What's Cooking? Uh, Not Much. Until Just Recently.

I used to LOVE to cook. I mean, like, I adored it. I'd sift through recipe books and plan menus and experiment with new and funky things. I was no PaintingChef, or even simply a Chef, but I was pretty damn good. And, more importantly, I enjoyed the process.

In recent years, though, my passion for all things kitcheny has spiraled to the depths of Pulseless Hobby. My cooking has flatlined. I feel like a Domestic Goddess if only one half of the Zee Bee equation has a snotty nose at the end of the day and the overcooked Hamburger Helper makes it to the table undropped, a few morsels scattered on the kitchen floor for the canine-feline bunch notwithstanding.

I will confess, though, that mostly? I love to cook for compliments. Way less messy than fishing for them what with not having to wear unflattering fishing gear and hook a worm and all that grody stuff. I get a thrill out of hosting Thanksgiving dinner even though it involves a little sweat and copious amounts of wine because when someone says, "GODDAMN this turkey is good, Zube!" it makes my fucking year.

Here's the thing, though. Cuisine Compliments have just never been Z-Boy's strong suit. It took only one, "My Mom doesn't make chicken soup like that," and a disinterested refusal to try my version and the wind? She was violently sucked out from under my culinary sails. We've since covered this egregious transgression EXHAUSTIVELY in the Zube household, so no need to chastise.

Since the kids have made their debut, I've been trying to wrestle my ego back into cooking. It is not easy due to the aforementioned Operation: Deflate Culinary Diva and time constraints but I've got to tell you, nothing will inject your heart with Skittles and Care Bears faster than when your almost three-year-old opens the refrigerator all by herself, grabs the tupperware of 'Mama's Soup!' and thrusts it at you while you're fixing to make her a bowl of cereal for breakfast. In fact, I'm pretty sure if you looked it up in the dictionary, this is the definition of awesome.

I have been tempted back into the apron by the lure of actually being on the receiving end of Mom's Home Cooking references someday (thought my kids will be told EXPLICITLY that I don't care if their future partner's chicken soup tastes like yesterday's ass sprinkled with toe jam, they should NEVER mention my cooking being superior, though they'll certainly be allowed to think it. Ahem.).

Maybe one way to get to loving to cook again is to take the path that's just a tad longer. I'll start by loving to cook for my kids. I'm sure the personal satisfaction will follow suit.

Holy Shit, I Have a Blog!!!

I almost forgot!

You know what's awesome? Having a husband whose response to everything you say is, "Your what itches?" Good times, people.

Z-Boy finally got a work cell phone, which is nice for him because now he doesn't have to answer work calls, "Z-Boy's PERSONAL cell phone!" anymore. But it sucks for me because I had no idea just how often I assault him with text messages, which aren't covered by work's phone plan. I'm going through withdrawls, y'all.

Our last text exchange...

Zube: Honey? I just blew you some kisses, they should get there in a few minutes. Don't step on 'em by accident.

Z-Boy: Oops. The dog ate 'em. I'll wait and see if I can catch them when they come out the other end.

Zube: Ew. I don't know if I'd recommend that.

The end.

PS- Because I know I've been enormously slack in updating Zee Baby's blog, too, I wanted to share a photo with you:


Firstly, dude, I know I'm biased but she is one deliciously cute kiddo, thanks to all of you who cheered me on while I cooked her up 'til she was well done. That said, we were here when I took the picture and Zee was all decked out in rainbowy goodness. It was awesomely fun and I'm totally stoked that Hoot now lives in Colorado, too, so we can do activisty stuff together!

Fucking Suh. Weet.

It's a Pearly Something...

Last night, I endured a terrible case of Stinky Husband Syndrome. It was awful. I was able to curtail the toxic stench a bit by shutting the door to the computer room where said Stinky Husband was playing a computer game. But, you know, when you replace carpet with wood floors, and don't replace the doors, there is the ominous presence of a crack between the floor and the door that allows for the passage of small, yet gag-inducing, amounts of noxious fumes.

A while after his Flatulympic Performance, Z-Boy emerged from the computer room, grabbed himself a bowl of cereal and a PBR and proceeded to the bathroom to take a much needed soak in the tub.

