Tag Archives: husbands and wives

Sweetness And Light

6 Mar

A few days ago I told my nephew I was going to change it up a bit with the blog. I decided to write about something I loved rather than document rampant asshattery. BUT THAT SAME DAY, as if The Universe was in a particularly jokey mood, Ben Carson informed me that prison turns people gay. So. He’s pulling back a bit now because hopefully someone he loves smacked him upside the head, BUT he’s not going to address “gay issues” anymore. This presidential candidate. In 2015. Won’t be talking LGBT rights. 

Yeah.

But whatever. I don’t have time for him because I’m still busy castigating my husband because he thought that dress was white. And there’s four inches of ice and snow in my yard and we’re still in danger of waking up speaking Russian and ISIS is destroying an entire culture and someone knifed our ambassador to South Korea and some moron thought a water taxi from Mud Island to Bass Pro Pyramid was a good idea and…

There’s this polar bear.

Memphis Zoo has a daddy polar bear named Payton. He’s from the Chicago area originally and, you know, a polar bear, so he’s not so much born for Memphis weather. The zoo was closed yesterday, but posted a video of Payton hanging out in the snow. LIKE A BOSS.

Payton is named for Walter Payton, also a Chicago Bear. Much like watching his namesake on the field back in the day, Payton will give you joy. That video? Fifty-two seconds of unadulterated bliss. My goal in life is to be as content as that bear. My parents were here for a couple of days and we’ve all watched that video a million times. It’s bookmarked so when we have a crappy day, we can go straight to Payton. If reincarnation is for real, I want to come back as that polar bear at that moment. Either that or one of Martha Stewart’s chow chows. Those dogs have it made.

I’ve just been getting zen with Sweetness for a few minutes because I looked in the mirror. It was either Payton The Polar Bear or Jim Beam The Bourbon. Sweet Gussie, I’m getting old. Natural light is not my friend. Not. My. Friend. Because I don’t get out much, I have, um…I’m not…I don’t dress…I look like hammered snot all the time. Okay, are you happy? I said it. My name is Susan and I haven’t worn pants with a zipper since mid-2013. Bra? Yeah, I used to sell them. I have drawers full of them. They are full because they are not on my body. Makeup? Used to sell that too. I just threw out some Chanel eyeshadow that I know had to be at least 11 years old. It hurt my soul to do it, but one should not keep makeup as one keeps wine.

I decided a few weeks ago, as I’m looking to join the ranks of the employed before I’m legally able to draw Social Security, that I need to start getting dressed, putting on some makeup, not terrifying my husband when he comes home because I look like that girl from The Ring had a baby with Jonathan Winters. I need to start training, as it were. Now, here’s the thing. My friend Brandee used to make fun of me at lunch because after eating, I would line my lips, fill in with my base lipstick, then finish with a gloss or glaze. The process took a minute or two. Now? Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers are about the extent of my makeup wardrobe. Except for concealer. And you can pry my concealer from my cold, dead under-eye circles. I decided to do the makeup thing right and get what I wanted rather than what would make do. The foundation I got is a new formula from an old brand. I’d read good things about it and have always had luck with this particular line. So I ordered it in the color I wore the last time I bought that brand.

foundation

 As I said, I don’t get out much. But I soldiered on. I can make it work. It’s just too much drama to return it. So I did. I made it work. And I got this eyeliner that I’ve always loved. Some new mascara, because nothing breeds bacteria like old cheese and mascara. A lipstick or two. I put on my face Wednesday. And The Chuck came home and kept looking at me all

Not used to seeing me with makeup, he says. If you have known me for more than a few years, you know this is about the second to last thing anyone would ever say to me. Second to, “I think your exercise regime is too strenuous,” which is tied with, “You need to add more cheese to your diet.” I didn’t overdo the makeup, but I felt conspicuous. I felt I looked like this

sparkle

The truth was I really looked like this

realActually, now that I see the picture, I look a little washed out. But the point is, I do not look like a Vegas drag queen stripper after a bender.

