Wednesday, September 18, 2013


I had the worst nightmare last night.  Worst, worst. And that's saying something since I have very vivid dreams.  Probably the result of having two X-chromosomes and an open mind. 

I dreamed that Jeff met a girl named Jocelyn and they decided to move away together.  He thought the best way to tell me was to take me on a road trip to a car show and tell me on the way there.  We were driving through an old civil-war-era city in which all the buildings were red brick and I jumped out of the car to hide from him so he couldn't finish telling me.  He started driving around a roundabout that went around a park looking for me and I was hiding behind giant Oak trees and brick columns so he couldn't find me.  Eventually he drove away.  When I got home, I didn't want to tell my parents that Jeff left me so I hid it from them and they never found out.  Then my alarm went off. 

You know how you have a dream and when you first wake up you aren't sure if it's real or not?  That was how I felt today.   I was happy my parents weren't dead but I lost my man in exchange.  Crap! 

You guys have probably figured out by now that I'm pretty devoted to my Jeff.  I'm aware that nobody is less deserving of a happy marriage than I am, but screw it.  I won him fair & square and I'm keeping him.  And I'll cut a bitch who tries to steal him away.  OK....not really.  I don't do that anymore.  Because I'm a lady.  And I have people to do those things for me now.

So Jeff got home from work this morning at 7:15 and I told him about my dream while he was brushing his teeth before he went to bed.  Our best conversations occur when he can't speak.  I told him how I was still shaken up by the dream because it seemed so real.

His response?  "Was she hot?"

Whatever. I'm over it. I heard Rico Suave on the radio in the car this morning, so I'm pretty sure everything will be OK.  Gerardo, baby!  Plus, my hair is super straight and I really like my work outfit.  Classic, but stylish.  Kind of like Heavy Audrey Hepburn.  Just go with it, people.  It's a good look for me.  I think that's what I'll name my style from now on:  Fat Audrey Hepburn.  I'm getting a trademark on that, so don't even think about stealing it.

In other marriage news, last weekend I made the mistake of asking Jeff what my Dad said when Jeff asked him if he could marry me:
Jeff: Seriously?
LAB:  Yep.  I want to know what he said.
Jeff:  No, that's what he said: Seriously?

And you people wonder what's wrong with me.

Friday, September 6, 2013

Stay of Execution

For those of you who are interested, I just got a last minute reprieve from the potential demise of my marriage.  Wow...somebody's got a case of the big words today. 

Jeff is still scheduled to change work hours in the near future.  Just not next week.  And by "change work hours", I mean start a schedule that puts him at home with me every night and every weekend.  Indefinitely.  This could be a problem.  Luckily, the guy they hired to replace him in his current position was canned for a little trouble with the law (apparently aggravated assault and arson are illegal.  Who knew?) which leaves Jeff right where he is for at least another month.

Being hardly ever together has worked surprisingly well for us. There's a reason I refer to him as my "fictional husband Jeff".  That's also the reason why people assume my brother, with whom I spend a lot of time, is my husband.  Gross.  No offense, Scott.   

I've had many, many glorious years of eating puffed Cheetos and a piece of cheese for dinner while Jeff works nights.  The cheese is for protein to make it a balanced meal.  I'm healthy like that.  Did I mention the copious amounts of wine? I have a feeling that Jeff is not going to consider this an appropriate meal.  And those weekends when he works?  PJ's all day, baby!  Sometimes I don't even wash my face until he calls me to say that he's on his way home.  Good times.

Jeff's about to realize what a lazy shit bag I can be, and he's going to trade me in like an '86 Saturn.  For someone new, with firmer suspension and a tighter turning radius.  *ahem*  

We worked the same schedule when we were first married, but I'm fairly certain that he overlooked my shortcomings because we were young & in love.  We're still in love, I just don't have that "new wife smell" anymore. Now I smell more like day-old wine and mediocrity.

The only bright spot in this potential catastrophe is that with Jeff home on weekends to take care of the dogs, I can get on the road for a Magical Mystery Tour of Girlfriends.  And Guyfriends.  I don't discriminate.  All my highly functioning alcoholic friends are equal to me. 

Plus, we just built that Mack-Daddy garage so Jeff has a place to escape the chaos.  Where he can bang his head against the wall in frustration privately.   And I can cook.  Really well.  My Chicken Pot Pie will make you wanna slap your Grandma. 

I figure I'll just feed him and stay out of his line of sight for the first few weeks.  For a break-in period, if you will.  Besides, he can't divorce me.  I'm not through ruining his life!  He still thinks I'm kidding when I tell him this.  Poor guy.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Now I'll Never Know!

