Hurricane My Ass

Well for a week the news stations covered the storm that may or may not head our way. Having grown up in Houston, I could care less. Tell me where the storm is, where it will land and when. I'll take it from there thank you. You can keep you incessant drama bullshit circus.
I work for a hospital and am on the "A" team. This means should there be a disaster or hurricane, I am to report to work 48 hours before landfall and I'll stay there until it is all over, and the flood waters recede and I can get home. I drive a baby car and live by the mantra "Turn around, don't drown." Just to piss off my husband I'll yell this out just because. My intentional form of Tourett's Syndrome.
So Friday last, I debate whether or not to stop at the bank on the way home from work. I'd have to wait an hour for it to open or I could go home and sleep. As soon as I walk in the door hubby catches me.

Hub: Didn't you get my email?

Me: What email?

Hub: Don't you check your email?

Me: I check it when I get to work and then that's it. I saw there was a message in my box but I assumed it was a shift report. Why?

Hub: I wanted you to go to the credit union and get $100 for hurricane supplies

So I slept for 6 hours (I am a 9 hour girl) before hitting the credit union, looking quite lovely I must say. Bed Head is still in right?

You should eat them when they're still young.

My brother, mother and a fuck load of people are going to Aruba on vacation August 30,(bastards). This conversation took place August 29, 2008 after 10:00pm.

Brother: Guess what I am taking on the plane?

Me: No idea.

Brother: Captain Morgan's. The TSB says you can take alcohol on the plane in 3 ounce bottles.

Me: Actually, the TS__A says 3-1-1 for carry ons; 3 ounces or less in 1 quart zip loc (I know things).

Brother: Sweet. I can fit, like 12 in there.

Me: Do you know how big a quart is? The sandwich sized one.

Brother: No, sandwich bags are smaller and the box says quart. Bitchin.' I'm gettin' my drunk on for free.

Me: You know they'll turn the plane around.

Life was Good

Okay, so the majority of our recent vacation was wonderful. There were aspects that really traumatized us though. This fairytale story is from the wonderful time we spent alone together on the island.

Dear Husband and I went back to the island Tuesday during the hurricane that wasn't and checked into a hotel. Eager to resume the party, we enjoyed a few long necks in the room before dinner. The hotel offered a free shuttle which was terrific. We could enjoy all the perks of vacation (getting drunk) and still go out to eat! I decided I wanted to go to Hooters. I never want to go to Hooter's. Face it, it may be a family restaurant but it just isn't for fat girls me.

The restaurant in Galveston is on a pier over the water. We opted to eat on the patio in the back. How many times could you enjoy a beautiful sunset and balmy weather in the storm of the century? The birds behaved themselves, even though DH made the mistake of throwing food off the patio. I guess the birds didn't see it because we weren't attacked. However, after I chastised Dear Husband for this stupid, stupid mistake, he suddenly became a germ-a-phobe. Sorry, that is my bag. He noticed birds standing on tables that hadn't been bused, eating left overs. Well, if they were on those tables that meant they were probably on ours before we got there. Looking DH straight in the eyes, I put my hands palm down on the tables and then ate a fried pickle. Normally my OCD prevents me from finishing a nearly full cup of coffee if a gnat falls in. I have tried pouring out a sufficient amount along with the bug, but I can't shake the vision of the bug landing on poopy trash in the bathroom and then flying into the pharmacy and into my coffee. I digress. At my lack of germ fear, DH was free to finish his meal in peace.

Our pitcher of beer was gone in half an hour and so was our food, which was delicious. At this point, honestly, we were drunk, and I guess that is why DH decided we could walk back to the hotel. Um, what? That's a good thing you say? Psh. Hooters is at 23rd and the hotel is at 61st!! It was still early and the shuttle was still running. There was no need to walk
38 blocks.

Murdoch's (an island treasure) was next door. I thought if we walked around in there for a while to window shop, DH might change his mind. We had a great time in the store; we laughed at the shirts, touched all the shells and toys. We even put a quarter into one of the viewers that lets you see the rigs in the gulf. Yeah, it was nearly 9:00pm so there wasn't much to see, but it was great. Unfortunately, it didn't shake DH's desire to walk back.

All right, we're adults and 38 blocks isn't bad. The weather was nice, but we were in flip flops and parts of the sea wall aren't well lit. Remembering my "Women's Safety" training I kept scanning the horizon. At one point DH asked what I was doing. Checking my six and keeping my head on a swivel of course! He loves it when I talk nerdy. At block 45, he was done. He needed to pee and had blisters on his feet. Not me. We had come this far, we were going to go the distance so after stopping so he could pee on the beach, we kept humping it.

It really was a lovely night and you forget how wonderful the sea breeze can be. I loved licking my lips a tasting the sea salt. For a moment we were further from home and real life than ever and completely relaxed. We made it back to the hotel before 10:00pm, hand in hand.

Hopless Romantic I am Not.

We very recently went to Galveston on vacation. It was a traumatic event to say the least. I really can't even talk about it. Seriously!
However, we had a lovely evening for my dear husband's 40th birthday. We ate at very nice restaurant and drank $40 worth of alcohol. Afterward, DH wanted to take a walk on the beach.

DH: Let's take a romantic walk on the beach under the moon.

Me: No

DH: When will we have this opportunity again and look at the moon. Let's go.

Me: No. I don't want to get dirty.

