Being Boring...

Someone recently commented that I should stick to writing only at Getting Single since my stories here were mundane and that married people, while happy, are just boring people.

Like it's okay, they understood, but basically that I should just give it up already.

Granted, my life may seem boring to some, especially since I'm not out whoring around and writing about it 24/7, but boring is not an adjective I've ever used to describe me life, even when it was boring. There are days I wake up and only wish it were going to be a boring day.

In the last 2 months, I've spent the first holidays without my dad, dealing with my emotions and my mother's grief. We got a dog. We're house hunting and I'm in the process of starting my own business. I'm volunteering again and working on a new novel. Oh, and let's not forget about the car accident I was in just before Christmas (I'm fine, the car is now fine) and that in a little over a month, H2.0's getting snipped, I'll be having surgery to remove a painful but otherwise benign (fingers crossed!) breast lump the size of a small plum, AND I get to go to the dentist which I'm more afraid of then the boob thing.

So busy, yes. But, boring, not so much...

Soundbites: Random Excerpts from Recent Conversations...

Tidbit #1:

I'm walking. I come to an intersection, and being the law abiding citizen that I am, I stop and wait for the walk sign to cross the street. As I'm waiting, a woman next to me, also waiting, asks me for directions.

She was relieved to know she was headed the right way.

Once the light changed, we set off in the same direction and the conversation continued. As it turns out, she's from out of town, and not familiar with Portland streets. For the rest of you who aren't likely familiar either, the majority of the city's laid out on a grid, with alternating one-way cross streets. Confusing at first, but beats cow paths any day.

When we get to the next intersection, we again have to wait for the walk sign, and once again, she asks me to confirm that the street she's looking for is nearby. I assured her it was the next cross street.

"Oh good," she said, looking up at the one-way sign. "This street heads that way," she said, motioning towards the east waterfront. "I was afraid I wouldn't have been able to go up my street, I need to go in the other direction."

At first I was confused. Then it hit me. This poor woman thought one-way streets not only applied to car traffic, but foot traffic as well.

Scary they let people like that out in the world alone...

Tidbit #2

My mother is easily mortified at my openness regarding the topic of sex. She is especially embarrassed knowing that I have written about my sex life and "techniques" (as she likes to say) somewhat openly.

Recently for dinner, H2.o grilled up some pork steaks that he marinated with a dry rub over night. This is a favorite recipe in our household and shows up on the menu monthly.

My mother, questioning the technique asked me if I rubbed the meat last night.

"Oh I rubbed the meat alright..." I started, unable to resist.

She immediately spun around on her heels, grabbed her jacket and declared, "I'm leaving," somewhat in a huff. Not angry, just mortified.

"What?" I asked. "C'mon, really? I mean, you opened the door wide and invited me in on that one, how could I not make that sexual?"

She said nothing and closed the door.

I may need to remember this "technique" in the future.

Fashion Sense: Or, What the Hell was Charlotte York Thinking?

I'm sick. I've been down for the count with this head-cold since Tuesday night. My head feels as big as the Jack-o-lantern on my balcony and my nose is as drippy as my rain gutter. I haven't left the couch in 2 days, not even to shower. Sexy. So much so, H2.0 has taken to petting me on the head goodnight, which given the grease levels of my hair, I wouldn't recommend that either.

After spending the last 48 hours experimenting with different combinations from my medicine cabinet, I think I've finally found the perfect med-tail: Tylenol P.M. taken at bedtime followed by Sudafed sinus the moment I wake up, coupled with coffee, repeat steps 2-3 every 4 hours.

Did I mention Sudafed's a decongestant? As such, it's turned my runny nose on full blast and since I'm lacking puffs+ and have nothing but recycled-content TP to dab my dripping honker, I look a little bit like coke-head who's had one too many acid peels concentrated in my nasal area.

Did I mention all the sexiness going on over here? Oh yeah...

So anyway, all this time on the couch has given me time to catch up with old friends: reruns of SATC. I can't help it. I found these women, this show, when the series was already well into its run and on the verge of ending - the tragedy of living without cable. I bought the entire series on DVD for myself for Christmas after Joe and I split and I credit them with helping me pull myself together and get through one of the most difficult times of my life.

But I digress... (I blame the drugs.)

Anyway, so here I am, revisiting season 5 and watching the episode where the girls head to Atlantic City for Charlotte's 35th birthday redux and there they are, walking through the casino; Carrie's a sexpot, Miranda's looking frumpy as ever, Samantha, well, you can imagine, and then there's Charlotte. Now, I know, Charlotte's always prim and proper, but this episode has always bugged the living shit out of me - she's wearing a white lace frou-frou high-collared blouse paired with a black and white polka-dotted A-line flared skirt with a pink-bowed belt.

Really?

Of all the things we all know she had in her make believe closet, that was the outfit she chose to wear... to the casino?

Yes, she has a transformation later in the episode, admits to hating everything she brought and spends the rest of the night looking like a lady of the boardwalk, but still. Really?

But who am I to talk; I'm sitting here with a roll of toilet paper in my lap wearing fleece head to toe... Clearly, I am the example of fashion and am fit to pass judgement on anybody's choice of wardrobe...

Wii Wednesday: Or, Scene from a Living Room...

SCENE: Living room; H2.0's playing Wii; I'm writing. H2.0 sets records in Wii Bowling and Golf. "Exhausted" from the workout, he goes to the kitchen for a snack. Returns to living room with a bag of prunes and glass of water.

H2.0: "So. Did I turn you on with my athletic prowess?"

I look at him over the screen of my laptop. "Really? Are you seriously asking me if I'm turned on from watching you play Wii?"

Sheepishly, he replies: "Yes?"

I just look at him.

"I take it that's a no?" he asks, sounding crestfallen. "It's the prunes, isn't it? The prunes?"

"Yes hunny, that's it. The prunes," I answer, leaving him to contemplate his choice of snack.

"Bowling and Golf are the sexiest of the Wii sports games, you realize?"

"Well since you put it that way, YES! I'm all wet from all the Wii watching."

Homonyms: Or What Happens When H2.0 Gets Ethnic...

I'm spoiled. I can admit that. Not only does H2.0 make coffee for me every morning and get it ready for me in my stainless steel to-go mug, he puts my lunch together for me, too.

I know half of you are probably amazed/awed/wowed/envious and the other half of you are like, what, that's no big deal, my man makes me breakfast in bed every day and then draws me a warm bath with rose petals... (okay, maybe not, but I know that in the grand scheme of gestures, the making of the coffee/lunch thing isn't that big a deal, but it means a lot to me because it means I get to hit snooze for 15 extra minutes in the morning which is really one of my most favorite things to do.)

But I digress...

This morning, I am working from home (I probably should say "working" since I am technically writing a blog and not working, but there's apparently a network issue and I can't seem to connect. But again, I digress...)

ANYWAY...

H2.0 brings me a cup of coffee and sits it down on my desk and tells me goodbye, since he is not as fortunate to be able to work from home.

"There's some of that Abu Dhabi in the fridge if you wanna take that for lunch when you go in," he said.

"Some what?" I asked, confused as to why one of the richest and largest cities in the world would be in my fridge.

"That Indian stuff you made the other night. Abu Dhabi?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows to emote an expression of like duh...

I laughed. He's good for that, making me laugh. See he's more than my own personal barista, he's my own personal stand-up comedian. "Aloo Gobi," I clarified.

"What?"

"A-LOO GO-BI," I repeated louder and slower.

Now he laughed. "Abu Dhabi, Aloo whatever you said. Same dif, they're both Indian."

"Um, no, Abu Dhabi's a city in the United Arab Emirates, hunny. The UAE? Not exactly Indian."

"Sounds Indian."

"It's not Indian."

"Are you sure Aloo Gobi's Indian?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Huh. Well, anyway, that Indian food you made's in the fridge if you wanna take it for lunch."

He kissed me goodbye and headed out the door, leaving me to blog and make fun of him.

I am such an awesome wife...

Disclaimer: I swear H2.0 is not stupid, despite my making him out to be sometimes. Since this is my blog, I get to omit all the stories of all the stupid shit that *I* do, hence the reason it's been so long since I've posted here - I've been doing all the stupid shit and it's taken H2.0 this long to say something stupid again...

Like the other day? It's like 3:30pm, I'm in desperate need of caffeine and a chocolate donut because it had just been one of those days. The entire time I'm walking from my office to Starbucks, I'm saying to myself, "please have the donuts, please have the donuts" because by 3:30 in the afternoon, in all likelihood, the awesome old fashioned chocolate donuts are sold out.

The second I walk in the door, I see in the goody counter that they have an entire pile of donuts and I shriek out loud "OH THANK GOD THEY DIDN'T RUN OUT!" and everyone in the place turns to look at me like "what the hell's this chick talking about?" I'm sure thinking I was referring to the fact that they still had coffee and I was amazed that Starbucks, of all places, still had coffee...

So see? I'm an idiot, too.

GO ME!

PSS: For the record, I realize that Abu Dhabi and Aloo Gobi are not homonyms. But they're almost homonyms... that counts, right?

Petless in Portland: Or, How Our Dogless Status May Impact the 2012 Presidential Election...

I want a dog. If you know me, this is no secret. Even if you don't know me, it's not a secret, especially since I'm telling it here on this blog. My point is, my want for a dog is greater than my want for most other things (except for that cinnamon roll from Great Harvest that I inhaled about 2 hours ago that's now sitting in my stomach like a 3 pound brick. Totally... worth it... but I digress.)

The problem is our landlord is a douchebag doesn't allow pets and therefore we're petless. So desperate for a dog am I, H2.0 has bought me not one, but two stuffed dogs to cuddle. Sweet, but admittedly a little weird.

Wanting to share our home with at least some other living thing, we bought a Japanese Maple tree for our balcony that I've named Charlie.

Now aside from the fact that I've named our tree (and talk to him often), Charlie is an odd name for a Japanese Maple tree, at least from H2.0's perspective and the tree's name has been a source of contention between us since we bought it.

"Did you water Charlie this week?" I asked H2.0 tonight as we sat on the balcony enjoying the warm summer evening.

"You mean Miyagi?" he responded, still determined to get me to concede to his choice of name.

"No, I mean Charlie," I said, holding firm to my choice.

"It's a Japanese Maple. You can't call a Japanese Maple Charlie. It needs a Japanese name."

"That's racist. And precisely why we should name the tree Charlie. It's unexpected and ironic. Besides, you have a Miyagi mii, so I should get a Charlie tree," I explained.

Somehow, this logic won over H2.0 and he agreed to go along with keeping the tree named Charlie.

"He's dead, isn't he," H2.o asked

"Who?"

"Mr. Miyagi," he answered.

"Um... probably? I dunno. I can google it later," I said.

"It's weird how Ralph Nader turned out though, huh?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The Karate Kid?" H2.0 said in a way that implied I was somehow the retard here.

"What does Ralph Nader have to do the Karate Kid?" I asked, so very confused.

"Oh wait," H2.0 laughed. "Not Ralph Nader," he said, realizing what he said and why I was like huh? "Shit maybe that's Ralph Nader's problem. Can you imagine if he was the karate kid? Hells yeah I'd vote for him! I'd be WAY more interested in Ralph Nader if he were the Karate Kid."

I laughed at the idea of Ralph Nader waxing anything on (or off for that matter).

"Maybe Ralph Macchio should run for president. I bet a lot of people would vote for him, I mean, he's the KARATE KID!" H2.0 exclaimed, certain he's found Hillary's running mate for 2012.

Come What May: or What Happens When the Dinks Discuss Birth Control...

As a childless couple who plan to stay that way, you can imagine that birth control is an important issue that's talked about. Often. At great lengths.

Conversations that usually go something like this:

Me. On cellphone, in the middle of Tarzhay: "Hunny, they're out of the economy packs of the Trojan Ultra Thin. Do you want me to get the smaller box or get the economy box of ... ooooooh pretty, they have COLORED ones!"