I always find it amusing to pester my husband while he is lounging in the bath.

*Knock-Knock-Knock*

Z-Boy: WHAT?!

Zube: Honey?

Z-Boy: Yes?

Zube: Are you washing your hiney really good? 'Cause if you don't, you're gonna hafta sleep on the couch!

Z-Boy: I am, honey.

Zube: Good. You need to really get in there and scrub.

Z-Boy: I will.

Zube: Okay.

Z-Boy: Hey, is this your only toothbrush?

Zube: Yes, it is.

Z-Boy: Okay.

If Hoot Only Knew

Z-Girl: Honey, Hoot wants to come up from Denver and spend the night tonight. She'll come up early and cook us dinner. Would that be cool?

Z-Boy: Does she still want to have my baby?

Z-Girl: She only offered to do that if I couldn't cook us up a baby properly. Which I did, so she's not going to have your baby.

Z-Boy: Oh.

Z-Girl: Sorry.

Z-Boy: Well, I guess it's okay if she's making us dinner.

Z-Girl: Thanks.

I Haven't Had the Last Laugh...

...in almost nine years.

Zube: GOD, I can't wait until tomorrow!

Z-Boy: Why?

Zube: Because I just get better looking every day!

Z-Boy: *eyeroll* Well, I can't wait until tomorrow either.

Zube: Why, do you get better-looking every day, too?

Z-Boy: No but maybe you'll be better looking.

Zube: Assmonkey.

I Dream of...Spinach and Artichoke Dip

Zube: Honey?

Z-Boy: Uh-huh.

Zube: One day when I grow up, I'm going to have a restaurant.

Z-Boy: Uh-huh.

Zube: And instead of appetizers on the menu, I'll have happytizers.

Z-Boy turned his head away from me, but I think I felt the faint breeze of an exaggerated eyeroll making its way around the car.

Zube: Isn't that cute?

Z-Boy: Very cute, honey.

I have dreams, people.

If a Tree Falls on Your Neighbors Deck, Will Homeowner's Insurance Cover It?

I mean, if you're the one who put it there?

Sorry I broke my promise to blog every day, but I've been busy. Zube Boy and I have an assload of trees that have been killed by the pine beetle in our yard (assload is a highly technical term meaning approximately 25...or so...in this case anyway) that need to be felled. And burned or chipped before the beetle takes flight again this summer. And seeing as how dead trees are highly flammable and all and we're overdue for a forest fire 'round these parts, it'd be a good idea to rid our yard of them even if we weren't trying to be all, Protect Other Trees from the Pine Beetle.

Admittedly Zube Boy has done most of the hard work, chainsawing, dragging the winch and yadda yadda, but I took on the honorable role of winch operator. I've included a video (in which you will see my tree falling friend Bud Weiser...and you'll also prolly wonder if we're fucking idiots pulling the tree down like that, just know, the winch is anchored on another tree further away so we weren't, in fact, trying to pull the tree in my general direction.

Feel free to fast forward to the end of the video where you'll hear me, "Oh Shit,"ing...That's where it gets exciting.



Also? It all worked out. And Zube Boy was never near as scared as I was. He's more of the calculating type. While I'm more of the arms flailing, "OH SHIT!" type. As you've just seen. I was a little concerned about our neighbor's deck just to the right of the video. And the two healthy trees we were about to topple over. But Zube Boy employed his other handy dandy winch posessing vehicle. And we (ahem, he) fixed the situation. While I had visions of the opening scene of Ghost Ship tumbling around my head as there was a very tense cable about, um, a foot from it.

Needless to say, I'll not be applying for a tree falling position anytime soon. Or anytime at all. Ever.

Boredom...

I made a present for my honey and I thought I'd share it with you. Just a warning...You do not want to play the video if you're at work. The song is a little, erm, offensive. Just sayin'.

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

He Pisses on Kisses. I Pass on Pissed Kisses.

The Scene: I'm downstairs in the office, Zube Boy is upstairs in bed (still not feeling on the up and up). From the office, I cannot hear him squawking.

After a while I hear the tell-tale creaking of the stairs, foreshadowing the imminent arrival of my pajamified husband.