And you know what? I don’t care that all anyone talked about this week was llamas and dresses and thank God Carson got off his duff and asked Mrs. Hughes The Question. You know why? I’ll tell you. We have a potential presidential candidate who believes you can convert to Gayism like you can convert a .doc to a .pdf and Alabama wants it to be okay for a Baptist not to perform a wedding ceremony for a Hindu couple. So, yes, while you read this 792 people died of toenail fungus, 201 sloths were forcibly declawed, 903,820 adult humans were denied the right to protest gravity in court, and my neighbor didn’t take his poop bag when he walked his dog.

We need a break, is what I’m saying.

I Won’t Weasel Out Of Telling This Story

15 Jul

i dreamed i clocked a badgerSo, here’s the thing. I punched a badger.

I have a nasty bruise, a major knot, but nothing broken. I know nothing is broken because I had an appointment with my orthopedist about my other hand. I have arthritis. I’m a hip, happening young gal like that. I asked him if he’d just take a look. He told me while it was the worst case of badger abuse he’d ever seen, nothing was broken.

Thing is? The badger didn’t exist. I had a dream this badger was following me around the backyard of the house I grew up in. It wouldn’t go away. Obviously, it gave not one shit that it was annoying me. Finally, I was all look. This has to stop. I’ve got things to do. He reared up on his hind legs, and I clocked him one. But I actually punched. Like in real life. I knocked out the headboard. FORTUNATELY, The Chuck had already gotten up. That would have been a fun shiner to explain: “Uh, yeah, my wife thought I was a badger…well, she was asleep…right hook…no, I don’t think her footwork was that great because SHE WAS ASLEEP…yes, she has an excellent therapeutic team, thank you.”

I have run in my sleep several times–nearly rendering my honey a soprano. I’ve yelled for help, for The Chuck, for quiet, and once I woke up saying, “I’d have thought that would have been printed on there.” I routinely flail and often have to apologize to my bed-mate for smacking him one. I thought the badger was a new thing, but according to The Chuck and The Girl I had dreamed about badgers before. You may have a recurring dream about showing up for the first day of school naked, I have a recurring dream about a member of the weasel family that is the main source of trichinosis outbreaks in the Alti region of Russia.

Also? Not for nothing, but it’s kind of hard to find a country that rhymes with “badger”.

 

 

 

My SuperStrate Marriage™©: Over The Weekend

1 Jul

superstrate marriage rainbowSuch a heteronormative weekend we had. THANK GOD. Chuck did some work in the yard. Grilled a large slab of meat. I took to my fainting couch with a very lady-like migraine. He had a good ride on his SuperStrate™© Man Bike.

Wait.

A ride. On a bike. IN SPANDEX!!! DAMN YOU, GAY MARRIAGE! DAMN YOU!!

Morning #1: My SuperStrate Marriage™©

27 Jun

coffee potAs I said yesterday, I’m going to be popping in here and there to talk about what the demise of DOMA means for my marriage. I’m a heterosexual woman. My husband is a heterosexual man. Therefore, forthwith, and heretofore, we are not gay married. BUT! As we all know, letting two consenting adults of the same sex get married makes a MOCKERY of marriage. It leads to men marrying dogs. And dancing.

I’ll admit I feel a little less married this morning. Chuck didn’t make coffee and while it could be he was just running late, I think he feels it too. I think he’s questioning the very foundation of our relationship. Coffee ennui is an early sign of a collapsing marriage. I’m sure he thought about all the mornings he woke up and made coffee knowing his loving wife would later stumble into the kitchen and thank the stars she married another caffeine addict. And I’m sure his next thought was now, the way it’s going, it’s not just straight people who will have that bond. Married homosexuals across the land were also waking up and reaping the benefits of a loving, early-rising partner who was equally addicted to caffeine.

I just…I just need a moment.

My SuperStrate Marriage™©

26 Jun

Forget gay marriageAre you as bored with my saying I don’t understand what it means to be conservative as I am with not understanding what it means to be conservative? Today SCOTUS tossed out DOMA, a federal law. ONE LESS FEDERAL LAW, PEOPLE! Why are so few of my right wing buddies dancing in the streets? OH! Wait! I remember. With DOMA gone, now I can marry my car, right? And my gay dog can marry my gay goldfish and then adopt a little human Asian baby they can dress in the most fabulous clothes from Baby Boden.