Clearly, I'm easily distracted. Of course it doesn't help that still, as a woman in her 30's, it makes me blush just a bit to buy condoms, and it never seems to fail, that everytime I'm there trying my best to grab the box and go, they're out, or there's some fat dude just standing over my shoulder waiting to see what I grab.

What's up with that? But I digress.

Back in the day, birth control was a non-issue. I had been on the pill since I started college. I was a happy pill user, pleased as punch with the product and even more so with the added benefits (clear skin, regular periods, the ability to SKIP PERIODS!).

But then my insurance got involved, decided the generic version was just as good, after all, it was CHEAPER! (and we all know cheaper means better...) and almost immediately, I thought my life was over.

I gained weight. My boobs were bigger than my head, and the crazy. Good lord, people, I nearly lost my mind. Never in my life had I been so moody, cranky, and ANGRY I wanted to rip the faces off everyone I met on the street. And lets not forget the wild mood swings where I basically just wanted to stand up on my roof top and scream for no good reason.

And sex? Forget sex. My libidio shut up shop and went to live in some cave in Guam. There was no more sex. And being in a relationship where the sex was great (amazing, really) and going from having sex 5 times at week (at least) to lucky if I wanted it once every 5 weeks?

Not so great. I hated it. I hated me, and everything the pill had done to me.

Oh, and when I called my doctor about all the problems I was having (8 months after the fact) I was informed that oh, that pill had been discontinued. Because it made everyone INSANE! And not like a little insane. Like suicidal. Like depressed, suicidal maniacs.

"No one called you about that?" The PA asked me.

"No you dumb fucking cunt, no one called me!" See, I told you I was pleasant.

They offered to put me on something else, but I'd had enough. I had seen first hand what monkeying with one's hormones could do and I was not willing to 'try' something else out for size, no telling what I was gonna get.

Nope. Sorry.

Which put the onus back on H2.0 and so for the last 2 years, we've been relying on condoms as our primary birth control. And yeah, for the most part, they do their job (we ain't been knocked up once!) but neither of us are huge fans.

The word vasectomy has been tossed around more than once, and the other day H2.0 announced he has his physical scheduled for September and he was going to talk to doctor about going ahead and getting snipped.

Last night I got to thinking a little bit about the whole procedure and what it entailed and realized, I know very little about how the male anatomy functions. I mean, I know the basics, but all that stuff that goes on in the inside?

Not really a clue.

Curious, I asked H2.0. After all, it's his junk, he should know how that kinda stuff.

"So, if you get snipped, do you still have an orgasm?"

"Yeah, of course!" he answered.

"No, I mean... like. What comes out?"

He looked at me for a second and very matter-of-factly answered, "Air!"

"Air," I questioned skeptically. I cocked my head to the side and kinda wrinkled my nose as I'm known to do when I don't believe a word he's saying.

"Yeah, air. You know, just a puff of air!" he repeats, only this time mimicking a little "poof" sound for effect.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," I said, turning around immediately and heading to consult the one place I knew that never lied and always told the truth.

The internet.

And there I learned that sperm only account for between 2-5% of a man's ejaculate and all that other good fun stuff is produced in an entirely different part (the seminal vesicles and prostrate.)

All the while I'm looking this stuff up online, H2.0 is reading over my shoulder. I can tell he's slightly disappointed when he reads that ejaculate, rather than air, would shoot out upon orgasm.

"How cool would it've been if it were air? Think of all the cool things you could do? Clean out your keyboard, candle snuffer, party tricks..."

I turn to look at him, wondering about these "party tricks".

"Totally! Balloon animals? Hey kids! Look, it's a giraffe!" he said, demonstrating how he would be able to blow up balloons with his new "air pump".

"You're an idiot," I said.

"No I'm not!" He defended.

After a moments pause he said, "Chuck Palahniuk would think it's cool."

"What?! What are you talking about?"

"He writes crazy shit. I can totally see one of his characters having air orgasms. It'd be awesome."

I simply rolled my eyes at him.

Both of us are huge Palahniuk fans, so Chuck, if you're reading and you agree, feel free to plague your next character with a case of air-orgasms. You can thank me later.