The Wife & I Discuss Pointy Bras

Wifey: “So, did you know pointy bras are coming back in style.”

Me: “Does that mean you’re gonna finally buy some new bras?”

Wifey: “You’re an asshole…just because my bras don’t have flowers and aren’t lacy and my panties don't have ‘sexy’ across the ass doesn’t mean they’re not hot.”

Me: “I never said your skin-toned skibbies weren’t hot. I was just asking because you starting talking about pointy booby holders.”

Wifey: “Seriously honey…do you have a problem with my undergarments?”

Me: “Isn’t an ‘undergarment’ like a slip or something a Sunday school teacher wears? It makes me think of my grandmother walking around the house before bed in like 18 layers of silky nastiness filled with hooks and wires and shit. I’d much prefer you to say ‘panties.’”

Wifey: “Why can’t we ever have a normal conversation anymore? Can’t you save your Mr. Funny-Man routine for the internet?”

Me: “You mean the interweb machine thingy?”

Wifey “SEE?!!!!”

Me: “All right…sorry…damn. So who in the hell would wear those pointy bra things, anyway?”

Wifey: “I don’t know…I wouldn’t.”

Me: “What about tassels? Would you wear them if they had tassels hanging off them? And you could shake your chest and make them twirl and go in opposite directions….that would be money if you did that.”

Wifey: “You really need to lay off the porn.”

Me: “I haven’t watched porn in hours.”

Wifey: “You know the kids can find that stuff on the computer, because you have it so easy to find.”

Me: *loud throat clear “interweb machine thingy” *loud throat clear

Wifey: “Did you go to school to learn how to be such a difficult person to talk to?”

Me: “No, I took bowling because asshole was full. So seriously, I haven’t even seen one pointy boob walking around in the city. I don’t think they’ve made a come-back quite yet.”

Wifey: “I’m just sayin’, I read an article that said they’re coming back.”

Me: “Since when do you read the newspaper?”

Wife: “I read the paper…you’re not around me all day, you have no idea what I read and don’t read.”

Me: “You saw it on Oprah didn’t you?”

Wifey: “I hate you.”

Me: “I seriously don’t think you like me anymore.”

Wifey: “Oh for the love of God here we go again.”

Me: “No…I’m serious. I wake up most mornings sore as hell, and I know it’s because you’re giving me badly practiced acupuncture at night. The other day, Grayson called me a meanie and I swear I saw you high-five him. And today…just today when I opened my lunch bag, there was a note in with my sandwich that said ‘die fucker’ and I’ve had a stomach ache ever since.”

Wifey: “I DID NOT high five Grayson. I would never teach him that name calling was OK.”

Me: “If I bought you a pointy bra would you wear it?”

Wifey: “Keep kicking back those beers and you might need a pointy bra, drunk-o.”

Me: “That would be awesome! It would be like a boob-flask for dudes. I could fill one with beer and the other with Jager with straws coming out of both. I wonder if that’s been patented?”

Wifey: “Idiot….”

Me: “We really should talk more often. This was nice.”

Wifey: “Sssshhh…CSI’s coming on.”

I'm A Little Uncomfortable With This!

I was totally thrown out of my element on Friday. Wifey had booked-up my morning by volunteering me to work both my son’s and my daughter’s Halloween classroom parties. Luckily the schools are across the street from each other…unluckily Mother Nature was on the rag that day and decided to unleash a deluge of water all morning long. It was kind of her way of saying – “here…take this you gap-toothed idiot. Yeah…how would you like to be in charge of all weather all the time and get blamed for deaths, and ruining Timmy’s birthday party, or Suzie’s wedding which will ultimately end up in a divorce cause she got caught with her sister’s husband and goat on his birthday….” That woman seriously needs therapy.

So I get to the boy’s classroom and there’s about 28 seven-year-olds sitting around dressed up as race car drivers, princesses, a lion, White Sox player, a Bears player, and…well, I don’t know what the hell this one kid was, but I’m pretty sure I saw him in a porno once.

I’m all, “Hey – I’m Grayson’s dad. My wife volunteered me to help with the party”

“Hi Grayson’s daddy! Everyone – this is Grayson’s daddy. Say hello!”

It took me a second to realize I should quickly switch into “Grayson’s daddy” mode where everyone talks to everyone else like their 7 years old. So I quickly imagined all my conversations being in 1^st grade teacher lingo…

“Hey sweet wifey…how was your day pretty little girl.”

“Uhh..fine?!”

“Awesome, give me high fives!! Hey, you wanna juice box and a snack?”

“Fuck you…give me a beer and walk away from me.”

“Uh oh…does someone need a tickle? I think so!!! Someone needs their frown turned upside down!!!”

“Touch me and I’ll cut you!”

Now that I was in the mindset – in comes the ringleader…the classroom volunteer head-mother-in-charge. Dressed in a girl-scout outfit, just to prove she was “in the spirit,” she proceeded to gather her tiny gaggle of parents together to begin informing us of our tasks.

