find it kind of ironic that zealous right-wingers have taken it upon themselves to prosyletize about cohabitors, all the while giving Dr. Fuckwit Hager, a rapist, a slap on the back for all of his 'good work'. Pffbbbbbt. Hypocritic much?

Waaah!

Okay, so all of the sudden, all of the shit about me and my links and la la la have sunk to the bottom of the page.

Help? Anyone have a clue as to why that would happen?

I know. Boo-fucking-Hoo. But still.

I really do need to get out more!

Edited to Add- I should be a fucking detective! Apparently, if you have a reeeeeeeeeelly long title, that makes your profile and stuff go to the bottom. Who'd've thunk it. In short, to keep your profile at the top, you must limit your title length to what you can see in the title box. Nothing more. Wheee!

What a Nice Sunn..un..un..Ah..Aahh..ACHOO!

I sneeze when I look right at the sun or a bright light. In fact, when I've got one of those pesky little sneezes that won't come out, I run to the nearest lamp or window, stare directly into the light or sun, and out it comes. I love sneezing. It's weird. Not that sneezing is weird, but how much I love it is a bit off. I've often heard it likened to an orgasm. Rather, orgasms are likened to sneezes, but chicken and egg. Whatever. They feel good afterwards, and you're still employed if you sneeze at work. An orgasm. Not so much. Aaaaaanyway...

Zube Boy and I have gotten into fights about this while I'm running around the house turning on lamps trying to coax out an Achoo. As if we don't have enough to fight about. He insists that it's all in my head. The fact that "Well, it works whether or not it's all in my head," wasn't a good enough defense for me because this was one fight I wanted to win.

It occurred to me that maybe not everyone sneezes when they look at the sun, so I called up My Belle and Hoot and asked them if they do. After giggling for a minute because with no other polite phone-greeting, I said, "Okay, so do you sneeze when you look at the sun?" they replied, "Yeah, actually." Hmmm...

I investigated a little bit, and found this website. Verrrrrry interesting stuff. My Belle did a little research of her own and asked all of our family members. Since the trait is thought to be hereditary, we asked Mom. Mom had no idea what the hell we were talking about, so that would be a no. Bro was like, "Ooooookay. As if it's not bad enough for me to have three sisters, now you're all crazy." That would also be a no.

My Belle was left to ask Dad. Kind of funny, cause you know, Dad already thinks we're a bit off our rockers, but hell, he raised us. If the info on the website was correct, we had to inherit the sun-sneezing gene from someone. In Dad's e-mail reply to My Belle's query he said, "I really don't know where you girls come up with this stuff, but yes. I do, in fact, sneeze when I look at the sun."

Hah! I can't tell you how happy we were to learn this. It is NOT in fact ALL IN MY HEAD. Well. It actually is all in my head. But, biologically. Not psychotically.

Other Cast and Crew...

Edited to let anyone reading this know that I've removed photos of my family members. I had wanted to introduce them, but decided to take their pictures down. I can out myself all I want, but I didn't think it was fair to expose them to public ridicule for being related to me. And, one day upon checking out my Statcounter, I realized that someone was freakishly stalking this post. And my sisters are fucking babes. 'Nuff said.

Just because invariably, these folks are gonna appear in my blog, I'd like to introduce them to ya! They are my family and they rock the free world. And, yes, I'm biased! :)

Photo Removed

This be my Pop and his lovely wife! He rocks in every sense of the word. He lives in good old North Carolina where someday I'd like to visit him! Damn big country we live in! He sneezes when he looks at the sun.

Photo Removed

This is Mom and her man, John. I talk to my Mom like, oh, at least twice a day! I figure, if I've gotta live far away from home, at least I can talk to the fam whenevah I want! Mom, however, does not sneeze when she looks at the sun.

Photo Removed

My brother and his lovely wife, K. Bro is the coolest guy on earth. So, in case you were ever wondering who the coolest guy on earth is, now you know. Bro, like Mom, does not sneeze when he looks at the sun either.

Photo Removed

My sister, Hoot. She's a fucking riot. Love this girl. Love, I tell ya. We like to shoot the breeze about love, politics, and ridiculousness. I'm jealous of her boobs. She does sneeze when she looks at the sun.