Now that DOMA is gone and California’s Prop 8 is pretty much dunzo, I think I’ll start a log of all the ways teh gay marriage is going to threaten My SuperStrate Marriage™©. So. For the next few days I’ll be chronicling like such. I can tell you this, already I feel a little less feminine. Granted, it might have something to do with the fact I sat out in Standard Shed this morning and forgot to turn on the AC and a raging case of swamp ass began to creep up on me, BUT I JUST KNOW IT’S THE LESBIANS!

I think tomorrow it’s really going to sink in. The gayness. The deterioration of the morality, sanctity, and missionary-style sexiness of My SuperStrate Marriage™©. As it is, I just saw a picture of Ellen Degeneres and thought WOW! Her skin is lovely! I must have this Gay Olay she uses. Will I want to leave the love of my life and move to an all-womyn commune and spend my days rewriting children’s classic books to be gender neutral? Will I become overly fond of the Canadian Tuxedo? Will I listen to nothing but Ani DiFranco? Will Chuck still find me attractive when I wear nothing but flannel? Okay, that’s kind of moot. I’m really fond of seasonally-appropriate flann….OH GAWD! It’s already started!!

Stay tuned, friend(s). I’ll be charting the demise of My SuperStrate Marriage™© right before your very eyes!

The Year As I Saw It

21 Dec

Posting will be even lighter than normal for a while. I’m heavily medicated to make it through until the second week of January or so. Here are some of the most-read posts from 2012 and a couple I threw in just because it’s my blog and I get to do that.

Merry Christmas, y’all!

Sucking The Life Out Of The Holidays

Sucking The Life Out Of The Holidays

Things You Never Hear People Say About Movies

Things You Never Hear People Say About Movies

Why I Stand Up But Stay Quiet

Why I Stand Up But Stay Quiet

Pandora And The GPS Lady Walk Into A Bar

Pandora And The GPS Lady Walk Into A Bar

My Impression Of The Internet

My Impression Of The Internet

Bless Her Heart, She Just Doesn’t Know Any Better

More Like Fashion Backward

More Like Fashion Backward

Culinary Westerns

Culinary Westerns

Sex Gets A Brand Guru

Sex Gets A Brand Guru

 

The Life Mix

11 Dec

carpenter birdI’ve never used the daily prompt, but I like today’s. WordPress invites us to make a mix tape of our lives. Oh, hell yeah.

In college, I had a friend who was trying to hook me up with another friend of ours. She made me a seduction tape. It involved the likes of Mary Chapin Carpenter and Sade. And, oddly, The Housemartins. I’m willing to bet money Journey and Pearl Jam were involved. Did it work, you ask? PFFFFFT. Hardly. Seduction, thy name is not Susan. I have since learned seduction is less about background music and more about a fine selection of deli meats and, you know, showing up.

My friend Christy always drew intricate doodles on the front of her tapes and my friend Jason was fond of dropping some Ice Cube in the middle of an SST orgy. I liked to be cryptic and then get pissed when YOU JUST DON’T GET IT, DO YOU?? Because hormones. Also I find a well-placed Gershwin tune to be the mix tape equivalent of sorbet between courses.

A good mix tape is a thing of beauty and a joy until you find a box full of old cassettes and no tape player on which to play them. Poor orphaned mixes. I don’t need to go into the importance of proper flow and, obviously, the title. I do not wish to go into specifics of all the reasons I’ve picked these songs. And, to paraphrase Carly Simon, if you know me, you might think this mix is about you. You are probably right. I will, however, break up my mix into three categories: My Life, The Future, and A Connection Between Two  Songs I Cannot Discuss On A Blog My Family Reads But Is Part Of A Master Mix My Husband Has Been Developing In His Head For More Than A Decade.

life mix tape

 

And if you’ve gotten this far, you get a bonus! I forgot a BIG one: