Scrambled brains

So, I have accomplished my yearly summertime task of seriously dehydrating myself.  Oddly enough, the first time I did it was while we were visiting our German friends at the beach, yes, that same visit I was just writing about in my last blog entry.  That lead to a week of preterm labor, which I went into during that very visit.  (Yeah, there was just endless amounts of embarrassment to be had during that one).  Needless to say, if you can't tell from my rambling, my brains feel like scrambled eggs, so writing is on the difficult side.  I don't want to leave everyone without at least a little chuckle this week, so I'm going to leave you with a snippet that comes from my husband, who has been so sweetly helping me the past 2 days as I frantically try to drink my way back to life.  :(  Hopefully I will remember to take more water outside with me the rest of the summer and avoid this, but I'm terrible about this so don't be shocked if I make myself go through this again.

Being the awesome man that he is, my husband offered to run out and get me lots of Gatorade, and anything else I thought would help my rehydrate. 

Me Well, I think Target has the best price on Gatorade, and since you'll be there, and mere aisles away from it, you could just pick up the last 2 books in the 50 Shades series for me.  I just finished the first, and even though I know I told you I thought the writing was crap, there was just enough there to hook me into needing to know more about the dude. So, it would be nice to have it to read while I'm stuck on the couch.

Husband I love you, and I want you to feel better, but no.  I cannot do that.  That is a humiliation that I just cannot bring myself to go through.  I seriously would much rather go purchase a skid of tampons for you, and drive them through the store via forklift, surrounded by flashing lights and siren than buy you those crazy S&M "erotic" chick books that, to top it off, were written with the skill of a middle schooler.  No.  A man has to draw the line somewhere.

Me You know you want to see if Safeway has it.  Then you could take them through the line with that prudy-lady who took issue with my Ben and Jerry's Schweddy Balls quest.  

Husband You go right ahead and do that.  I can't even bring myself to do it for the thrill of seeing her face, and hearing what she has to say about it.  You know she read somewhere that climate change isn't real, so it's not.

Me I read somewhere that a little bear from darkest Peru met a family at a train station, and they took him home and fed him marmalade.  He talked and had this little note about looking after him.  He was hell on wheels, too.  Always getting into mischief, that one.  I'm sure it was real, as I read all about it.  

Husband See, clearly you are the one who gets the most enjoyment from going through her line.  I couldn't spoil that for you by getting the books FOR YOU.

Me No, just go to Target and get them.  I know they have them.  I'm not even sure about Safeway.  If they have them, I'll just buy them again.

Husband You'd buy books that you personally said were written so poorly, and at one point the "murmuring" made you want to "punch a puppy", twice?!  You'd buy them twice?!

Me Well the second time would happen ONLY if Safeway had them, and then it would just be to fire up that lady, and how many times I could bring up the book's "red room of pain".  She'd seriously appreciate that, I'm sure.  

Husband You're evil, and I'm still not buying those books.  Now, stop talking, you need your rest.

 

I'm not a prude, but my eyes might be.

Over the past nearly 8 years of our marriage, my husband and I have acquired some European friends.  Most have started out as pen pals for my husband, who taught himself how to speak German.  Some we had the pleasure of meeting in Germany during our travels, and some we have met on their travels here in the US.  Some great friendships have come out of this, and we both have learned so much.  I really felt I was pretty good at conveying that I was something other than the infamous "stupid American" stereotype when it came to getting to know our European friends.  My husband speaks German fluently, so we never expect English (though, most of them are learning English, and also want the opportunity to practice it).  We aren't uptight, or prudish... or at least we think we aren't.  Apparently my mind isn't a prude and is open and accepting of other cultures, but some parts of my face haven't caught up.

I was well aware of the cheek kissing greetings and send-offs, and I was mostly prepared for that (even if I was a little slow and only slightly caught off guard).  I did manage to pull it off once I realized I was mid cheek kiss with one of our friends.  I swore to myself that, the next time we saw him, I would not be caught off guard again, and I would be much more smooth.  After all, I'm a sophisticated American, who is down with all things European.  The next time I saw him, however, I went for the cheek kiss, and since we were more familiar (I guess) he went for a peck on the mouth.  Well, then I started to panic.  How did I screw that up?  Did I miss with my cheek and land on his face with my mouth?  Is that what more familiar friends do?  Does my husband think I just kissed this guy?  Am I being a prude worrying about what my husband thinks of our goodbye?  What is going on?!  Is this real life?!  I was a mess.  My cheeks and my mouth were totally keeping the rest of me from pulling off being cool and "with it".  Oy.