Photo Removed

My Belle is the baby sis to us all. She hardly ever laughs at me when I do crazy things like call her and ask her if she sneezes when she looks at the sun (which she does, in case you were wondering). In fact, she then goes on to investigate such matters because we read on the internet that if you do sneeze when you look at the sun, it means one of your parents must 'cause it's hereditary.

Here We Go!

I have improooooooved it, no? 

I made my lips nice and fluffy. 'Cause I've always wanted fluffy lips. Anyway.

I Can't Believe...

I'm actually going to show this to you. Heh.


Yuck 

Mug Shot? Might As Well Be...

I fucked up.

I needed to renew my license. Married 11 months ago, just now getting around to changing my name, cause, you know, I felt squicky about it. Still do, but that's another matter.

I had a free afternoon, and just wanted to get the whole deal over with. But first, I had to have a little argument in my head.

Zube Girl: I need to take a shower first and do my hair.

ZG: Dude, that never works. No matter how nice I try to look for driver's license photos, I've always looked incredibly asstastic. Why bother?

ZG: Yeah, but I should at least make a good faith effort.

ZG: Nope. Waste of time. I'll just go now, because it's already 2:00, and who knows how long I'll have to wait in line.

ZG: Well, I guess I do always look ugly no matter how I fluff and preen, so, yeah. Where's my keys?

ZG: Over on the counter, where you just set them, dumbass.

ZG: Oh. Duh!

HUGE MISTAKE PEOPLE! Please, learn from me. I thought, you know, how much uglier could I possibly look? Let me just warn you that, that's a question to which you DO NOT want to know the answer.

I never thought in a million years that I could look so...wow...I don't even know. I'm at a loss for words. Really.

Did you ever see the look on someone's face after they've unwittingly eaten a, ummm, a...worm, let's say? They appear kind of scared because that's just, ICK. A worm. Eww. At the same time, they're sort of, surprised, and maybe even a little bit delighted because it actually tastes kind of...yummy?

Me neither. But, after getting my license, I think I can imagine.

And. My. Hair. Oh goddess, what have I done. I have long hair, which is silly because I never. Ever. Ever. Wear it down. It's always in a bun, unless I'm trying to look nice for my driver's license picture or the company Christmas party.

Anyway, so I've got it in a bun. You know those little sticky outy hairs you get? The short ones in the front? Well, I've got two tufts of them sticking out. One by my ear on the left side. One on the top, just a little bit to the right.

It appears as though I don't have hair. Just a really dark head. With fluffs. Like a mane of sorts. Only, a sad, pathetic kind of mane. Jeebus.

Kind of like an "I am lion, hear me meow, and then watch me roll over and die" mane.

I've got to find some way to post that photo for you all. Seriously.

Lucky for me, it's valid until 2015. How fucking cool is that?

The moral is: You can, indeed, look uglier than you'd ever imagined.

Oh, the Love...

Zube Girl: Hi honey.

Zube Boy: Hi honey.

ZG: How's work?

ZB: Good.

ZG: I'm scared.

ZB: About getting your fillings?

ZG: Yeah.

ZB: Don't worry honey. They're just going to hit your teeth with hammers until you scream. Then it'll be over.

ZG: Okay. I'll call you when I'm done to let you know how it goes.

ZB: Only if you live to tell.

ZG: Love ya.

ZB: Yeah. (muffled) I love you, too.

ZG: Hee. I love making you say 'I love you' while you're at work. Tell the guys I said hi.

ZB: Okay. Buh bye.

ZG: Bye

What Is This?

6 5 4 5 6 6 6

5 5 5 6 8 8

6 5 4 5 6 6 6

6 5 5 6 5 4

Hint: Before the advent of caller ID, this was an important sequence of numbers.

Tell me!

Adventures in Urinating...

My lovely sister, My Belle, and I had a fabulous phone conversation the other day.

My Belle: (Who also happens to be a Zube Girl, but it's not her freakin' blog, so neener): Hey, what's up?

Zube Girl: Nothing. How 'bout you?

MB: Yeah, so I just got a job working for an insurance agency.

ZG: Sweet.

MB: How was Moab?

ZG: It rocked. Though the trail scared me shitless at parts.

MB: Cool.

ZG: Dude, they had the nastiest toilets there. It was like a port-a-potty, but it was outside in this fence thing.

MB: Really?

ZG: Yeah, and there was this chain for your door. Heh. That'll keep 'em back.

MB: Keep who back? The throngs of people just wanting to see you takin' a pee.