DH: ??

Me: I have already had two showers today. Let's go back to the room and go to bed.

DH: ?

Me: Look, I don't want to go for a walk in the sand because I'll get covered in sand, and I don't want to get dirty.

There is nothing suggestive in that "Let's go to bed." I really wanted to go to sleep. Probably a decision I will live to regret. Not sure how many husbands want to take that romantic stroll on the sand, hand in hand with their wife. And I said no.

Fightin' Dirty

This is a bit of a long story but it reminded me of the fighting rules of marriage.

1. Avoid "You"
2. Do not bring up old arguments
3. Nothing "always" happens
4. No name calling
5. Don't bring your baggage into the argument

We are currently experiencing a financial "retrofit." A ton of money goes into a savings account for the down payment on a home, more money goes to a bank loan we used to consolidate credit card debt and the rest goes to bills. We are fine, but the belt has been tightened. Due to our compliance with the new rules we often end up digging for change just before the next payday.

So . . .Saturday, DH was was emptying all of my bags and purses looking for change. He needed a coke and didn't have any money. We have a big jar of pennies but you know coke machines. Lucky for him, he came up with enough for one soda.
I found out he emptied every bag I own before I left for work Saturday night. I emptied my wallet of change plus my secret dollar bill so he could buy another soda Sunday. As I began to turn my bag upside down he said "There isn't anything left in there except pennies, I already took everything out."

This is fine with me. Instead of women's stuff, I normally have a purse full of change and money. I have a wallet and keep some money there of course, but if I throw some in my bag, which ever one I am carrying at the time, I always get a surprise when I / we need it most.

Well, having given all my change to Husband, I wasn't able to buy a soda for myself at work Saturday. It was a weird feeling having no money. THREE CENTS is all I had.

**We are trying to kick soda out or else we would save the money and buy a 12 pack. We buy cokes only when we just can't make it another minute.

Sunday night I pulled out an "emergency" backpack. It is a bag I use for light school days because who wants to carry a ginormous bag if you only need a notebook and pencil?

Jackpot.

The bag had a wide variety of silver in the bottom including a Susan B Anthony. Luck.

DH: How much is there?

Me: $6.30

DH: You better split that evenly.

Me: It's mine. It was in my bag.

DH: Split it.

Me: I am selfish.

DH: Yeah I know. I remember that year we first moved here, you drove my car and I drove your P.O.S and you blew your entire year's salary on food, clothes and junk.

Me: ??

A very small disagreement arose because I don't remember this. Yes, I drove his car for a year and he drove my P.O.S. I don't recall not paying any bills.

Me: Well, (rubbing his belly) you benefited from the food.

DH: Yeah and I supported your ass while you wasted $32,000.

I was shot right through the heart. I AM selfish; a nasty trait that was passed from my mother. I was so awful that I spent an entire year's salary on myself and didn't contribute one iota. I sat on the bed and just felt . . . this immense sadness. It hurt me.

I REALLY don't remember not contributing anything. I DO remember getting an End of Fiscal Year statement from my employer stating how much they paid me. I DO remember looking at it with him and being stunned. I made $32,000 and had nothing to show for it except $500 in credit card debt. I had no savings, no nothing. I keep thinking he is confusing this moment with reality. I just don't know.

Some how though, I didn't turn this into an argument. I took the bitter pill and just let it be. He is not without a serious transgression himself. A very recent, financial transgression that boils my blood. This was not thrown in is face or EVEN mentioned.

The lesson in all of this is a combination of several of the rules. We're calling it Rule #6.
6. Don't bring up the past, especially if your partner has changed her / his ways.

Kudos to me too for not taking the argument to another level.

So Far, The Reason Why Marriage Sucks

Well, DH and I were sitting on the sofa the other day enjoying our time. I had just shaved, so I propped my legs into his lap.

DH: Your legs are so smooth. Why can't you shave every day?

Me: Why don't you shave every day? Besides, look at the area I have to cover and it takes so much time.

DH: Well . . . you're right. Do you want me to shave every day? Does this bother you?

Me: No, I like it when you don't shave.

It's not like I don't shave ever. I shave on average twice a week. Day one and two are fine; I'm not embarassed to wear shorts. Day three is a jeans day. I can already hear some of you, "eww, gross." But listen, I have a full time job, a part time job, I take 2 classes at the college and volunteer. The way I look at it, he can either have dinner or shaved legs. Since I benefit from dinner, dinner wins.

Now the rat bastard has changed the game. He is willing to shave his face every day to get me to keep my legs shaved.

Maybe I ought to make him shave his legs. Then every time I shave mine, he has to shave his and we'll see how long this "keep your legs shaved" thing lasts.

Rat Bastard!

It came and went

Last night was my 10 year high school reunion, out of state. I spent it here, at work. Oh I was snippy and grouchy because I had to be here instead of there having a blast.
This morning as I left work my cell phone alerted me there was a message. My mother called.
Bitch Mom: It's me. I just went to your reunion at "Granny's Attic" and a lot, a lot of people asked about you.

One: Granny's attic isn't her hang out, so she went on purpose.
Two: If I couldn't go, why do I want to hear about it.

I didn't go because I COULD NOT, not because I didn't want to. Her phone call pushed me over the "woe is me" line. I drove home from work with the windows down and the music blaring, trying to drown out my . . . frustration? Then I took a pill and went to bed.