Pass The Crab Legs And Irresponsibility, Please

So my company sent out the annual medical and life insurance benefits enrollment email today. Which means I spent exactly 30 seconds reading it before I broke out in a sweat and wailed “Too hard!”.

that’s what she said.

I suck at being an adult. Anything involving bills, paperwork, taxes or medical issues gets handed directly to my husband. I’m all “Here.” and he’s all “What is it?” and I’m all “I don’t know, something from the insurance company.” and he’s all “What does it say?” and I’m all “Something about a deductable and limits and percentages.” and he’s all “This is dated three weeks ago.” and I’m all *blank stare* and he’s all “You’re just now opening it?” and I’m all “Well, I thought you would open it so I left it there for you.” and he’s all “You left it under a bag of Skittles?” and I’m all “What? You love Skittles.” and he’s all “Why didn’t you just open it right away?” and I’m all “Why doesn’t your mom just open it right away?”. Because I’m awesome at grown-up conversations.

I can’t stand thinking about adult stuff. Or talking about it. Or being anywhere near it. I just want to know how much money is in my free checking account every month so I know if I can afford to buy new boots or not. Yes, my checking account is one of the free ones that doesn’t earn any interest, mom. I shouldn’t be given control of any important financial decisions, is what I’m saying here. Not because I’ll do stupid things. Because I won’t do anything at all. I’ll set the matter aside because ohmygodscary and then promptly forget about it until it’s almost too late.

I’m pretty sure I have a 401k left over from my last job somewhere. I can’t remember the name of the place where it’s at. I don’t know how much is in it. The Captain keeps asking me about it and my response every time is “Oh yeah, we need to figure out what to do with that…maybe, ummm, roll it over?”. I have no idea what “roll it over” means. I think I heard my sister say it once when she was talking about my IRA that I haven't looked at in 7 years.

I refuse to go into my bank and talk to a real person because they always ask me why I haven’t switched to an interest earning checking account and I get tired of explaining how I tried to do it online but I got super confused by the options and my husband is a big meany so he won’t help me because “you need to learn how to do these things for yourself, Marcy”.

The only time I’ve looked at our mortgage paperwork was when we went in to sign everything and they were all “sign here” 50 billion times. The Captain, who is totally awesome at this kind of shit (thank God), took care of everything. I probably set back women’s rights about 80 years when I told him “whatever you think is best, I don’t understand it”. All I know is that I have to click on the little “pay now” button on the bank website every month when the mortgage payment is due.

I’m barely qualified to program our DVR, people. No way should I be in charge of anything as important as my financial future. You should have seen me on the night my husband decided to sit me down and work on a 5 year financial plan. He was all “Let’s make a list of goals” and I was all “Great idea. I think we should have sex on a beach some day, don’t you?” and he was all “I mean financial goals.” and I was all “Oh, right. Hey, who wants a soda? I know I do! Boy am I thirsty!” and he was all “Okay, so I was thinking for next year we should…” and I’m all “OMG you know what would be soooo good right now? Crab legs!” and he’s all “Come on, focus.” and I’m all “I could totally run a train on some crab legs.” and he was all “So basically if we transpond these numbers from your paycheck into the logistical payroll calculationer …” and I’m all *eyes rolling back into head* “I’m dead…I’m dying…it’s too boring…I’m dead from boredom.”

The thing is, I was better at all this when I was single. Granted, my life was much less complicated and I had absolutely no assets so that’s probably why. But still. I managed to have both a checking and a savings account, along with a good understanding of my medical and life insurance benefits. Then I got married and inherited two children. Things got complicated and harder. How much life insurance is enough for teenagers? Should we max out our dental insurance this year? Maybe we need to re-evaluate where our 401k investments are going? Should we enroll in the flex account? What the fuck is a flex account???

Jesus, just writing about all that makes my armpits sweaty. I hate this shit. I just want someone else to do it for me so I can go play with my new kittens.

Did I mention that my old lady cat is probably dying, which is totally not fair because I just put my other old cat to sleep in July, but the Captain got me two kittens to make me feel better? I didn’t? Oh...well he totally did and they are cute and adorable and fluffy and boom! I just totally distracted you from all that adult shit up there.

I’m a genius at being irresponsible.

p.s. the kitten story is true. I’ll have more on that later….
p.p.s. Do I know how to keep people coming back for more or what? I'm like the Walt Disney of blogging.