Z-Boy: *heads into the bathroom* Honey?!

Z-Girl: Yes, dear?

Z-Boy: Oh, what are you doing in there?

Z-Girl: Playing on the computer.

Z-Boy: Well, I've been blowing you kisses down the stairs forever now because I thought you were in the living room. I just came down and the kisses were all stuck at the bottom of the steps.

Z-Girl: Why don't you tell them to come over here? Oh wait! Here they come, marching in the office door!

Z-Boy: Nope. Nope. That's definitely not them.

Z-Girl: How do you know?

Z-Boy: Because I picked them all up and threw 'em in the toilet when I came in here.

Z-Girl: And now you're peeing on them?

Z-Boy: Yup.

Z-Girl: That's...nice.

PS - There are some DAMN funny comments here if you're so inclined to take a peek.

The Dog Ate My, Er, Blog

Life? Is currently sucking the life out of me. It's constant. The suck, suck, suckling at the teet of Zubeness.

Moving to a new house.

Finishing remodeling the old house.

Trying to make the house we moved into look a little less like a McDonald's playground, colorwise and all. Which means painting.

Sleeping, waking, sleeping and waking. It's not as bad as it was, but I still haven't gotten a full night's sleep since 5/16/07.

Working.

And on and on and on. I'm not complaining, well, okay, maybe a little. I'll say, though, that I'm happily complaining. It's all good. It's just...so...ALL.

Anyway, I've had stories I've wanted to tell, like the time when Zube Boy and I went out to lunch and I was professing my Queendom of all things 80's hair bands, and he said, "Okay, then name a song by Poison," and I said, "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," and he said, "Duh. Name another one."

"She's My Cherry Pie."

"That's Warrant."

"Oh. Warrant. Hey, they sing EIGHTEEN AND LIFE TO GO!"

"Uh, that's Skid Row."

"Skid Row? Like, the Skid Row that sings Runaway Train?"

"Yeah. Or no. That's Collective Soul*. And that wasn't even the 80's."

"Jesus. I give up."

"Poser."

"Whatever."

But I'm just so wiped at the end of the day and all of my bloggy brain juice is in a martini glass somewhere with my bad ass beret wearing writer self. And I get the distinct impression they're laughing at me.

Anyway, things haven't really changed around here. Yet they have. I mean, we're still us. Just different. And more. But, we're hanging in. Hanging on. I'm managing to keep my nose above water, at least. But the blog, she does suffer.

Sorry 'bout that.

*Um, PS - I am a bigger tool than even Zube Boy thought possible. As pointed out by Amy, a commenter who was trying to help a sister out, Runaway Train was sung by Soul Asylum. And that would be what Zube Boy said. I fucked up yet again. Thanks for trying, Amy! I am beyond help!

I'm Fairly Certain the Words Stripper Pole Have Never Been Uttered in That Office...Until Zube Boy and I Came Along

In the past two months I've had a baby, had visitors, travelled to Chicago not only to attend a wedding, but also to be in it, and now...

We bought a new house. I forgot to mention to you all that was in the works. We closed on Thursday. This is the third closing I have attended and the fourth for Zube Boy. I think we're pretty fun to close with.

A week or so ago, I subtly hinted to Zube Boy that my birthday was coming up. I said, "Honey, you know my birthday is coming up." He thought for a moment and said, "How about I buy you...a house?" Ha. Sure. I imagine he won't be paying the mortgage alone and that seems to violate the whole gift thing on so many levels. Anyway, at the start of closing, I told the realtor and the closing agent, in my most serious tone, that at the end, they had to sing Happy Birthday to me. They sort of laughed, not knowing if I was serious or not.

In the house we bought, there are two bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs. The previous owners used the two upstairs as one big room. One was allocated as the closet and the other was for sleeping. The realtor asked me if we had figured out where the baby was sleeping yet. I told him that eventually I'd like to have the baby downstairs, but I didn't feel comfortable with that just yet, so for the time being we'd set her up in the room the owner's used as a closet. And then we'd move her a few months or so down the road if I felt a little better about it. Zube Boy chimed in, "So, are you saying that in a few months the baby is going to come out of the closet?" Badum-bum. Ching. I said that if she is to come out of the closet in the future, it would probably be just a few years longer.