ZG: Shut up. Anyway, it sucked because you don't flush the stuff, you just do your thing on top of everyone else's thing and walk away.

MB: Ewww.

ZG: And I had the pleasure of going in right after someone had taken a massive shit.

MB: You looked! That's nasty!

ZG: I did not look. Whatever. I could smell the stench.

MB: Shut up. You looked.

ZG: So what. So would you.

MB: No I wouldn't.

ZG: Yeah, you would, too. But, seriously, it was so nice not having to worry 'bout peeing on my feet!

MB: Ugh. Dontchya hate that!!!

ZG: I so wish I was a guy.

MB: Me too! Like, when you're camping, and you're trying to hide behind a car door or something, or at least be so far from camp that you're sure no one can see or hear you.

ZG: Hate that.

MB: How awkward is that?

ZG: Especially when you start peeing, and um, you've been drinking lots of, erm, water (Hi Mom!). You know, everybody drinks lots of water when they're camping.

MB: Exactly. Heh.

ZG: And you're peeing the 'Forever Pee' and the perfect spot of dirt to pee on has become a puddle and you're still not done. So, the pee starts splashing up on your ass!

MB: Ooooh man! Just sucks.

ZG: And, you've got your pants around your ankles and you're kind of walking backwards a little bit until, inevitably, you step in the puddle.

MB: Hello?! Don't forget that you always lose your balance.

ZG: God. What would it be like to pee standing up?

MB: Dude. That would be awesome.

ZG: Hey, well, I'd better go. I've got work to do.

MB: Okay. Love ya.

ZG: Love ya, miss ya.

MB: Bye.

ZG: Bye

Birdie...

I went out to my car to get something, and as I was walking back inside, I heard "Chirp chirp." Not all that unusual, I know. But, the "chirps" coincided with my footsteps.

I slowed. The chirps slowed. I quickened. The chirps quickened.

It was kind of scary. So, I ran inside and closed the door.

Feeling High...So High...

Zube Boy: How are you doing, honey.

Zube Girl: (Whimpers)

Skelton: How high* d'ya think we are?

ZB: (Proceeding to drive closer up to the edge) Probably 1,500 or 2,000 feet. Look at that power line tower. It seems more like a pine needle. Honey? You should look, it's a really pretty view.

ZG: Oh my God. Oh my God. Please don't do that.

ZB: Do what?

ZG: (Breathing heavy) Drive so close to the edge when I'm on the passenger side! Stay close to the left.

S: Damn, you really do get scared, don't you.

ZB: Yeah, but she better not do that to our kids. Getting them all scared of heights, too. Yelling at them when they climb all high...

ZG: Can we discuss this at another time.

S: Dude, you guys are gonna be awesome parents. In a fucked up kind of way.

ZB: (Pulling so far over to the left that the jeep starts to tilt my way. Toward the cliff.)

ZG: (Leaning all of my body weight toward the superunderstanding driver, cause, you know, my 125 pounds are gonna keep the jeep from rolling down 1,500 Ft.) Seriously. I hate you.

ZB: (Begins driving normally) Hey, Zubes, your leg is shaking. Geez. Are you okay?

ZG: (Laughing and crying at the same time) I told you, honey. I'M FUCKING SCARED! OKAY. Seriously, I'm not kidding. Right now my brain is like, "Hey, body, so we're gonna fall 1,500 feet any second now. Whaddya think 'bout that?" And my body's reacting like, "Well, fuck, we might as well jump and get this shit over with." That's what it's like living in my head when you're on a cliff. My hands are the only part of me doing the right thing now, and hanging on for dear life. Okay. So, be nice.

S: Dude, she's really scared. Be nice.

ZG: Thank you, Skelton.

ZB: Honey, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was like that. You'll be okay.

It is well known among our off-roading comrades that I'm a'scared of heights. I try to quell it and overcome it every chance I get and Cliffhanger Trail* in Moab was just another one of those opportunities.

There were three of us in Zube Boy's jeep. Zube Boy, Skelton, and myself. There were four cars total in our clan. We were returning from the top. Coming from that direction, and being able to see the precarious trail you'd driven up on made it, for some reason, all the more scary.

In addition, it put me in the jeep on the same side as the cliff.

Anyway, I survived. Honestly, it was an absolute BLAST!!! The top was breathtaking*. Charlotte held my hand as I made baby steps closer to the edge to do a little ooohing and ahhing of my own.

