You want me to pee in what????

You ladies know what I am talking about. Men, you can just stay out of this because you have the ability to aim and this doesn't pertain to you one little bit.
We've all had to do it. You go to the doctors and they ask you to pee in a cup. Not just any cup.. a urine sample cup. Yep, the cups that are the size of a dixie cup. I dread doing this every time. It makes me laugh that they call it a "clean catch" sample. There is nothing at all clean about trying to "catch" a sample when you are a woman.
It all starts out with the cleansing towelettes they give you to make sure there is nothing on your lady bits that will contaminate the sample. I swear they put these in the freezer... they are always ice cold and as soon as I open one I take a deep breath because I know there is a very real risk of me jumping off the toilet when it touches me! For the love of all that is holy, put them in a warm environment!! Is this really so much to ask?!
The trick with doing a sample is you can't just pee in the cup. They want midstream urine. You have to START to pee then STOP then pee in the cup. This may sound easy but when you are at the doctors for a bladder infection its nearly impossible and almost always end up starting to pee on yourself while you try to position the tiny cup in the right place.
This takes me to my next complaint. Getting the cup in the right position and maintaining that position. It seems your body chooses to play games with you at this point and you start peeing in all directions. Just when you think you might be successful at getting in the right place, you realize that you are missing and completely peeing all over your hand or the outside of the cup.
At the end of it all you pray you've gotten at least a few drops in the cup and it's enough to test. There's this psychological game I have with myself. I don't want to look like a loser who can't get my aim correct and hand the nurse a sample that has an eyedropper full of pee..but I also don't like handing them a full cup either. I don't know why this is. It seems obscene to me to walk out with a cup full to the brim of yellow stuff.
This whole experience is emotionally and physically taxing. They can make TVs that can wrap around your wrist. They can fit hours and hours of hi def data on a tiny disc. BUT they can't come up with a better way for us poor women to get a urine sample.

Dad's never leaving,,,, and I'm kidnapping my mother.

My dad's a woodworker. Let me rephrase that. My dad's the most talented woodworker I have ever met. He can turn any interior into a showcase for a magazine. Typically, my dad is on the road away from his hometown working on jobs but I've had the luxury of having him in town for a bit now. I'm thinking of giving him a roofie  (Don't be sick, I know it's a date rape drug. I'm really not planning on raping my dad...now Kendrick on the other hand......) and kidnapping him to hold him hostage here to live out the rest of his days! Selfish? Of course it is! But dammit I like having my dad around! (I also hope my mother isn't reading this or my cover's blown and my plan wont work.)
Don't get me wrong here. I know this sounds crazy and depraved. That I am an adult woman who surely should get a grip and stop thinking I need Dad around to make my life complete. I realize it sounds like I have 'daddy issues'. I don't, not really, not overly anyways! It's just that he's always traveled and that his actual home is in Kentucky. My dad and mom keep trying to talk us into moving there. This is all sweet and nice but I just don't see me doing well in the south. Then there is the other issue that I am not one of those people that can just pick up everything and move away. I lack that kind of daring. The daring to face mountain lions, snakes, scorpions, and BIG spiders. (I'm not a fan of spiders. I don't kill em, but I don't want to share a bed with them either!)  Not just that though, for as much as I may bitch about snow and cold...I actually love the changing seasons here! Dad and mom tell me they have season changes there and I don't buy that. It's not really Winter without feet of snow. If I can walk outside in December without having to worry about breaking a bone and taking ten minutes to carefully walk to my car then it isn't winter.
Anyways, I don't see us moving to the South. No way, nuh uh, not gonna happen. So you can see my urgency in figuring out how I can manage to get my parents to move here. I've tried tears, begging, and reasoning. So it's getting down to the nitty gritty and I've got to come up with a plan.
Dad is already here working. So for all intents and purposes keeping him here is the challenge. My mom, on the other hand, is still in Kentucky. So real care needs to be taken here to figure how I am going to manage momnapping her and getting an adult woman back here without raising suspicion. Drugging might be an option here too. I think she might be on to it though if I randomly show up one day and say, "here, I brought you this tasty drink!" I'm going to have to get creative. So if any crazies with experience in people stealing and brainwashing are reading this, email me! I am open to suggestions!
They may not realize yet how happy they will be here. It will come in time. Oh yes, it will come in time.