We also had to sign a paper that had our aliases listed, promising that those were the only ones we had. Actually, we had none. The realtor noted that sometimes some pretty funky stuff shows up on those reports. I said, "Like stage names from someone's college stripping days?" He laughed and said that we didn't have anything weird. I breathed a sigh of relief and told Zube Boy it was a good thing they didn't find him out.

At the end, I pointed to a post in the corner of the room and said that it must've been very difficult for Zube Boy to keep his pole dancing impulses in check.

Who knew closing on a house could be so fun. It took about two hours.

I'm up to my ears in the maelstrom that is my life these days. Not getting enough sleep. Little Zee is still waking up during the night. Moving. After moving, we have to finish the remodel on our house so we can sell it. The shit is hitting the fan and I'm trying to dodge the flying poo.

Hope you're all well. I'll keep you updated.

One Couch...Free Ninety Free...A Bunch of Jokes at My Expense? Priceless...

We're pulling out of the driveway. Some of you may remember my ex-boyfriend? Named Guy? Who lives across the street? With his wife? Anyway...

Z-Boy: Oh, honey, look! You're LUV-er is giving away a couch.

Z-Girl: *Glances over and spots a couch with a big FREE sign on it in her ex-boyfriend's yard* Yeah.

Z-Boy: I bet there's Zube Ass all over that couch.

Z-Girl: Dude.

Z-Boy: Seriously. Is there stinky Zube Ass on that couch?

Z-Girl: You are not right.

The next morning. Zube Boy is outside working on the deck. He yells to me. I'm inside. Did I mention that he is outside? Where we have neighbors? One of whom I happened to have dated? Anyway...

Z-Boy: HONEY!!!

Z-Girl: WHAT?!?!

Z-Boy: SOMEONE IS TAKING THE STINKY ZUBE ASS COUCH!!!!

Z-Girl: THAT'S GREAT.

Sometimes, the fact that we're now someone's parents frightens me a tad.

It Must Have Been So Funny She Just Forgot to Laugh...

The Scene: I'm in the hardware store for, ahem, the THIRD time that day buying plumbing supplies. For Zube Boy. I really don't want to complain though because I'd rather be buying shit pipes than installing them. Anyway, I'm consulting Zube Boy via phone about my potential purchases...

Z-Boy: Okay, I need two 3" couplers.

Z-Girl: Black?

Z-Boy: Yes, black, like all the other stuff you bought.

Z-Girl: So everything will match and be all pretty under the floor?

Z-Boy: Exactly.

Z-Girl: Hmmm...Here's a 1 1/2" coupler.

Z-Boy: Honey, your poo won't fit down that. I need 3".

Z-Girl: *talking to myself* 3" coupler, 3" coupler, for my poo...AHA! Got it!

Z-Boy: Cool.

Z-Girl: So you need two?

Z-Boy: *shuffling stuff around* Umm, you know, maybe I only need one.

Z-Girl: So one?

Z-Boy: Um, I don't know. *shuffling more stuff around* Maybe two.

Z-Girl: So I'll get two.

Z-Boy: Oh wait, nope. I just need one.

Z-Girl: Honey.

Z-Boy: I think.

Z-Girl: Look, I'm buying two because I am not coming back here a fourth time.

Z-Boy: Okay.

*I waddle up to the counter, because that's how I roll these days, and plop my merchandise down in front of the cashier, who recognizes me from being there twice earlier*

Cashier: She's baaaaaaaaack!

Z-Girl: Yup, and I swear if you see me in here again today, I'll be spitting nails. Which would be cool for you because then you could sell them.

Cashier: *silently checks out my items*

Z-Girl: You know. This being a hardware store and all. Heh.

DUDE! I totally thought that was funny! What the fuck? Clearly I have lost my edge. She didn't even crack a smile. Eh well.

PS- No baby yet. However, it looks like the Turtle will be entering the world without a cone-head. In other words, s/he is still breech, and has dropped which will make turning even more difficult, so I'm probably going to be having a c-section. We still have a couple of weeks, so it's wait and see time. So I guess we'll just, wait and see. I'll keep you updated.