Really, the people in my life are so cool. They like to call me a scaredy cat, but then over the CB they'll chatter about nothing when the scary spots come up to take my mind off of it. And, each time we safely navigate our way through high spots, I'm hoping my mind will learn to shut the fuck up, a little. 'Til it's got no more bad things to say about being all high.

Anyway, our stinky, dirty, fabulous friends. That's what this weekend was all about.

Well, that, and peeing in a toilet surrounded only by a wooden fence, no roof, with just a chain you pulled across for a door. And, it didn't flush. But, hey, there was TP. And I didn't have to worry about peeing on my feet. So, big thanks to the Utah state park peoples. My feet love you.



*None of the photo links are of our entourage. Someday, oh someday, we'll get the right video card to be able to download the images from our video camera onto our computer.

Just One More Thing...

Before I go! So, I just started using StatCounter (which is hella cool).

On the bottom of every page I'm on, they have a little ad to upgrade. Goes like this...

Increase The Size Of Your Log!

Alrighty then.

Okay, I swear I'm leaving now!

Whee...

I'm going to Moab!

I'm out for the weekend ya'll!

Are Ya Hungry?

In honor of Cinco de Mayo, I'll tell you a story about my 'Waitressing in a Mexican Restaurant' days.

There was this guy who bartended at On the Border* when I was a waitress there, oh, I don't wanna remember how many years ago. His name was Bill, and he was fucking hilarious. Bill and I actually worked down the street at Casa Lupita, which closed a month before On the Border opened up. With our full repertoire of tequila and chimichanga knowledge, a number of us conveniently made On the Border our new home way from home.

Anywho, those of us who'd worked with Bill previously had the pleasure of knowing he was a sarcastic fuck, and acted accordingly.

So, it'd be Saturday at around 9:00 or so, and we'd all be getting tired and hungry and whiney. It's tough serving food to people from 3:00PM to 10:00PM when you yourself are not allowed to eat. At some point, Bill would be hiding behind the server bar chowing down on some enchiladas in between making a Borderita and a jack and coke because he had the privilege of being able to hide from the managers.

An innocent server, whom we'll call Rob (basically, fill in the blank), would high tail it to the server bar to grab his drinks, and spot Bill eating. I was witness to this conversation so many times.

Rob: Hey, is that my house marg?

Bill: Yup.

Rob: Thanks.

Bill: Hey.

Rob: What?

Bill: Are ya hungry?

Rob: Yeah, actually, I'm starving. (Eyeballing Bill's enchiladas) (Heh)

Bill: Then, why don't you go eat a dick.

Rob: Fuck you.

Damn. I miss Bill.

*I was gonna do one of those little linky things to the restaurant's website, but their website does that thing where once you click on it, you can't hit the 'back' button to return to the previous page, so fuck 'em.

Adventures in Highlighting...

Or

Ten Ways Your Husband Lets You Know He Loves You...

10. He highlights your hair for you. This is actually a fool proof way to make sure it turns out well, because you know he wouldn't want to be seen with some dizzy broad with crappy highlights.

9. His first and last names start with an M. Therefore, he has refined his signature down to on sloppy M. This means that since he was a young adult, he has been perfecting this simple signature because he really wants you to buy new shoes with his credit card.

8. He only laughs a little bit because you bought the book "Taking Charge of Your Fertility" and you think that maybe, just maybe, you're getting to be on the same page.

7. He tells you that he will have kids if, and only if, he can raise them thinking that cats are really called 'monkeys' cause you only get one shot at fucking them up, so you might as well do a good job of it.

6. You get your wisdom teeth out and he goes to the store to get you some Neopolitan Ice Cream. Then he scoops some out for you, but only after asking if you prefer more chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla.

5. He pretends to hate your cats, but when they cuddle with him, you can see him cuddling back.

4. He thinks they should make a TV sitcom about you because on your way to Home Depot, while on a major highway, you wonder aloud, "I wonder what road that is," and it turns out that 'that road' is just the other side of the highway that was divided for a little bit to go around some big rock formations. He just says, "Woah." And you turn red.

3. You mention in May, under your breath, while he's turned around, that you'd like a video camera someday, and he actually remembers and gets you one for Christmas. And, he doesn't even seem to mind that you only got him Scooby Doo Bandaids, a toothbrush, and some long underwear.