Voodoo lovin

This is Lori, better known to me as Voodoo, V1, V....but definitely not vd..(bad joke, sorry) She calls me Voodoo as well. V and I text alot...almost everyday, and it never fails that she will be texting a word and her autocorrect feature on her phone will completely mess up. One night she meant to say 'vagina' and it came across as 'Voodoo'. Don't ask me why we were even talking about vaginas. We have had so many conversations about body parts it's hard to remember them all.
I met V in rural Pennsylvania my junior year of highschool. I was a bad ass, goth, rebellious chick and she was as normal as apple pie. I don't even know how we started hanging out..but we were as opposite as could be in almost every way possible. I was a school skipper..I know it may come as a shock to people. Deep breaths, I wasn't always the angel I am today. She was a good student. I was reliving the sixties and she was as current as can be. Anyways, we started talking and it wasn't long till we started hanging out with eachother outside of school. I think there was a strange sort of comfort in her normalcy. There was one thing about V that I was bent on changing though. That was the fact that she tight rolled her pants. I take full credit for the fact that I broke her of that nasty habit.
We graduated and years went by without any contact. Cue Facebook. I've reconnected with several people on Facebook...but not in the way that Voodoo and I have. It took no time at all for us to go from a simple, "holy shit I haven't spoken to you in years" to relaying the past fourteen years of our lives without eachother in no time. We would spend hours talking to eachother, web camming, and sending podcasts to one another. (Isn't podcast a fun word? They were really just videos we emailed but podcast sounds way cooler.) Unfortunately, we live over a thousand miles apart..SOME people just can't stick around. I think she has some nerve living so far away from me, but I can't for the life of me get her to move back. Also, I don't see me moving to the land of lizards, hurricanes, bugs, and alligators. So I guess we are both to blame. (but I blame her more)
V and I are like two peas in a pod. I've never had a really close female friend except for my childhood friend Laura. It's odd to me. You really don't realize what you are missing until you realize you  REALLY do like talking to another woman about things like sex, bodily functions, husbands, decorating, fashion...ok I could go on and on. The key point here is there are some things that only a girlfriend can understand. When I am hormonal (never..no not me) and irrational she doesn't hesitate to tell me I'm being a psycho. My husband on the other hand tries to handle those types of situations lightly and carefully. He's a smart man. Voodoo understands when I tell her things about my body that no one else wants to hear. For example......ok, ok no really I won't get into stuff like that right now. You catch my drift. When I complain about the stupid headaches I get she is quick to say, "you are the idiot who won't get a boob reduction." I mean, that right there is honest love. (or envy...seriously, who doesn't want this body?)
I don't know how I lived so long without a friend like her. If I go too long without video calling her I find myself spilling my guts to her and crying like a fool. If my son knows I am going to chat with her he asks if I need the tissues. We both have tantrums and meltdowns with eachother, it's a beautiful thing to be able to stomp my feet and pout about something and know she's not rolling her eyes at me. We send eachother care packages and it's not a rarity to get something in the mail from V that makes me laugh. She sends me things like snuggie Kama Sutra books..I send her things like Girl Scout cookies and gifts from her pets who thank you very much call me, "Auntie Terralyn."
She's my best. Lately I have been thinking about getting a BFF necklace that splits in half. Too much?

I love you Voodoo.

