Why My Marriage Works

Because after a month of consistent Mario Kart playing, when I finally achieve the coveted three stars and start jumping up and down in excitement, he doesn't look at me like I'm insane. What he does instead is join me in the jumping up and down excitement, and then adds a high five and a hug to the mix.

Why My Marriage Works

Because we make all major decisions based on the outcome of Rock, Paper, Scissors.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!

Elevator Etiquette Continued

What you say when you exit an elevator to find someone directly in front of you, already attempting to shove their way inside: Excuse me.

What you want to say when you exit an elevator to find someone directly in front of you, already attempting to shove their way inside: Get the hell out of the way, you self-absorbed ego-maniacal pig.

A Word About Mice

I forgot to bring my wireless mouse to work today, and the only other mouse at my disposal is an Apple mouse, which has left me with the crippling inability to right-click. Has Apple since rectified this problem, or is Bill Gates the wonder-God that I truly believe him to be?

A Note About Lit Elevator Buttons

I pushed it.

Seriously, I pushed it. Trust me, you do not have magic fingers that make the elevator appear or descend faster simply because you pushed it.

And another thing? Pushing the button 37 times in rapid succession does not activate the elevator's "turbo" function.

Self absorbed ego-maniacal pigs.

Why My Marriage Works

Because when I catch him staring at the small country on my chin and attempt to call him on it, he says, "I was not. I was admiring how beautiful your eyes look in this light."

Dear Darling Brother,

I suspect that you don't let your children read my blog. The reason I suspect this is because they have not once made comments about the blog, and those children do not keep their opinions about anything to themselves.

I am under the impression that Aunt Nanci's blog is banned because I occasionally use the work "fuck" and you are under the impression they have never heard this word before.

Either that, or because I have been known to refer to sex, and you think they don't know what that is either.

The only other reason I can think of is that it is because you don't want me to form a deep, meaningful and lasting relationship with my nieces. To which I argue that they could learn an awful lot of valuable lessons from me, and beg you to allow me to mold their young minds.

The world could totally use another me, and sadly, I do not plan to procreate.

Lovingly,

Your Favorite Sister
(oh don't deny it, the other one doesn't read this blog either.)

Intruder!

One of the fun things about letting the cats lounge in the screened-in patio is discovering all the things that freak their pansy-asses out:

1. The neighbors
2. The sprinklers
3. The random iguanas
3. The wind
4. The stray cats that meander up to the screen and cause Hades to make a howling noise low in his chest, very similar to what I think a coyote sounds like, and causes both their tails to fan out in a manner that rivals Loki's. Yes, Hades, it is very intimidating and I feel much better about not spending the extra $12 a month to activate the alarm system.

Revolution!

I promised Tim that I would stop picking at my face, lest he call the producers of "Obsessed" and submit my profile as a compulsive zit-popper.

However, a small mountain has been forming on my chin for the past three days, and this afternoon it began a colonization uprising, and I'm afraid that soon it will attempt to procreate, and must be stopped. Evacuation to commence at eighteen hundred!

Yeah, it's been a while. So the three people who read this blog can sue me.

Last night I took Advil PM because I'm tired of falling asleep with random parts of my unwritten novel swimming around in my head, causing me to want to nap at work instead of work at work. For comfort, I took the Punky Skunky to bed with me and let him sleep with his nose in my crotch, one of his favorite snoozing activities. The following conversation took place sometime between 10:30 PM and 5:00 AM, long after I was in a drug-induced coma and the Punky Skunky decided he needed to be awake, out of my crotch, and biting Tim's nose:

T: Can you put him in his room, for fuck's sake?

N: No, I'm sleeping. You put him in his room.

T: No, I'm sleeping!

N: Awfully talkative for a sleeping man.

T: Put him in his room!

N: You want him in his room, you go put him in his room. You know what? I don't think I can have kids with you if you are not going to accept the duties of a responsible father and put your kids in their room.

T: Oh, yeah, it's real responsible parenting to bring your kids to bed with you after you take Advil PM.

N: Shut up.

T: And how are you ever going to be a parent if you can't put your kids in their room because it is dark and scary and lonely.

N: Shut up.

T: Put him in his room!