In between these two kissing debacles, we had an underwear "event".  We had all been to the beach, and we had returned to the beach house and were all showering and changing into fresh clothes for dinner.  My little family got all cleaned up and dressed in one bathroom, while our friends were down the hall.  When we emerged, though, everyone was walking around nude or in underwear.  Our guy friend came up to me for a chat, and I had a moment where my brain knew that things are different in Europe, and this would not be a big deal, but my eyes did NOT know what to do with themselves.  Do I stare at his face, non-blinking, and give away that I am avoiding looking at his scantily clad business, or do I try to look casual.  I don't want to look around too much, and make him think I'm back to being a prude and am desperately trying not to even look at him, and I also don't want him to think I'm gawking.  Oh no, does he see the panic in my "deer in the headlights" eyes?!  Maybe it's safer to just say "Oh, I just wanted to say it's tooooootally cool that you're standing there in your designer skivvies while you're talking to me.  I know exactly how to act in this situation.... ignore whatever my face is doing.  It's unfamiliar with any European cultures, and doesn't know what to do with itself."  C'mon eyes, fix yourself!  Where did my husband and kid go?!  Now it's just me and the underwear my friend.  Can I have a do-over?!  I'm so much better than this, I swear!  Luckily, I speak pretty broken German, and he speaks pretty broken English, so maybe both of us stumbling over the language distracted him from the mini-crisis I was having inside, trying so hard to be progressive (for an American).

The underwear "event" was quickly forgotten when everyone got busy trying to explain the art of "S'mores" to our German friends.  One of the brothers is married to an American woman, and between her and my husband and I, we knew all about S'mores... however, we weren't the ones who went food shopping.  When 2 of our friends returned from the store, they explained that they had come up with the idea to make "That treat in America with the toasted marshmallows."  They weren't exactly sure how to make them, so they got Lorna Doones and Nutella to go with the marshmallows.  At least everyone was giggling trying to make something yummy out of this, and to make them feel like they at least gave it a ton of effort.  Eventually, someone decided to use chocolate chip cookies.  So, there you have it... the EuroS'more.  Whatever it was, it took the focus off of my dorkiness, and I am forever grateful.

I'd like to think I'll do better the next time around, but something else I didn't anticipate may come up.  I just haven't learned to control my facial expressions when something comes out of the blue that I didn't expect.  One of these days I'll be refined and never caught off guard.  I will be an honorary European.  I'm sure of it.  Any day now. 

Smokey The Bear and Were-beavers: Two things that aren't, but should be in horror movies

And as we rounded one of the many, beautifully green and lush curves of the densely wooded mountain, the silence was broken with cries of "WERE-BEAVERS!!!"

There should probably be a book somewhere that starts like that.  It's probably a horror story... I mean were-beavers sound pretty terrifying.  Beavers aren't too cute and cuddly in the first place.  They are hardly anything like the impossibly adorable otters.  But, you throw in the "were", and suddenly they are tiny killing machines, lurking in the shadows around peaceful creeks.  They quite literally live in the village of the "dam"med.  I haven't gotten my husband to explain why he shrieked his were-beaver warning on our north-bound drive, but I just assumed he was coming down with some temporary tourette's because I didn't see any beavers, let alone were-beavers (whom I suppose look a lot like normal beavers, but still have tiny little ascots around their neck, left over from the flamboyant attire they tend to wear while in human form).  I thought it was safer to just let him be, and pretend nothing unusual was going on.  I'm faced with that decision in our lives on a daily basis.  It's usually better not to ask.

I may not have seen the danger beavers, but I did see a threatening Smokey The Bear, standing with his shovel on a sign near a park.  Right across from that sign was another, warning: "NO COMFORT FACILITIES!"