Stats for those who are so inclined to care:

As of yesterday, I am a fingertip dilated and 50% effaced.

Ah, But to Be a Fly...in My Soup...

Zube Boy and I have been going out to eat quite a bit in recent weeks. For three reasons, mostly. Reason the first: I really, really don't feel like cooking. In fact, I think I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a wooden spoon than throw together a one pot meal of hamburger helper. Reason the second: I think we're taking a teeny bit of advantage of the fact that we CAN go out to eat quite easily. He calls me up five minutes before he's due off of work and asks if I'd like to go out to eat. I say, "Yeah." He says, "Okay, I'll meet you at Fatty's in fifteen minutes." Something tells me things won't be easy like that in the very near future, goddess-willing, of course. And lastly, reason the third: Recently, it has become quite apparent that when I want a chimichanga right now, well, I want a goddamned chimichanga RIGHT fucking NOW! No time to go buy ingredients or scour the 'net for a decent chimichanga recipe. It's far easier to head out to a restaurant where someone has so thoughtfully put together all of those ingredients already. Just for yours truly.

Anyway, our dinner conversations have had an interesting slant.

Z-Girl: *pushes her half eaten cheeseburger away* That's it. I'm done.

Z-Boy: You full?

Z-Girl: No. I just know that if I finish that burger, I'm going to be up all night with heartburn.

Z-Boy: Heh.

Z-Girl: What?

Z-Boy: Nothing. Heh heh.

Z-Girl: Well, what the hell are you laughing at then?

Z-Boy: I don't know. It's just funny. I mean, you used to be worried about having a little too much to drink at a party and throwing up or not being able to get up in the morning. And now you're declining to finish your cheeseburger because you're worried about heartburn.

Z-Girl: *snort* Man. Makes me feel kinda old.

Z-Boy: You should probably get used to that.

*********************************************

Z-Girl: Dude, that childbirth class was pretty stupid, but at least we get to eat at Ruby Tuesdays while we're in the area.

Z-Boy: Yeah.

*silent happy chowing down*

Z-Boy: You know, I noticed something the other day.

Z-Girl: What's that?

Z-Boy: Well, at work, we have these welding masks.

Z-Girl: Uh-huh.

Z-Boy: And I put one on the other day. And I had to loosen up the straps.

Z-Girl: Okay.

Z-Boy: And I started thinking that I always have to loosen up the straps.

Z-Girl: Yeah.

Z-Boy: And that's after whoever wore it before me already LOOSENED the straps to take it off.

Z-Girl: So?

Z-Boy: So. I have a big head. I'm just sayin'.

Z-Girl: *realizing where this is going*

Z-Boy: Like, a REALLY big head.

Z-Girl: Great.

Z-Boy: Just thought it was interesting.

Z-Girl: I'm ordering dessert.

Z-Boy: You deserve it.

***********************************************

Z-Girl: I don't know if we really have to go all crazy with waterproofing the room, though. Seroiusly.

Z-Boy: But, honey, NEW BED! NEW CARPET! Do you really want your water to break all over that stuff? We spent a lot of money.

Z-Girl: The thing is, though, most people's water doesn't even break until their at the hospital, in labor.

Z-Boy: Most people's?

Z-Girl: Yeah.

Z-Boy: Well, do most people have to take aspirin and progesterone when they get pregnant?

Z-Girl: Um...

Z-Boy: And do most people have crazy cervixes and get bedrested for two months?

Z-Girl: Okay...

Z-Boy: And are most people's placentas in the front?

Z-Girl: Alright...

Z-Boy: And are most people's babies still breech at 35 weeks?

Z-Girl: Okay! Shut up! I'm smelling what you're stepping in.

Z-Boy: And?

Z-Girl: Why don't we get a waterproof sheet for the bed. And I'll keep towels next to it so I can sort of throw them around me like an adult diaper on the way to the bathroom if my water happens to break while I'm in bed.

Z-Boy: Sounds like a plan.

Who's Your Daddy?

Z-Boy: You're getting really excited. I can tell.

Z-Girl: Well, yeah. Aren't you?

Z-Boy: What's so exciting?*

Z-Girl: I don't know. Aren't you looking forward to someone calling you Daddy?