Here's a snippet of an actual conversation I recently had with a friend (who will remain nameless unless she wants to out herself, which I doubt after she reads the post): 

Nameless Friend: What do you hate more than anything?
LAB: Digital watches.
NF:   No, what do you *really* hate more than anything.
LAB: I guess the only thing I hate more than digital watches is the Oxford comma.
NF:   No.
LAB:  Stop saying no.  You asked me what I hate the most and I told you.  You don't get to tell me I'm wrong.
NF:    No what do you really, really, really hate most of all.
LAB:  Seriously?  OK, I guess it's men who wear sleeveless shirts on airplanes and then sit next to you and rub their underarm hair all over your shoulder.
NF:   Gross.  And nope.
LAB:  You're obviously trying to tell me a story about something I hate.  Can you just get on with it?
NF:   No.  You're ruining it.
LAB:  How am I ruining it?  You're asking.  I'm answering.  We're conversing.  Tell the damn story.
NF:   Forget it.
LAB:  Are we even speaking the same language? Is this what people feel like when they're talking to me?  I don't like this feeling.  Is that what I hate most of all?
NF:   No.  God.  Never mind.
LAB:  But what do I hate most of all? 
NF:    Not telling.
LAB:  Shit.

Friday, June 14, 2013

On the Pontoon...

Remember when I posted that I was feeling too domesticated lately?  Well, problem solved.

I've started this post about 100 times, but I haven't been able to adequately describe my recent girl's weekend on Lake Lanier without incriminating anyone.  Or multiple anyonesEspecially me.

I can say, however, that when I woke up on Sunday morning my phone contained new contacts including: "Rod, Lord of the Dance", "Tommy Limo" and "Tim McGraw".  Apparently I made new friends.  So there's that.

When you take 5 women in their 40's and combine them with multiple bottles of champagne before 8 a.m., a house boat, a hot tub, The Fly Betty Band, swimsuits, open bar, sundresses, a purse full of stolen dog biscuits, twerking, a smoking hot handy man, Bond No. 9 perfume, a chauffeur, country music, 2 marinas, crashing a random party, and a French kissing Cockatoo (which, by the way, is not the same as a Cockatiel - see, I even learned something!), you have the perfect storm for stories you can never repeat.  And that's just what I can recall.  I'm pretty sure I spent part of Saturday night in an alcohol-induced coma.

Yes, I have pictures.  That I don't remember taking.  No, I won't share them.  Unless you were there, because those pics are seriously hilarious - OMG that bird!

We never really mastered the whole "beer before liquor, never sicker", "stick with wine and you'll be fine", "liquor before beer, you're in the clear" rules so we just drank it all.  Sometimes mixed together.  I stand by my belief that women with children can party harder than Axl Rose.  But not John Daly - that guy's a beast!  Those mothers make me look like an amateur.  And my analogies make me feel old. 

I especially liked how I woke up on Sunday morning with 9 full bottles of water on the nightstand next to me.  Guess I thought I'd be thirsty.

I'm not sure how, but with a little help from Diet Coke, bacon, yoga pants and Zofran, we all lived to tell the tale.  Or at least what we remember of it.

I love this Summer already, and it's only June!!!

Friday, May 3, 2013

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Jeff and I had to take my car to the shop today for some scheduled maintenance, which meant I had to drive an alternate vehicle to work.  Cue shower scene music from Psycho.

For those of you keeping score at home, our fleet now includes the following:
My newly acquired (gently used) BMW
Jeff's Honda
Our 1997 Nissan Pathfinder with 250K miles on it
Jeff's 70's era Ford Bronco and Ford F-100
A Ford truck frame
7 Ford truck tailgates
And a partridge in a pear tree

Now is probably a good time to note that none of the aforementioned vehicles are currently parked in the garage we built last year.  And they look so nice parked in the back yard.

Generally, when my car is unavailable I drive the Pathfinder.  Jeff tends to be "particular" about his car and it's not worth the hassle to drive it.  And by "particular" I mean bat-shit crazy anal.  I had to drive his previous car to work a couple of years ago and when I needed to pick up some sand for an office event,  I was so terrified that I'd get a single grain of sand in his spotless trunk that I put the bag of sand in a giant garbage bag...then in a copy paper box...then in a larger box with the lid closed.   Better safe than divorced.  Those of you who have met Jeff are likely unsurprised by this.
Jeff needed the Pathfinder today (probably to buy more car crap), which meant I was going to have to drive one of his babies.  Shit.  He told me to take his Honda, but he clearly wasn't happy about it.

When I headed out the door to work, I told him good bye and he bid me farewell with these loving words: "Stay off the curbs, if you know what's good for you".  Because nothing says "have a nice day" like an order followed by an implied threat. 

Twelve years of marriage and the magic is still alive people.

...and they lived Happily Ever After.