Me What is this all about?  Were they getting sick of people with confused looks on their faces, wandering around the parking lot looking for a comfy place to curl up with a good book?

Husband I don't know, but clearly there are no comfort facilities, so don't even THINK about pulling over and getting comfortable.  Smokey the Bear will personally fuck you up if you get too cozy.  He's standing right there, shovel in hand, wearing his trademark "Give me a reason" face.  I mean, can't they just say "There are no shitters."  That seems less violent. 

Me Less violent, and more clear.  Although, I sure hope everyone gets the irony of the sign's location behind the "Comfort Inn" billboard.  Maybe it's less of a sign pertaining to the little picnic area, and more of a protest sign put there by disgruntled Comfort Inn patrons.  They were all "How DARE they call that place a Comfort Inn?  There are NO COMFORT FACILITIES anywhere on the premises. We should warn people.  Someone call Smokey, he's already angry."


At least these strange woodland creatures helped to keep our 7 hour drive up north interesting.  Between spotting these angry animals, and discovering "drunk fitness" clubs, and pondering what kind of marketing sense it makes for a liquor store to advertise "Wednesday is Men's Day!  10% off wine!", we had a fun drive that went about as fast as 7 hours could go.

Of course, the time we spent with our friends AFTER the drive was far superior to the drive up, and we had way more laughs once we got there, but THAT is for another blog post... If I can even find a way to put it into words.  :)

Somebody needs to tell him...

**Caution:  You may find this offensive, I guess, so there is your warning.  Also, if this is offensive to you, you probably don't want to read anything else on this blog, either.**

My husband was complaining to me about the aloe strips on razors, and I had very little sympathy for him just not liking the gooey-ness, because he's never shaved his legs with a fresh aloe stripped razor, and then went on to wash the rest of his body, only to realize he is ALLERGIC to something in that aloe-goo.  AND  he didn't find out by suddenly realizing, mid-shower, that someone has set his nether-region on FIRE, and wonder how that even happened since you are standing in a box full of water.  But you know, this must be a fire, and how did that even happen?  Oh dear God, you got that aloe-goo from the razor on your legs and wiped it off with the wash cloth, and then washed the rest of your body with it, and now your girl parts have gone up in imaginary, but quite painful flames.  But, please, husband... tell me how you just don't like the slimy trails left on your face.  That must be such a pain in the ass for you.  Have I expressed the proper amount of concern on my face, because I'm trying very hard to look like this must be a huge inconvenience for you.  So he does tell me more...

Husband Well I don't know why it even bothers you.  I mean, I even get little cuts on my face while shaving, and the aloe gets in that and it doesn't hurt or burn me at all.  

Me *with that "oh I just remembered something" look on my face* Hey, guess what?!

Husband What?

Me Those little cuts on your face are NOT vaginas.  

Husband Well, it's gotta be close.

Me No.  They are two very different animals.  For starters... you should try not to keep cutting your face, but a woman should really try to keep having a vagina.  See, one is actually supposed to be there.  

Husband Yeah, but they are both still gateways to the rest of the body.

Me Kinda, but one is man-made.  I mean, a vagina has it's on ecosystem.  It's very complicated, and has many purposes, and plays a huge part in the whole "circle of life".  The cuts on your face aren't really contributing to the continuation of the human race in such a profound way.  Has a baby ever emerged from your face?  I didn't think so.

Husband You are totally underestimating my face boo-boos.  Also, you've said "vagina" too many times now.  We should probably talk about something else.  

Me I didn't realize there was a limit, but there is something else I needed to talk to you about, so when you're done carving little vaginas into your face with the poison tipped razor, I need you to look at my laptop.  I think it has a virus.

Public Displays of Vacation

You know those car magnets... the gratuitous announcements of where people prefer to vacation?  Well, I have a new magnet (as soon as I make it) that says "I vacation in your home... while you're at the OBX."  Creepy?  Sure.  Brilliant?  Why, yes!  Everyone loves car magnets and vacation, so this should make me a fortune.