Z-Boy: Heh.

Z-Girl: I mean, someone who isn't a prostitute.

Z-Boy: Or your Mom?

Z-Girl: Ew. That wasn't even funny.

*Just so you know, of course Zube Boy is excited. But any excitement he feels does not hinder his inherent need to fuck with me.

PS- Because some of you are too kind for words, and have asked about our registry for the Turtle, I've posted a link over yonder under the 'First and Foremost' heading. Please know I'm NOT fishing for gifts. We have hand-me-downs coming out of our collective arses, so we really aren't in need of much. But since some have inquired, there it is.

He Loves Me...He Loves Me Not...

Z-Boy: How was your day, honey?

Z-Girl: Lame. How was work?

Z-Boy: Busy. What'd you do?

Z-Girl: Laid around missing you and wishing you were here to entertain me.

Z-Boy: Aw, I missed you, too.

Z-Girl: Well, honey, you know, you could set up a couch at your work and take me with you everyday and I could lay there and we could hang out together.

Z-Boy: I could also smash my nuts in a drawer over and over again for fun.

Z-Girl: Heh.

This and That

-I am fine. The Turtle is fine. So far everything, save a few bumps in the road, looks okay.

-Work is really working me over. How appropriate. So, on top of the utter exhaustion I've been feeling as the Turtle sucks every spare and non-spare ounce of energy out of me, I've been working six days a week here and there. Fun stuff.

-The Episcopalians returned. I still love them as much as ever.

-I've been spotting for the past five weeks. It's kind of shut me up about this whole pregnancy thing. It is disconcerting to say the least, but totally explainable, so try not to worry. I've got worrying covered. I have a 'marginal anterior' placenta. 'Marginal' apparently means that my placenta is low and partially covering my cervix. This, I'm told, usually corrects itself as the pregnancy continues. But before it corrects itself, spotting is bound to occur. 'Anterior' means that instead of attaching itself to the back of my uterus, the Turtle implanted in the front. Which doesn't mean much at all except that, unfortunately, I won't feel those reassuring kicks and such until later in pregnancy because the placenta adds yet another buffer between the Turtle and my nerve endings.

-Yesterday Zube Boy and I went to dinner.

Z-Girl: Honey, do you know what's coming up?

Z-Boy: What?

Z-Girl: Well, January 8th is our six year dating anniversary.

Z-Boy: Ooooh. Six of the best years of my life.

Z-Girl: Aw.

Z-Boy: Down the drain.

Z-Girl: Bastard.

-I'm 19 weeks and 6 days today. You know what that means? I'll be 20 weeks tomorrow. And do you know what that means? I'll be about halfway there. That's been astounding the shit out of me, to be honest.

-I really want a brownie.

-With ice cream.

-And chocolate syrup.

-And whipped cream.

-I'm going to go have one.

-Now.

Sorry I left y'all hanging, YET AGAIN. I've just been plodding along trying not to count days, and that's meant I've kept myself really busy in both totally meaningful and totally meaningless ways.

So, I Married Prince Charming...Or, Maybe Not...But At Least He's Not An Ax Murderer...

The Scene: Zube Boy is cleaning up his work shop. Putting all the big tools in their places. Kind of like how I feel when I'm checking people in at the front desk sometimes. Heh. Anywho...

Z-Girl: Honey, it looks really, really good in here!

Z-Boy: Thanks...

Z-Girl: What's this?

Z-Boy: Oh, it's just some notebook...

Z-Girl: Awww, honey is it your diary?

Z-Boy: Yeah. It's my diary.

Z-Girl: *Grabs notebook from its position high upon a shelf*

Z-Boy: You should read it. It's filled with all of the happy memories I've had since we got married.

Z-Girl: *Opens notebook*

Z-Boy: Heh.

Z-Girl: You're a dick. It's empty.

Z-Boy: There's still plenty of time to fill it up.