The Boy Who Ate Around

Children's books are near and dear to my heart. From the time Lennon was born I read to him. We still have the hundreds of books we've bought for him over the years. Now that I am babysitting I get to read them all over again! The book shown above is one of my favorites. As a parent though, it makes you wonder if you are warping your child's little brain by reading it to them.
It borders on inappropriate with it's story about a little boy who doesn't like what his parents are serving him for dinner so he imagines himself as a ferocious monster who eats everything BUT the food on his plate. This includes his parents, the president, the school and children in it, and every country imaginable.
Now don't get me wrong, I like a good horror story.... but do I want to instill these values in a small child? Is it ok to teach them that if they don't like something it's perfectly normal to cannibalize and destroy every person and place around them?
The other disturbing part about this book is that every time the boy eats something the author graces us with an adjective to describe how they tasted and what texture they were. Words like crunchy, salty, and squishy.
At the end of the book the boy is all alone and realizes that perhaps his killing spree wasn't such a good idea after all. So he regurgitates up everything he devoured and is happily rewarded with an ice cream sundae from his pushover parents.
My son loved this book when he was little but everytime I read it I became a little concerned that I was slowly turning him into a Jeffrey Dahmer. I was waiting for the moment when I would serve him vegetables and he would come after me with his knife and fork and dig in.
I'm all for originality, I really am. But what happened to books like Frog and Toad, and Little Bear? You know, those books that gave you that cozy feeling of love and fun. Now when you read to your child you have to lock them in their room afterwards and sleep next to your shotgun.....just waiting....waiting for the moment they choose to heed the words you've read to them.

Smart phone blues.....

At some point I must have invited a dark entity into my phone. It's possessed. When I turn it on it looks like someones touching the screen all over the place and apps start opening, numbers start dialing, emails get sent, and pictures get taken.
I took my phone to the Verizon store to get looked at. They said they didn't know what was wrong with it. I've done hard resets, I've tried different chargers and it still behaves as though it needs an exorcism.
I wish I could say I didn't care. That I wasn't one of those people that needs their phone to make it through the day. Alas, I do and I am. My phone isn't just your run of the mill phone..it's a smart phone. I use it for emailing, calling, texting, budgeting, pictures, to do lists. You name it...my phone can (or could) do it.
Now I am left with a possessed paper weight. I tried smacking the screen and yelling, "out with ye demons!" It responded by dialing a string of numbers so long that I can only gather it was calling another demon from the underworld.
So, if you are trying to reach me, don't think I am ignoring you. I can hear your call and see your number but I can't answer you. Also, if you get a call or text from me that you can't understand.... it's a demon trying to get to you through my phone. Hang up and slowly walk away from it before it latches onto you and you are in the same boat I am.
I wish you the best. For now, I must return to the land of cellphonelessness. It's a lonely, lonely place to be.....

Children: who raises who?

A lot of people I know have little ones going into Kindergarten soon. I remember this day as clear as can be. I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that I remember it because it's a sweet memory of my child. Pshaw! I remember it because I now have post traumatic stress from it. Someone should have warned me I should have taken anti-anxiety medicine that day.

Up until that day my son was with me almost all the time. I knew his likes and dislikes. I knew his quirks. I knew his fears and his loves. Then BAM! There I am handing him off to a teacher who knows so little about him. Not to mention the million other kids in his class that had to fight for attention, who probably had very poor manners, head lice, wanted to harm my child, wanted to educate my baby on things he was still clueless about, who in no way, shape, or form were as good as my child.That day was traumatic all right. I was sure he wouldn't be able to make it through the day without me by him. I was certain he was going to come home crying and tell me he never wanted to go back.

That little heathen barely missed me.

I realized this as soon as I picked him up. He didn't run to me with open arms like I was saving him from certain death. He didn't beg me to take him home.. far far away from that terrible place. In fact, I think his words were, "mama, do I have to go?"

Yeah yeah yeah I should have been happy that he was such a well adjusted child. I should have been overjoyed that he loved his first experience at school so much that he was excited to go back. I know all this, and I was.... but there was a small part of me that wanted to cuff some sense into him so he would remember that no one was as good as me and he could at least have the decency to lie and make me feel like he couldn't live without me another school day.

The years have flown and now my baby is a young man.

And I'm still pissed at him for not falling apart that day.