Hungry Like The Middle Aged Couple Two Rows In Front Of Us Making Out Inappropriately

This just in: I suck at blogging. Every day I have plans to blog something super awesome and hilarious and then I get to work and I’m all type type type blech. I think my job is sucking my will to live. And then I go home and I’m all “I am totally writing 3 blog posts tonight” and then I look at my cat and she’s all “We both know you aren’t blogging tonight” all judgy-like and so I just give up and sit on the couch for 4 hours and then go to bed.

But today. Today! I. Am. Blogging.

You’re welcome.

All that up there was me trying to explain to you why I’m about to tell you a story about going to a Duran Duran concert three weeks ago.

So I went to a Duran Duran concert three weeks ago. Courtesy of my new best friend in the whole wide world, Kristine at Wait In The Van. Are you reading Kristine’s blog? Ohmygod, what a stupid question because OF COURSE YOU ARE.

Kristine invited me to go with her to the concert, despite all the creepy stalker comments I’ve left on her blog. So of course I said yes. And then left her a comment about shovels and burying bodies or something. I can't remember exactly, but you know...just trying to show her how funny and totally not murder-y I'm going to be when we meet up in person finally.

We decided to meet in front of the venue (how fancy am I? Venue. Ooo la la) and I got there a little early so I spent my extra time checking out everyone walking into the building. Y'all. So many cougars. Mostly my age and older. Many inexplicably wearing halter tops with back fat hanging out of them.

Then Kristine texted me that she was there and I got all nervous because ohmygodwhatifshe’scoolerthanmeandthinksI’msuperlame? But of course, that didn’t happen. We were immediately bff’s despite my first sentence being “OMG when did you graduate from high school?”. I don’t know. I do things like that sometimes.

So the concert starts and Duran Duran comes out and they look surprisingly well preserved. Simon is wearing tennis shoes, which was weird but whatever. The music was pretty good (the old stuff, not the new stuff. I have no interest in anything this band produced after 1993) and Kristine and I are dancing around and sweating like crazy and having a grand old time.

See? She's totally not scared of me and that is totally not a fake smile.

So there we are…jamming out to The Reflex, when we see them. They are two rows in front of us and we have a clear view of them. A couple, maybe in their late 40’s…hard to tell from where we were, but definitely older than us. And definitely too old to be aggressively making out at a Duran Duran concert. But yet there they were, all over each other. She in her one-shouldered tank top and khaki capri pants. He with his balding gray hair and air guitar moves. Groping and slipping each other the tongue in between yelling out lyrics and gyrating against each other.

It was horrifying.

We could not stop watching.

And it only got worse as the concert wore on. He’s kissing her neck. He’s grinding his hips into her butt. He’s grabbing her boobs from behind.

Dear Duran Duran Gods….please for the love of the 80’s, make it stop.

And then the concert was over…except it wasn’t. Because of course there was an encore. And it was one of their old ones and it was so great. And Simon had whipped the crowd into a frenzy of old memories and sad regrets. And the couple were all over each other. I think Kristine threw up in her mouth a little.

And then the concert was really over. The drummer threw his sticks into the crowd and 40 year old women fought over them like they probably did when they were 18. The gropey couple disappeared and Kristine and I left. It was 11 pm and we were both exhausted. What? It was a Thursday night. We’re old. Shut up.

Luckily, I took the next day off from work so I was able to sleep in until 9am. Unfortunately for Kristine, young children never take a day off. So when I got out of bed Friday morning, I knew she had probably already been up several hours. And being the new caring best friend that I am, I sent her a text.

Me: Hey remember that one time that we went to a concert together and then I took the next day off and slept in but you still had to get up early to take care of your kids? Yeah, that was great.
Her: Am. So. Fucking. Tired. And I hate you.



p.s. I wrote about Rick Perry being super excited about maple syrup and totally not drunk over at Sprocket Ink today. Click here to check it out.

Snatch Attack 13 – This Time The Mattresses Are Dirty

My sister is moving to Chicago (sob!) and gave Captain Carl and me a couple of her nice mattresses to replace the crappy ones we had left over from some of our previous renters. We decided to give the old mattresses away for free on Craigslist. Below is our text conversation regarding the issue of old mattresses…

Me: I couldn’t help but notice you forgot to put the mattresses on Craigslist this morning.
Him: I’m working on it right now. Lay off.
Me: You forgot, didn’t you.
Him: *sigh* Yes.

15 minutes later

Him: The ad is up. Go look at it. It’s the one that comes with a free cat.
Me: Nice try. I would kill you dead if you gave away my cat.
Me: Looks good…I can’t believe you put your cell number on Craigslist. You’re gonna get creepy sex offenders calling you all day.
Him: Why?
Me: Because they call numbers they find on Craigslist and talk nasty to the people while they whack off.
Him: And you know this how?
Me: I saw it on Dateline once. Or in a dream. One of the those.

10 minutes later

Him: Mattresses are gone. Picking up @ 8:30 tonight.
Me: For real? That was fast.
Him: 15 phone calls and 9 emails in 10 minutes. People are really hurting. It makes my heart sad.
Me: I know. It is so sad. We should count our blessings.

3 minutes later

Me: I bet if you had put “Free Mattress. Formerly belonged to morbidly obese crazy cat hoarder lady.” you wouldn’t have gotten as many calls.
Him: Why would I do that? Who would want a crazy cat lady’s mattress?
Me: Not many people, maybe no one. Which is exactly my point. This is a situation where truth in advertising would be a bad thing.

2 minutes later

Me: Maybe the people that are taking them aren’t actually poor and are just going to use them to film a porno.
Him: ???
Me: And then someday we’ll be watching Snatch Attack 13 and we’ll be all “OMG, that’s our mattress!”
Him: How would we know it was our mattress?
Me: By the stain on the bottom corner from that time Marian left that sub sandwich on the bed for 4 days straight.
Him: I gotta go. I need to get caught up on the first 12 Snatch Attacks.
Me: Let me know how they turn out. I’m guessing Snatch Attacks 1-5 are pretty interesting.
Him: Just 1-5?
Me: Probably after 5 there isn’t much creativity left. There are only so many holes in the human body.

10 minutes later

Him: Just googled it. There is an actual Snatch Attack porno. Have you seen it?
Me: No. I just made it up in my head. Go ahead and act surprised.

That Dog Is Running With Purpose

While driving home from the movies last weekend...

Me: Look at that dog!
Him: I see him.
Me: Awww, he’s all white and cute and fluffy.
Him: *pretending his wife doesn't desperately want to adopt a dog* Looks dirty.
Me: Stop! He has a collar, we need to stop and catch him!
Him: Why?
Me: Because he’s obviously lost and maybe his owner’s number is on his collar.
Him: Doesn't look lost to me. He looks like he knows where he’s going.
Me: *stare* What?
Him: He’s running with purpose. He obviously knows his destination, so we don’t need to stop.
Me: He looks like he knows where he’s going? How is that even possible? He’s a dog. They all look like that when they run.
Him: He didn’t look confused at all.
Me: You mean if he were really lost, he’d look confused?
Him: Yeah. You know, he’d be stopping every five seconds to look around. Maybe he’d be looking up at the sky thoughtfully. Maybe he'd pretend to talk on his cell phone while he wandered aimlessly.
Me: That’s what you do when you can’t find our car in the parking lot.
Him: Exactly. That right there was a dog with a good sense of direction.
Me: *looking out back window* Oh great, I can’t see him anymore. I’m gonna be so mad at you if I see him dead on the side of the road tomorrow.

And then this morning I totally got this email from our subdivision HOA communications lady:

Subject: Oso loose again

Has anyone seen this dog?

Forwarded message:
Our 2 year old opened our back door around 6pm last night and let out our white Siberian husky again. If anyone has seen him, please call.

Me: *dialing phone* Great...just great.
Him: Hello?
Me: Yeah hi. Remember that dog that was running with purpose on Saturday night?
Him: Yep.
Me: Yeah, he was lost. Totally lost. I got an email about him this morning.
Him: Huh, no kidding.
Me: His name is Oso and he’s a white Siberian husky and his house is in the exact opposite direction from where he was running.
Him: That’s weird.
Me: Because you totally thought he knew where he was going.
Him: No, I meant that’s a weird name for a dog. Oso. No wonder he was running away. I’d run away too if that was my name.
Me: Now I have to call and tell them we saw their dog but we didn’t stop because my husband thought it looked like he knew where he was going.
Him: You should suggest they think of a better name for their next dog.
Me: You’re so helpful.
Him: It’s a gift.


p.s. The Captain and I are back on the wagon. We started the Couch to 5K program again this week. Someone help...my thighs are burning with so much purpose right now.

My Name Is Miss Yvonne. You Deleted My Talk Show. Prepare To Die.

Sometimes it really sucks having renters in your house. Sometimes they do really annoying and fucking stupid things. Things that 99.9% of the human population would not do. Like if you heard about someone doing those things you would be all “No way is anyone that stupid/rude/inconsiderate". And then? Your fucking renter does them and you feel the sudden urge to gouge their eyeball out with one of those tiny relish forks because it is the exact perfect size for eyeballs and that bastard totally deserves it.

Like maybe your renters buy scooters and ride them through the mud and then track the mud through the house and then leave their muddy shoes by the door and then fucking lie when you ask if they walked through your house with muddy shoes on.

Or maybe your renters decide to use your pasta strainer to clean their fish tank rocks but don’t plan on telling you they did it and thank you baby Jesus that you noticed it was missing before they returned it and you used it to strain your pasta and now you’re totally eating spaghetti ala fish poop for dinner. And then they giggle like three year olds when you ask them why they did it.

Perhaps your renter decides while you are out of town for the weekend to go out and get completely wasted and bring an equally wasted couple home from the bar with him that he has never met before in his life, then passes out in his bed while this drunk couple hang out in your house all night totally unsupervised and then your other renter gets up at 3am to pee and sees this strange couple fucking on your couch. Then you have to call your renter and yell at him and when you get home, all of your booze is missing and he “has no idea who took it”.

Oh! Here’s a good one. Your renter goes out and gets wasted AGAIN, only this time it’s during a weird Texas snowstorm, and he gets arrested for drunk driving and doesn’t come home for 3 days, so you think he must be dead in a ditch somewhere, and then he shows up and is all “Hey, I got arrested and have to go to court and can you please drive me there because they took my license away? Also, my kids are gonna come live here with me for like, 2 or 3 weeks and maybe they will stay forever. That’s cool, right?”.

Could be that your renter turns out to be a reclusive hoarder who packs the bedroom she is living in to the ceiling with junk, but you don’t really notice how much she has in there until it’s too late. Also she has a cat. Also she’s morbidly obese and orders a pizza and three sub sandwiches and keeps them in her room to eat on for two days. Also she decides to move to another country and doesn’t start packing until the night before her flight. Also after she’s gone, you realize she’s left 50 (I am not exaggerating, y’all) bags of trash, a bed, a table, an office chair and a dirty litter box in her room for you to dispose of. Also she emails you a week later to ask when you will be sending her deposit back. Also you totally flip out and write back that it will be a cold day in hell when she gets her deposit back and then spend two weeks obsessively cleaning the room while whispering “unclean…unclean…”.

And then maybe after all of those morons, you somehow get lucky and your next renter is great. He’s your son’s friend, so you worry at first that maybe this was a bad idea. But he is respectful and sweet and is sad when we are not home because “I miss you guys when you aren’t here”. He pays his rent on time. He is a little scared of making you mad, thanks to some well placed looks and comments about not pissing you off because you’re a fucking genius when it comes to intimidation. But he still says “bye family” when he leaves for work and sits down to tell us all about his day when he gets home. You know, like your own child would do if they weren’t going through a completely selfish and asshole-y phase right now. You have no complaints, things are going wonderfully.

And then?

The fucker has to go and ruin it by DELETING YOUR DVR RECORDING OF THE DR. PHIL CASEY ANTHONY PARENTS’ INTERVIEW.

Yeah.

He’s fucking terrified. He knows what he did and now he’s hiding from me. I haven’t seen him since Monday. I hope he’s prepared for when we meet again, because shit is about to go down, yo. You don’t fuck with a woman’s talk show recordings. Never. Never ever. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. But retribution will be swift and terrible.

I Can Turn Anything Into A Conversation About Dicks

Captain Carl: Hello?
Me: Hey.
Captain Carl: Yes?
Me: What?
Captain Carl: You called me.
Me: I know I called you. I mean, I dialed the phone. Obviously I know that I called you.
Captain Carl: Did you need something?
Me: Not really.
Captain Carl: *silence*
Me: *yawn*
Captain Carl: So…
Me: Ohmygod, Islands In The Stream just came on Pandora!
Captain Carl: *sigh*
Me: *singing* Islands in the stream. That is what we are. Hmmm hmmm hmm between. How can we be wrong?
Captain Carl: Okay so, I’m gonna go.
Me: Wait! Did you remember to water the trees like I asked this morning?
Captain Carl: Yes. I’m still watering them.
Me: Still? It’s like 2:30 now!
Captain Carl: I know. I’m watering them slowly.
Me: How slowly?
Captain Carl: Slowly. Like I said.
Me: Do you have any idea how water bills work? You can’t run the hose all day.
Captain Carl: Calm down. There’s barely any water coming out.
Me: How much?
Captain Carl: Like just a bit.
Me: How am I supposed to know what a bit means to you?
Captain Carl: Okay, a trickle then. More like a pre-trickle. Not much at all.
Me: A pre-trickle? That is not a unit of measurement I’m familiar with.
Captain Carl: Fine, it’s barely more than what a soaker hose puts out. Jesus.
Me: Wasn’t there a race car driver named Trickle?
Co-worker listening to my conversation: Yes. His name is Dick Trickle.
Me: No way.
Co-worker: Yep, I just googled it.
Me: Heh heh, I made you google Dick Trickle on your work computer.
Other co-worker listening in: Whatever you do, don’t google dicktrickle.com.
Me: OMG, do it!!
Captain Carl: Hello?
Me: Hey babe, quit Dick Trickling my trees. *laughs hysterically* *bangs fist on desk*
Captain Carl: I’m hanging up now.
Me: Okay. Dick Trickle you later!
Captain Carl: Really?
Me: I’ll be Dick Trickling you!
Captain Carl: *mumbling swear words*
Me: You’re like the Dick Trickle of landscape irrigation. I can do this all day, honey.
Captain Carl: I know. Which is why I’m doing this. *click*