*************************************************

The Scene: Zube Boy and some buddies, including our roommate at the time, Zig, went to Vegas for Zube Boy's bachelor party. Whatever happened there, stayed there...for the most part. There was one photo of two gentlemen, and I use the term gentlemen loosely here, sporting boxers, well, one was kind of not sporting them so much, that involved a Holy Bible, but other than that no evidence of the weekend made it home. I'm in the dark as to what occurred at Zube Boy's bachelor party, and I kind of prefer it that way. Anyway, upon returning home, Zig and Zube Boy dumped their luggage on the living room floor and Zig regaled me with some, ahem, 'business cards' in his wallet that he'd received from a few ladies down in Vegas. Some very fetching, and, er, naked ladies.

Z-Girl: Honey, you better not have any pictures of hot chicks in YOUR wallet.

Z-Boy: Oh, don't worry, I don't.

Z-Girl: *Opens up his wallet*

Z-Boy: *Smiles his ass off*

Z-Girl: *Sees that the only picture in his wallet is of...her*

Z-Boy: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Z-Girl: Shut up. You know, I really can't even say anything.

Z-Boy: Nope.

Zig: Dude, you kind of walked right into that one.

Z-Girl: Yeah.

Monkey Business

The Scene: We're watching The Omen. Damian is at the zoo freaking the fuck out of the monkeys.

Z-Boy: Honey...

Z-Girl: Yeah...

Z-Boy: I want a monkey.

Z-Girl: That's cool.

The big ass ape starts thrashing his body against the glass enclosure and Damian's mom is looking around, all wide-eyed looking like 'Dude, I totally think my kid is a fucking freak.'

Z-Girl: Honey...

Z-Boy: What?

Z-Girl: If you had a monkey, what would you name it?

Z-Boy: Hmmm...

Silence

Z-Boy: Teresa*.

Z-Girl: Fuck you, honey.

Sometimes I wonder if the Turtle is totally bored. Doesn't seem like there's a whole lot to do up in my cooch, ya know? Oh well, at least if it's a boy he's got something to play with. And if it's a girl, I'm sure she's thinking wickedly evil thoughts like her mother and that's quite a time passer.

Did I mention to you all that we're not finding out what The Turtle is? I wonder how crazy that will drive me? And you? But really, if it drives YOU crazy, well, then, that's the fun part. Me? Not so much.

*For those not in the know, that be my IRL name. Kind of like Zube is my IRL nickname. Or something.

Bubble-Butt

Zube Boy has this week off in order to tie up loose ends at the new house. The renters move in on Saturday and I know for a fact that he's trying to finish up the installation of the new bathtub. So I decide to call and annoy him.

Ring-ring!

Z-Boy: Hello.

Z-Girl: Hi, honey.

Z-Boy: Oh, hi.

Z-Girl: Are you at the new house?

Z-Boy: Yup.

Z-Girl: Are you playing in the bathtub?

Z-Boy: Yup. I'm blowing bubbles.

Z-Girl: With your mouth or your butt?

Z-Boy: Both. I'm having a little competition.

Z-Girl: Heh. Heheheheheheh.

After a few snorts and slobbering a little bit, I hung up. Seriously? Where does he come up with this shit? I have no idea.

PS- Dude. I can't. Believe. I. Spelled. Turd. WRONG! Thank you to junebee and Rich for pointing that out. Of all people, one would think I would know the proper spelling of 'TURD' what with my pottymouth and all. Sheesh. I'm ashamed.

***********************UPDATE************************

Ring-ring!

Z-Boy: Hello.

Z-Girl: Hi, honey. Where are you?

Z-Boy: Walmart.

Z-Girl: Oh. So, I have a question for you.

Z-Boy: What?

Z-Girl: I was wondering who the winner of your little competition was.

Z-Boy: What?

Z-Girl: Your butt or your mouth, DUH! Your little Bubble Blowing Competition?

Z-Boy: Oh, yeah. There is no winner yet.

Z-Girl: What do you mean? You're at Walmart. I figured it was over.

Z-Boy: No, it's ongoing.

Z-Girl: What, like a marathon or the Tour de France or whatever?

Z-Boy: Yeah.

Z-Girl: So you get to take breaks and stuff?

Z-Boy: Jesus Christ, of course honey! You have to take breaks. Otherwise I'd, I don't know, start bleeding or something.

Z-Girl: Oh, okay. Keep me posted.

Z-Boy: Will do.

Z-Girl: Bye.

Z-Boy: Bye.