The audacity of that five year old.

long days and short nights

Kendrick and I have a problem. We thinks life's just to damn fun to sleep it away. This would be OK if neither of us had to get up in the mornings and work. Regardless, we still manage to stay up till the wee hours of the morning no matter how much we try to make ourselves keep a normal schedule.
Around eleven I start saying, "we really should try to go to bed and get some sleep tonight." To which Kendrick always responds, "yeah, I guess you are right." We will mull over this idea for about another hour before we actually start heading upstairs. Little things make us forget about bed. Conversation, video games, swimming, hanging out with other night owls. Alas, at SOME point we finally head to bed with the full intent to go to sleep.
Unfortunately, by the time we finally get to bed we are both so tired that we get our second wind and silliness ensues. We've been known to have full on wrestling matches that would put "professional" (and I say that loosely) wrestlers to shame. I don't know what it is that makes me want to beat the tar out of him..but it's fun! Kendrick especially gets sillier as he gets more tired. He will dance around, do impressions, turn into a kid who will try to annoy you anyway possible. Sometimes I try to be adult about it and I get firm and tell him it's time to settle down. I will roll over on my side and he just picks and picks at me till I get vexed enough to slug him.......then the wrestling starts. You can see it's a vicious cycle.
Mornings suck for us. Getting on average three hours of sleep a night makes you want to take the alarm clock and drown it in the toilet. Sometimes I am irrational enough to yell at Kendrick for letting the sun come up. I know he has no control over it but I need to blame someone. We have to set our alarm an hour earlier than we actually need to be up because we will sleep right through it. At some point one of us realizes the beeping isn't a dream and will wake the other. We stumble around getting dressed in the dark not saying a word. Our language is similar to that of caveman speak. Grunts and pointing is about all you can get out of either of us.
I blame this all on Kendrick. (surprised you are I am sure) If he could quit being so damn funny I could probably settle down.
Time for a nap.

Rules of the morning

I'm not a coffee drinker but I sure do understand the brass knuckles theory. It doesn't take much to make me feel like I want to knock the piss out of someone if they cross me in the morning.

I don't know why I'm like this. I've always a moody brat in the morning. I can remember hating mornings as a kid, I can remember sleeping through my alarm in high school. It's just gotten worse as I've gotten older. I've found little ways to not want to rip peoples throats out as I've matured. Key, though, is giving me my space and not messing up my morning routine once I'm awake. If you fail to do this, I refuse to take responsibility for you well being. I need quiet in the morning. Plain and simple. I don't want to chat, I don't want to listen to happy people yammer on and on. I don't want music or TV. I just want the damn quiet. I want to sit down and let my brain work itself back together after having sloshed around in my cranium all night.

Some people just don't understand this. Some people wake up ready to face the world with a smile a bounce in their step. I don't understand these people and some days I think that they should be sent to their own little island of happiness. That shit just isn't normal. Well, unless you are a child..I can understand that in babies and small children. They don't know what it's like to crawl out of a nice warm bed and have to face a day of jobs, housework, budgeting, and responsibility in general. I will allow them their happiness for now.

My sister has been living with us for a bit and works the overnight shift online from home. The first week she was here I would get up in the morning and walk downstairs to music playing. I wont even say blaring because it wasn't. But it was loud enough that I could hear it..and that's all it takes to irk me. I walked into the kitchen where she was sitting.. she even smiled and said, "good morning!" My response was to stick out my hand that was holding a pair of headphones and to shove it at her. She looked at me inquisitively and I said, "use these or I will freak out on you. I don't want music in my house in the morning." She laughed at me. She obviously didn't realize how close I was to slamming her fingers in her laptop and then taking said laptop outside to water with the hose. We came to an agreement after that morning though. So disaster was averted.

Kendrick likes to sleep in on the weekends. I gladly let him because that means that I can sit in quiet with no expectations. On the one morning that he was actually up before me (this morning) he wakes me with a text message. You heard me right..a text message. It read as follows, "breakfast out back love. Also have your pills and a drink ready for you." That's proof that he knows me in the morning. He has my "pills" ready. I came outside and ever so gently let him know that a text message isn't the best way to wake me up. In fact, I contemplated texting him back telling him to shove his phone and the breakfast up his ass. I would have followed that up by pulling the blankets over my head and passive aggressively staying in bed for another hour. I got up though. My breakfast was a sandwich from McDonalds. He woke me up for that?????? And to add to my frustration he had already been up long enough to run around and get chipper. I don't do chipper in the morning. He's sitting there with all the hope of a new day shining in his eyes, talking about getting our house in order for the appraisal.