2. He's a Republican, and you're a Democrat, and he tells you that one of the things he loves about you most is your passion for politics. It's a little easier to stomach the fact that you're married to a Republican if he's a Bush hatin' Pro-Choice kind of Republican.

1. He tells you he's proud of you for doing something pretty scary.

There's a Mushroom in My Pocket...

Where I used to keep my wisdom teeth. I thought mushroom soup would be safe to eat, but no.

I think there might be a kernel of rice in there, too. I just wanted to eat something that I actually had to chew a little bit. But after two bites, I started to feel a little like a chipmunk stocking up for a snack later in my flavor saver pockets.

It's freaking me out a little.

No matter how often I gargle salt water, I just can't seem to get the stuff out. Then I'm like, well, maybe I'm just imagining it. But hours after eating rice, I'll gargle, and a piece of rice will fall out.

It's making me not want to eat anything but my banana babyfood. Maybe I will lose a little weight before we go to Puerto Rico, and I have to put on a bathing suit. Perhaps with all the money I save not buying food, I'll be able to afford to go tanning, too. Yeah. Because the equation of the day: My Bathing Suit Clad Bod = Whiteness. Scary whiteness.

But, other than a little soreness, I guess I'm okay. It's just totally weird having big holes where your teeth once lived!

If You Were a Fly on My Wall...

"Can't I just make the coffee before I feed you? Zander, get off my foot. Zoey, fuck. Wrapping yourself around my leg is going to get you killed, not fed."

"Geez, my morning hair is...w..wa..wait a fucking minute. Zoey! Get off my head!!!"

"Yeah. Meeeeeeeeeooow right back atcha Zander."

"Okay, Zack. Quit whining. Outside ya go."

"Zoey, get off the counter."

"I said get off the fucking counter!"

"Zander. ZANDER! Wanna treat? Wait, don't walk away from me! Ass. Fine see if I ever give you a treat again."

"Zack. ZACK! Wanna treat? Oh, you wanna come back inside first. Well, aren't we demanding."

"ZOEY! OFF the table. Yes, you! Ksssssssss!!! Don't just look at me! I'm already hissing at you like an idiot. Don't make me get up and push you off the counter! I mean table. For now."

"No honey, I'm not making dinner. It's fucking 8:30 in the morning and the animals are staging a coup because they don't want me to have coffee for some godforsaken reason."

"Zoey. Off the table does not mean get ON the fucking counter again!!! Off. Now!"

"Woah. Zander Dude. What's up with the puffy tail, and the sideways attack stance, buddy? It's only a crumpled up receipt from 7-11."

"Zoey. OFF."

"Zack, you were just outside. Grrrr...Fine, but you're staying out there forever."

"Ummm, I don't think so Zander. I just offered you a treat and your holiness dissed me. I'm the boss around here, dammit!"

"Zack, for crying out loud. I just let you OUT! Why are you scratching at the door already? Did you hear me say treat?"

"Okay, Zack..Zo..I mean ZANDER. Here's your fucking treat. Yeah, I hit you in the head with it 'cause you're annoying the hell out of me. Wh..where are you going? If you rub your butt on my pillow, I'll...ZOEY! Off!"

"Thanks for offering to help, honey, but as a matter of fact, I just folded the last shirt."

"No kidding, my love. Zoey is on the counter. You've got vocal chords. Nevermind. ZOEY!!!"

"Kssssssss..."

"Hi Zack. You know, bud, I'm glad you're comfy, but, ummmm, you're sitting on my foot. Yeah. And you weigh 95lbs lard ass, so get off. OFF. Thank you."

"Ummm...Zander, Zack was not making room for you, dear. My. Foot. Is. A. NO. SIT. FUCKING. ZONE!"

"Honey, get off my foot. I mean, wait, what did you just say? No...I don't know what's for dinner yet."

"ZOEY. Get off the goddamned counter!!!"

"Actually, babe, I just did the last dish, but, ummm, thanks for offering."

"Ew. Zack, if you're gonna lick your butt, could ya, like, do it somewhere else."

"You too, Zander."

"Okay, that goes for licking each other's butts, too. Mmmmkay? No fucking butt licking in the living room. Got it? Jesus Christ."

"Ooooooooooffffffffff!"

"What the fuck? Honey, what the hell...Hey, no licking my butt...Oh. Ha. Ha. Ha. You're reeeeal funny. But, you know, you can kiss it."

"ZOEY!!!!!!!!"