He Said, She Said

On a Friday date night.

Him: What movie do you want to see?
Me: A-Team.
Him: You hate shoot 'em up action films, that's so sweet, you're doing it for me, awww..
Me: You and Liam Neeson, arrrrr(drooling.)


As husband leaves for business trip that Sunday

Me: Ok, I love you so much and just remember...
Him: Remember what?
Me: No whores.
Him: Uh, okay.
Me: And I hope you're plane doesn't go down.
Him: Thanks.
Me: But if it does, thanks in advance for the insurance money, that was awesome of you.
Him: And if it does go down, promise me you'll remarry, you can go after Liam Neeson.
Me: Aw, if you died, I'd have the perfect in, you know hey Liam we're both widowed, wanna
go see the A-Team?
Him: With your luck when my plane goes down, it will land right on Liam Neeson's house.
Me: That would be so sad for me and Liam.

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Dropping the Kids Off at the Pool, and That is Not a Euphamism For Anything

Ah, summer vacation is almost here. I have been all aflutter trying to plan daycare as needed and activities that keep the summer from becoming a three month Spongebob marathon. My husband and I are dropping the kids off in Wisconsin with my parents and then we are going to spend eight days in New England.

Funny story, or maybe sad depending on how you look at it.... Gene and I decided on Boston as our point of entry into the Northeast. Neither of us had been further than New York and the two hour, reasonably priced flight from Milwaukee clinched it. In spite of my tremendous failings in geography, I knew that from Boston, we might be able to visit several surrounding states. I kept typing Boston and Maine and Rhode Island into Google, hoping to get some ideas of proximity so that we could see as much as possible without spending too much time getting there rather than being there. So New England kept coming up and I thought, yes, we should go there too.

You are not reading this wrong, I thought New England was it's own local, separate from Boston and Maine and Rhode Island. I didn't think it was a state exactly, perhaps a city in one of the states or something vaguely ambiguous like how Washington DC is neither part of Maryland or Virginia. Of course I am the same girl who sophomore year of highschool raised her hand to correct the teacher that Washington DC was in fact the capital city of Washington the state. Thankfully I mentally put together that they were on separate ends of the country before I was called upon.

The best part is that when I asked my husband what and where New England was, certain that I had to be the only one lacking some fundamental US geography knowledge, he had a correct notion of the where but thought it was a state. I felt vindicated because my husband is a very smart man with a Master's degree. He however, was not all together happy with me outing his lack of knowledge on all thing Nor'easterly, and used his birth in California as well as the fact that his master's is not in geography as an explanation for said lack of knowledge. I also blame my misinformation on the New England Patriots. I think that a region getting to put their name on a football team that is based in Massachusetts is unnecessarily confusing for map moron's like myself.

Anyhow, I would like to once again thank Wikipedia for correcting the severe gaps in my public school education.*

*Don't email me angry teachers, I am using public school as the scapegoat for my own academic failings. Truthfully, I was probably outside around back smoking cigarettes during this particular lesson.

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Never give up, never surrender!

Listen to me.

Yes, I'm talking to you.

That was, totally, uncool.

There I was, face up, laying on the just made bed contemplating which part of my to do list I was going to tackle first. I was staring up at the lazily spinning ceiling fan, not really looking at anything, just silently thinking when you dropped from the fan and landed right in my face, smack between the eyes.

Seriously, that was so uncool.

What happened next is a bit of a blur but involves me yelling for my husband, and shaking my head more vigorously than a fifteen year old boy at a Slayer concert circa 1992. There was a bit of keening followed by a three minute attack of severe heebie jeebies. The worst part was I still didn't know what had fallen on me and where it was.

Then I saw you lollygagging about on my comforter.
We have nurtured an uneasy truce in the past, you and I, but I have no choice but to view this as an all out declaration of war. Sure you and yours have already sustained some casualties but I've told you, you get free run of the bathroom from midnight to six am, rest of the time it's mine and if I see you, you got a date with a sizable wad of toilet paper. I refuse to call an exterminator, I won't make someone else do my bidding and truthfully, I'm phobic about chemicals. But seriously, if you can base jump on my face with impunity, just skulk with one eye open from now on and watch out for my fucking foot.

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