He’s totally jealous of my dick joke skills.

My Feet Have Been Sticky For Two Straight Months

So yeah. It's hot outside. I know just about everyone is having a rough summer. But it's particularly bad in the Dallas area because a) we've had more than a month straight of over 100 degree days and b) I live here so therefore it's worse than anywhere else.

I spend all my time running from my house, to my car, to my office, back to my car and back to my house. I only go outside in the early morning or late evening, and only for like 10 minutes at a time. And then I spend an hour bitching about how fucking sweaty I am. My grass is brown and my skin is white.

The good news is that I am going home to Minnesota in less than three weeks, where I will promptly begin working on my tan. Nobody believes that I live in Texas when I go up there because I'm so pale. It's just too hot to be outside here. I mean, the fucking train tracks are warping, people.

Okay, so the Kiddo came home for the summer after his first year in college. I haven't been blogging about him lately on account of some issues he's been having that I don't really want to discuss here. Let's just say it involves a bong in the shape of a skull and mandatory drug testing.

Turns out it's hard when your kid comes home from college. Because he's been gone for 9 months doing stupid shit and feeling all adult and totally the boss of himself and then he comes home in June and doesn't get why his parents make him follow rules. Rules like, "hey, how about you don't treat your bedroom like a trash dump?" and "just because you're 19 doesn't mean you don't have to empty the dishwasher anymore." and my favorite, "maybe don't forget to take your house key with you when you go out on a Tuesday night and then when you come home drunk at 1:30am, don't climb on my roof trying to break into your bedroom and then yell at me when I hear you and call your cell to ask why in the hell you're up there. ASSHOLE."

Please God, don't let him get suspended from college. Or quit. Or whatever. Because I don't think I can handle him living here all year.

And to make things even more special, the Kiddo asked us in June if his buddy could rent one of our bedrooms for the summer. His friend...let's call him Huey...had decided he didn't want to live at home anymore because...guess why? His mom had too many rules. Hot damn, I hope I wasn't this ridiculous when I was 19. I probably was, right? I need to call my mom and apologize.

Me: I don't know about this.
Captain Carl: Oh, it won't be so bad.
Me: Yes it will.
Captain Carl: Nah, it'll be fine.
Me: It'll be a never ending cycle of bad decisions, dirty socks and weird smells.
Captain Carl: He's a nice boy, I feel bad for him.
Me: I feel bad too. For his mother.
Captain Carl: It's only for a couple of months. And we could use the extra cash.

And so I let the Captain talk me into it. I agreed to let Huey rent a room with us on a weekly basis. I was pretty sure it was a bad idea that I would live to regret.

But surprisingly, I've really enjoyed having Huey around. He's a big, dumb, sweet kid. And he's not my kid, so it's easier to deal with his stupidity somehow. And he just might be staying after the summer is over. Which makes me a little nervous, since this means he will be alone in our house while we're in another state for a week. I'm envisioning wild parties...Huey filling my house with slutty girls and booze and my cat cowering in the laundry room behind her litter box.

This is the part where the Captain rolls his eyes and tells me I'm being overly dramatic.

And this is the part where I tell him to shut his face.

At the very least, my floors are gonna be soooo dirty when we get home. Because not one single day goes by where I don't walk through the house and step into something sticky. Seriously, what is it about boys and spilling shit? Yesterday there was a trail from the kitchen table to the other side of the house. And they both stood there staring blankly at me and saying "It wasn't me." No shit. It wasn't me. If I had squinted my eyes, I would have sworn I was talking to 3 year olds.

*sigh*

I should never have let them bring that giant can of Country Time Lemonade mix into the house.