Let me get this straight. You woke me with a text message. Your idea of a good breakfast was a McD's sandwich. You are talking and talking and talking.....about cleaning and painting and doing shit that I don't enjoy ANY time of the day, let alone in the morning.

So basically you got me up to prep me to start working. I'm on to you Kendrick.

That's why I am sitting here typing this blog instead of elbows deep cleaning a toilet. I will get there when I am damn good and ready and no sooner.

Battle of the appliances

 

I know this looks like a harmless little can opener. Don't be fooled. This thing has the ability to cause catastrophic failure not only in the kitchen, but in a marriage as well. 

We moved into our own home about four months ago. Before that we shared a house with our friend who had everything to furnish a kitchen already. So we never had to worry about things like buying utensils or appliances. So excited were we to furnish our own home! The possibilities were endless! Picking out flatware was fun! Picking out dishes was great! Picking out a nice set of pots and pans...fantastic!! When it came to buying a can opener.....we clashed. 

Suddenly my husband became a miser. I grew up with an electric can opener. Oh the ease! No struggling or fighting or breaking your wrist trying to get into a can of spaghettios with meatballs. (Wait, did I just admit my love of that bad bad processed food? You're damn right I did! That's stuff's like liquid gold!) At any rate, my husband fought me tooth and nail on buying an electric can opener. He grew up with the old crank style (read: torture device) and would be damned, DAMNED if he was going to spend money on an electric one. I bit the bullet and told him that was fine, but he was opening every single can in this house and I would not use it. He agreed and accepted my terms. He was smug. So smug. You would think he just won an argument in a presidential debate. He drove to the dollar store and bought a manual can opener.

This was all well and good, for about a week. One day while he was working I had to open a can. (Yes of spaghettios...with meatballs....leave me the hell alone!) I latched onto that can ,starving, mouth watering, ready to dig into them with the hunger of a bear after hibernating. The damn thing wouldn't crank. It wouldn't budge. I called Kendrick and so sweetly told him that he better hightail his way home for lunch and open the damn can. He did, and ready to prove me wrong latched onto the can with it...looked at me smugly...then attempted to twist it. HA! It didn't budge. I will spare you the details but let's just say he ended up opening the can with a knife.

You would think that after this he would agree to my first notion with the electric can opener. No. He went to the grocery store and paid eight dollars for a "better" can opener. Upon the first use of that it literally snapped in half and was rendered useless. Cue more carving of cans with a knife.

We went to Walmart..and lo and behold we perused the electric can openers and I lifted one off the shelf like it was the holy grail. It was only nine dollars! A dollar more than his last purchase! He looked a little ashamed at this..but i was so happy about it I wasn't going to shame him by doing the 'I Told You So Dance'.

Life with an electric can opener was splendid. The whirring sound was so sweet to my ears. I was whipping out canned goods like I was working on an assembly line. Until the night my husband sabotaged it. I walked into the kitchen hearing sickly sounds from my beloved appliance and saw him trying to open a huge can of pineapple juice with it. 

R.I.P. can opener. I swear to never replace you with a manual one. 

And to Kendrick....I've got your number. You lay hands on the next one I get and you will be opening cans with knives till the day we die.

Creative Language

My husband has a mouth like a drunken sailor. He can drop the f-bomb fifteen times in five sentences. No lie! Fortunately, he's pretty good about keeping that kind of stuff away from the public so I don't have to kick him too often in front of people.

What I love about his swearing though is that it surpasses the bounds of your everyday cuss words. He is the most creative, long winded swearer I've ever had the pleasure of meeting! Especially when he's working diligently on something...watch out! Mind you, he never talks to me like this. (Of course he knows I would personally air nail his lips together if he did.) But if you are in the vicinity of Kendrick at work..watch out.

Here are some of his most used phrases:

Bitch tickle!

Son of a whore!

Mother fucking dick licking son of a bitch! (personally love this piece of linguistic perfection)



Cocksucking dick licker!
Ass clown!
Shit bird!

These are just a few for your tasting pleasure. It's colorful. It's a language all his own. It somehow empowers him to take control over the frustrating project he's working on. No sitting down and figuring out a problem by logically looking at it for him. He will curse his project into submission.

What a gentleman.

My husband's a groper

I have no appropriate pic for this entry...sorry but I highly doubt anyone wants a pic to follow up that title. And if you do....you are on the wrong site. This is not redtube. (now you are all either wondering why the hell I know about that site or you are searching google for it. Or maybe you are already a fan of it. Hey,whatever floats your boat.) Let's face it..we are all adults here. I've seen a few things in my time. (yeah a few, that's it. Buying that?)

Anyways, my initial thought when doing this blog was not to talk about porn. It was to address what I like to call, "Unnecessary Groping." My husband is guilty of this each and every day. Now I hear all you bleeding hearts reading this thinking I should be grateful that Kendrick loves me so much and is attracted to me so much. To this I say, you've never lived with a groper. Nope, don't believe you have because if you have, you would understand me one hundred percent.

When you live with a groper there is no safe way to sit, lie on the couch, walk through the house, stand up, do the dishes, cook, tie your shoes, you aren't safe ANYWHERE! Why? Because a groper is eyeing you like a piece of candy ALL the time. You know that song, It Always Feels Like Somebody's Watching Me. It's no wonder when I was younger it freaked me out. It was a premonition about my future.

A true groper does not discriminate against clothing. Why? Because they can find something sexy about any clothing. As a fat girl I don't consider wearing leggings appropriate. No one including me wants to see my fat rolls and dimply skin under clothes so tight it looks like puppies wrestling under a blanket. It's just plain tacky. I'd rather the whole world see me naked then that yuckiness. You know who thinks that sexy? My groping husband. I am being dead (maybe too) honest right now. I am plagued by this crap everyday and it's time for some therapeutic venting! If you don't like..skip to the next entry.

A seasoned groper is adept at picturing you in ANY situation with any given pose you might be in. They have a movie theater worth of images they can flip through with the speed of a pitbull on crack. You are laying on the couch reading a damn good book and he will look at you and make a movie of every bad thing he wants to do in his head in five seconds flat. Then they move over to where you are and start groping (read: bothering) you like it's what you were implying. You heard me right.. let's move on to the next topic:

A true groper believes you are sending them subtle messages. Laying on the couch, covered in a blanket, reading a book.... and I pop a leg out of the blanket and put my foot on the back of the couch to stretch. Yep, that's what I want..a stretch. In the groper's mind it's, "she is arching her back, and straddling the couch, and kicking off the blanket to show me her legs." "I know what's on her mind....oh yeahhh." Except, you freak, that is not whats on mind! I simply was stretching while I was SO wrapped up in my book. In fact, at that moment..you didn't exist! This room didn't exist! I AM READING CONTENTLY!!!

There's no convincing him otherwise.

Some days I wake up and feel gross and unattractive. I must be terribly wrong. I am a porn star! All day long I am moving with the grace of a gazelle. I am sweating sexuality out of my pours. Yeah.....that's right......

Just ask my husband.

Inevitability

Anyone else remember this jingle? No? Oh right, that's because I'm old.

I suspected I was getting old since I turned thirty some years ago and thought, "Oh Terralyn, dont be a fool! You will live forever and always look this good!" Silly me. My suspicions were correct.

I kept saying, "getting older doesn't bother me!" I thought that women who had these little "freak outs" when they had a birthday were just plain ridiculous. I was surely never going to be one of them. "Aging means becoming a wiser person." Yep..that's another short sighted quote from yours truly.

Cue this year's birthday. Why was this one more difficult for me? Who knows?

Suddenly I am having second thoughts about my current love/hate relationship I have with dying my hair to cover the gray. I have always hated dying my hair. one time in my life did I mess with dye..and that was to try to go platinum. Black to white, no big thing right? (I can practically feel the virtual forehead smack from my readers) We all know that it turned out orange. A lovely, sick, washed out version of orange. Or let's just say for the sake of my pride....copper. Yeah that sounds better doesn't it? (just nod and leave me with at least a little sense of pride...pretty please?) At any rate, dye hating. After the one "squabble" I had with the bleaching stuff I have only dyed my hair as necessary to cover my grays. Actually you know what? I am gonna put it right out there...it's white hair. I have somehow bypassed gray and gone straight to white. I'm just that frigging special. The white hair started out as a couple at the temple. No biggie..they were cool! I had two white hairs! HA! I laugh at you white hair and raise you a still beautiful full head of black hair! Those bastards multiplied. It was no longer just me noticing it. Others were pointing it out. "Wow, you have white hair Terralyn!" "Uh oh, look who needs to start dying her hair!" Who the hell thinks these are acceptable things to say to a woman? You wanna know who? Any OTHER woman who is having to dye their own hair. It's somehow bolsters their own self esteem.. they are adding another woman to the ranks of their club. (I have yet to be invited to said club but I know they must exist.) So, I have dyed. I have caved to the belief that gray hair ages me. Well not anymore. I am thinking about being a bit rebellious. If I am going to HAVE to age..then I am going to take full advantage of the rights that come with that. One of them being I can be as eccentric as I want. I don't care if I look like the woman in the above picture. If that's how my hair wants to exist..then so be it. No more slaving over chemicals so strong it is a sure fire way to clear a room of anyone. No more dreading having to make my trip to the store to stand there for who knows how long studying each box, and type, and color. Am I black, or dark brown, or maybe reddish dark brown, or natural black? I DON'T FRIGGING KNOW OK?! Why can't these companies all get together and come up with a color scheme and name? Assholes. At any rate...not going to do it anymore. If you see me on the street (yes, I'm often just walking the streets) then feel free to stop and laugh and point out that I am graying. Or whiting..in my case. Just go ahead..I can deal. I am not stressing this age thing one little bit. Not going to sit here and think about being one day closer to boobs that hang to my waste, or a chin that can double as a sail. Not even worried an ounce that I am getting hot flashes or hormonal mood swings that make me kiss my husband one second then consider smacking him with the swiffer the next. Pshaw, I am so relaxed it's disgusting.

But I swear to god if anyone so much as whispers, "happy birthday" to me next year I'm going to bitch slap them.

Preparations

Why does my husband prepare for a two day trip like we are travelling around the world during the apocalypse? He starts planning days in advance what we need to pack, how we are going to tighten up security at our house while we are gone, checking first aid kits to make sure we have everything we need to survive a zombie attack. Ok, maybe not a zombie attack, but you better believe he is prepared for any weather from an Arctic blast to a desert sandstorm. He's prepared for any medical emergency whether it's a cut on my leg from shaving or a major head wound from a zombie that may choose to nom nom on me.

This is a typical conversation when we are packing to go away.

him: "Did you pack something warm in case it gets cold?"

me: "Honey its August....it's only going to get so cold."

him: "You never know, I'm just gonna throw some warmer stuff for you in the suitcase just in case."

me: "Baby, we are running out of room quickly."

him: "Hey love, did you pack any shoes besides sandals and dress shoes?"

me: "Sweetheart, I don't see me having to run long distances... we are going to a funeral."

him: "Yeah but what if your sandal breaks?"

me: "Then I get new sandals...let's remember we are going where there is civilization..new shoes aren't out of the question if need be."

him: "sigh, I guess you are right." (This sigh makes me believe that he secretly hopes for a zombie apocalypse)

him: "Do you think I should shut the upstairs window?"

me: "Do you really think someones going to erect a ladder against the front of our house and scale it to break in?

him: "Just sayin......"

This is my husband...I love him. I am glad I know I am safe and can make it through anything with his preparation. But I secretly think he's a little ill. :)