Girl Scout Mom delegated tasks like a fucking general. And when she got to me, “and you…you get the game activity. I brought a small pumpkin. Take it – figure it out. Your station’s over there.”

Now, I’ve led a pretty successful career so far and I’ve prided myself on needing little to no supervision or management. I’m a freakin’ strategy creating and implementing machine. But I was literally stumped. If a tree were placed immediately in front of me just then, I would have spent the next hour walking into it repeatedly while pissing myself.

So the little bastards are split up in four groups of approximately 6 kids each. The first group I get is staring at me. I’m killing time by having them explain what characters they’re dressed as while I fake nod like I’m listening (the wifey knows this nod well) but all the while I’m going through my childhood memories trying to remember a cool game we can play with this damn pumpkin.

Then little Franky says, “are well gonna play hot potato with that pumpkin?”

I was so damn relieved I caught myself just as I was about to scream, “fuck yeah we are!” and high five the little bastard through a wall.

So each group of approximately 6 kids came to my station for a total of 12-minutes each. And during that time, one kid looked at me like I was an idiot cause I didn’t know what Star Wars character he was, another kid clearly has no father at home and insisted on sitting in my lap and rubbing my back making me the most uncomfortable I’ve been since the time I watched Michael Jackson with that kid when….well pretty much anytime he was with a kid….., another girl thought it was the funniest thing in the world to stomp my damn foot, and the most memorable little bastard was the one who thought it was hilarious to cough in my face!

When it was over I returned the bruised and beaten small pumpkin to Girl Scout Mom…thanked her for her leadership…slipped my phone number in her purse….and ran into the pouring rain to the daughter’s classroom party so I could do it all over again.

In the end, I did survive…the kids did have fun…and I did get acknowledgement from the wife that at some point in the very distant future, I would be rewarded with sex for my deeds.

My Life Scripted

"Hey Bob, how you doin'?"

"So uhh..are we in New York now?" I said as I looked around for some laughter, but everyone was looking at their feet.

"Hahahha man you're funny...you're a funny guy. And the Yankees suck!!"

"I'm actually a Yankees fan so that kinda pisse...."

"Hey yeah whatever, so listen. Can you pull together that PowerPoint presentation by tomorrow instead of next week? I gotta present it and it's crunch time! You gotta play to get paid right?!!!" and if it couldn’t get any worse he raises his hand to fucking high-five me!

"Sure...ahhh...sure thing. I'll knock that.."

"You're a team player...you da man!!..," he interrupts as he walks away spotting his next victim.

Fighting the urge to run outside and spend an hour kicking kittens, I jump right in to work….

Later, I come home, happy to see the family, hug the lil’ bastards, hear how everyone’s day was rough cause Samantha wouldn’t color with a green crayon, and cause Teddy wouldn’t throw the kickball slow enough for him….and then I head to the kitchen. I grab a beer…open it…slug back a few sips…set it down….catch my breath for a second…then turn and see this:

Yeah..that’s right…my day scripted. I busted my ass all day Sunday, I get a comp-day, I decide to use it on Friday – my son’s birthday and what does the wifey do?!!! Oh…oh I’ll tell you for fuck’s sake. She signs me up at not just my son’s school, but my daughter’s school to “volunteer” to work parties and shit.

So, in my head I planned, sleep….wake-up, take the kids to school, sleep, wake-up, run, bike, shower, go to store, buy all their Snuggies, burn the Snuggies, talk to Jennifer Aniston for an hour on Skype, make a deal with PlayGirl for $1 million to model for them, sleep, pick kids up, play and have fun, buy son sushi for his birthday dinner, open presents, twit pic and comment back on all the people who said he’s adorable, put the kids to bed, walk around the house naked in front of the wifey, and go to bed with no sex.

But in wifey’s head – my day goes like this – wake up, tell wifey she’s beautiful, let her kick me in the shins, get kids dressed, feed kids, take kids to school, meet wife at parking lot near her work so she can kick me in the shins, volunteer at both kids’ schools, pick kids up from school, do laundry, make dinner, bathe kids, put kids to bed, rub wife’s back while telling her how all men suck, pick out wife’s clothes for the next day, sing a sonnet to the wifey as she drifts off to sleep, then go to bed.

The moral of the story…honestly I don’t know…I guess all I can say is…kick-ass lady-folk that read this…don’t make a fucking chalkboard list of shit for your hubby to do on his day off. And for shit-sake, don’t volunteer him for crap on his day off. Let the man breathe.

And if you ‘re reading this honey..I love you schnookums… P.S. umm…can uh…can we “do it” tonight?

 

Gettin' Our Spontaneity-On

So the wifey and I had “that talk” again. Yeah…that one. The one where I’m all:

“We need some spontaneity in our sex life…”

And she’s all, “sponta-kiss my ass idiot-boy.”

“come on…don’t be like that…I’m just saying, sometimes I feel like kids are ruling our lives these days and we never get a..”

“Hold on..JUST HOLD ON!!.......what Grayson?” long pause….then “yes, I fed your fish just before you came up stairs…now go to bed!!” she then looks at me, “I’m sorry… you were rambling about some kind of ‘aneity’ or something…”

“Hey, we’re both dealing with this….and it sucks at times, but if we don’t…”

“Jesus..hold on…yes Macy?!!!” the wifey yells as she throws yet another layer of blankets over her… “Yes…you can read one more book, then GO TO BED!!!!” she then contorts her face into a well-crafted smart-ass face and says, “I’m sorry…you were trying to make me feel bad for not being a hardcore porno slut, wearing nighties, thongs, and knee-highs to help you get your rocks off…..please continue…”

“I…I uhhh…baby you look really nice tonight and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate what you do for this family,” I say as I’m turning the channel from the MLB playoffs to Oxygen. “I can’t even remember the last time I went to bed without smelling your shirt and missing you like crazy.”

“Say the word ‘spontaneity’ again and I’ll fucking cut you….”

"Whoa!!!...let's not get crazy here, OK?...I just.."

"Did you really just call me crazy? Seriously...as I lay here on the couch, trying to relax for the first fucking time tonight....did you really...just...call..me...crazy? Cause if you did, I just want to be clear and understand correctly that you thought long and hard before selecting that word. I want to be sure, that in your tiny little brain, hidden deep within the beer, the Jennifer Anistons, the baseball, the football, the masturbating....that that's what you really thought was the smartest thing to say to me?"

"I uhhh.....yesterday we.....on Friday I was uhh.....Honey!!! I'd like to volunteer to make the kids' lunches and bathe them and put them to bed for an entire week....just for you!!!"

I sat there for what seemed like at least 30 minutes..but it was only 15 seconds before she said..."Oooohhh....I spontaneously just remembered we're out of peanut butter for the kids' lunches!!!"

It was raining that night when I had to run to the grocery store...and I have to give it to her...it was pretty spontaneous......

Girly Girl is Taking Over My Life

My daughter's birthday is Saturday and it's she reminds me of me as a kid….couldn’t sleep, dreams of new Transformers running through my head. Maybe a new Atari game or…OR!!! a new bike?!!! Then the day came and I got a soccer ball and three pairs of homemade Jams shorts where the front was so poofy it looked like I had a BIF (butt in front).

Every day the daughter’s all "is my birthday tomorrow?"

"Not yet baby...2 more days, then you'll be...."

And her face lights up and she holds up her fingers as she says, "fiiiivve!!!!"

Then I usually give her a quick tickle, smack on the butt, and rub her head.

The wifey is planning a total girly girl party for her. The playroom is decked out for a tea party, complete with dresses, hats, a table for the little ladies to pop-a-squat in pure princess decadence, and a blackboard that says "Macy's tea party."

So yesterday I had the day from hell and I'm walking to the train in a virtual sea of business men and women on their way to Union Station. I call the wifey to tell her what train I'm on and she tells me about her decorations for the party:

"I'm just gonna let them pieeck what dress they wanna waaar and let them juss have fun. But I need yuuu to be the phoootograaapher," she says. (Keep in mind the wifey has a very southern accent)

"Honey, they'll run ramped. You need activities."

"Jesus...don't complicate this…aaaahhhriiight?!"

I remain calm, "Shnookums, they're fucking 5...they need activities."

"Hoooney Buuunches…if you wanna play all Mr. Fucking Rogers than have at it!"

"I got your Mr….” and then I had an idea! A real idea! “I know, get beads and string…let them make necklaces. Then let them pick a dress to try on. Maybe get some little cheapy clips and a mirror or two and let them do their hair all up. Then we can put some good music on and let them do like a fashion show and we'll give them all little prizes and stuff"

Silence.....then..."That's a pretty good idea."

Now those words are never...I mean NEVER uttered to me by my loving wife. My chest puffs all out, I'm proud, and my first instinct is to look around like "did you hear that?! Huh?! I'm the shit!!! Did you hear it?!!"

But as I look around I quickly realize, all the business folk, suit-clad money-makin', business folk had looks of complete and total "what the fuck is wrong with this dude?" looks on their faces.

I hunkered back down into my little world and said, “Thanks…I thunk it all up myself.”

It’s definitely getting girly at our house. The wifey rocked out one killer tea party room. Dresses are hanging everywhere. There’s fucking pink all over the damn house….but I love it. I’m soaking it in. Cause pretty soon…there’s gonna be blood all over the front lawn, from the douches that try to roll up to my front door asking the daughter out on a date. Oh..and it won’t be me causing the blood. It’ll be the big brother, and all his kick-ass, over-protective friends. I’ll be behind them, holding the camera…all giddy for new material to throw on my blog…..