Speaking of vacation, in less than 2 weeks I get to go on a road trip with my husband, without the kids!  Woot!  We are going to visit some actual grown adults a few states north of us.  I'm not sure what is more exciting... seeing some people whom share similar ideas to our own (which is near impossible to find where we live), or getting a break from fetching drinks, helping with the potty, cutting up food, and keeping two short humans from mortally wounding themselves.  Although my friend seemed disappointed that I would not be cutting up HER food for her, she took the news rather well.  I did explain that I wasn't so sure I would even cut up my own food, and instead I may opt to go all "snake" and just swallow my food whole.  OMG, I just realized I may actually get a chance to eat a meal while it's still hot.  Oh, the things that excite you when you're a parent!  We actually got excited when we realized we could listen to an audiobook on the drive up! 

It'll be nice to just get out of this town for a while, and see somewhere different.  I kinda knew it was time, when I asked the girl at the deli for "That fancy hipster grilled cheese", and she just gave me an angry scowl, and annoyed "What?", and I just walked away, too disappointed to eat.  (How about the only grilled cheese on your menu... the one that boasts about it's 3 cheeses in one sandwich... it's all the hipster rage... do you live under a rock?  The red Ronald McDonald streaks in your hair gave a more "I know what's up" vibe than your face and mouth gave off when you started to talk.  My mistake.).  It was the same grocery store where the cashier did not appreciate my quest for Schweddy Balls ice cream (Grocery tomfoolery, pretty tools, and invisible flowers).  It's like it's a requirement to completely lack a sense of humor to work there.  Take me on vacation, and deliver me from evil boredom. 

Alright, so someone who is never boring, is my 4 year old.  So, to wrap up, I'll throw in a kidism for you:

Me Honey, do you really want to wear those jeans.  You can, but they do have holes in them.

Son No, Mom, those are not holes. Those are my knee air conditioners.

Me Ah, and to think I almost threw them out.  I just did not even realize how high tech your pre-school fashion was.  Enjoy your ventilation.  

 

You're the best, because it could be worse!

You know that pleasantly surprising moment when your significant other is speaking to you from their heart in a sweet, and touching way, as they express what you mean to them, and then.... well I'll just let this speak for itself.

Husband I was just thinking today how lucky I am.  I'm really so happy you're mine.

Me Awe, that's sweet.  Thank you.  I'm lucky to have you, too!

Husband No, really.  I was out at Wal Mart today, and it made me remember how good I have it.  I mean, you're not a meth-head.

Me Um, yeah.  Wait, is this a compliment compared to meth-heads?

Husband No, no!  You're a gorgeous woman, AND you're not a meth-head.  

Me Well, way to set the bar so incredibly high.  I mean, how will I ever be able to really live up to this "not a meth-head" requirement for your love?  Especially since I have all that free time, and I did go through all that trouble to build a lab and all.

Husband Well, I was looking around Wal Mart, and I realized it can't be easy in this town to be a woman and NOT be a meth-head.

Me I'm pretty sure your sample group was a little skewed, but yeah... I think I can continue with my struggle to be strong in this fight to resist meth.

Husband See, I'm a lucky man.

Me Great.  By the way, this beautiful moment has made me realize how lucky I am... that we did not write our own vows.  

I was thinking about this conversation earlier today while I was out shopping.  I realized that moment could come in handy.  I figured that when I come home from shopping, bags in hand, and my husband gives me that "WHAT did you buy?!" look... I can cheerfully point out "I'm not a meth-head!", and suddenly everything will be put in perspective.    

So, this just happened...

Husband So is your catnip done?

Me What?

Husband *much more slowly* Is. your. catnip. done?

Me What are you talking about?  It's still out there.  It'll just keep growing.

Husband Now what are YOU talking about?

Me What are YOU talking about?

Husband The catnip.

Me Yeah, me too.  What do you mean "is it done?"  It's like several bushes out there... it just keeps coming back, and it's still out there.  

Husband Not that catnip.

Me What other catnip is there?!  Ooooooooooooh.  Wait.  Dammit.  Yeah, that was probably done hours ago.

Thank goodness my husband doesn't expect anything other than this kind of conversation from me.  In my defense, how often does someone actually COOK catnip?  I'm guessing that, unless I want to never hear the end of it, I probably won't be cooking it again.  Sorry, cats.