The other night I was watching Grey’s Anatomy and one of the dudes had a big ol’ hickey on his neck and it got me thinking. Do women actually give men hickeys? I mean, do YOU give your boyfriend/husband/random guy from the bar hickeys? I’m fairly certain that I’ve never given anyone a hickey before. Am I a bad person for this? Should I add “Give Cleatus a hickey” to my bucket list? Or, better yet, maybe I should add “Give Michael Weston a hickey.”

As for receiving hickeys…do you? I mean, are you galavanting around town, dropping your children off at playdates, taking your son to soccer practice, doing your grocery shopping, and mopping the floors with HICKEYS ON YOUR NECK? Or, god forbid, elsewhere on your body? Please share. I must know.

And, because I’m asking for your hickey information, I shall share mine. I have had two hickeys in my lifetime. One was while I was in high school and it was most unfortunate. I was “dating” this boy named (oh God) Lester, which meant that a.) I heard quite a few jokes about Lester the Molester and b.) something was clearly wrong with me.

Let us go off topic for a moment here while I describe Lester. Lester was what we, back then, called a scumbag. Really, I know no nicer way to put it than that. He had no money and he did not bathe and he only owned two shirts. (I’m sorry, it was high school, there was no such thing as “compassion.”) One was a Green Bay Packers t-shirt and one was a band t-shirt (I think Metallica). How do I know these were the only two shirts he owned? Because he wore those two shirts every single day. But, because it would be totally uncool to be seen wearing the same two shirts over and over he would (OH DEAR GOD) switch back and forth between wearing them right side out and inside out. And, uh, he didn’t wash them in between wearing them either. He also had rather long, greasy blond hair (and this was not a time when long hair on boys was fashionable) and once an older girl came up behind Lester and me kissing and, noticing the long hair on both of our heads, said something about how she couldn’t believe two girls were kissing in the hall. (As if high school wasn’t hard enough…) My only excuse for dating this boy is that I think I was going through some sort of bad boy phase, and I just expected this greasy kid from the wrong side of town to be a bad boy. He really wasn’t though, because I once suggested that he come over to my house while my parents were out of town for the weekend and he acted all scandalized. So, since I couldn’t find any actual bad boys in my high school, I opted for a dirty boy. Next best thing, right?

Anyway, back to the hickey. It was Christmas break and Lester was no where to be found seeing as how he lived way across town from me. I was hanging out with some neighbor boys (who, come to think of it, were actually “bad boys”) and I ended up making out with one of them the night before we went back to school. And he totally gave me a hickey. I’m pretty sure Lester saw it, but because he was actually only dirty and not bad, he never said a word about it.

I am an asshole.

My second hickey was courtesy of my soon-to-be-husband, Cleatus, and when I say “soon-to-be” I fucking mean WE WERE GOING TO GET MARRIED IN TWO DAYS. And the bastard gave me a hickey. Like it was a fucking wedding present.

The worst part is, Cleatus and I were totally just goofing around, tickling each other and play fighting when all of a sudden he said something like “Wouldn’t it be funny if I gave you a hickey right before we got married?” and I screeched something like “I will fucking kill you” and then he held me down and gave me a hickey. He swears he didn’t mean to REALLY give me one, but y’all. I had a hickey on my wedding day.

Cleatus is an asshole.

Now, spill. When did you last give/get a hickey?

My cat is currently outside hanging off the window screen and meowing to be let in. Rather than remove myself from underneath my laptop and let the poor frozen kitty inside, I decided to blog. It’s been awhile, yo.

I think the reason for the blogging is partially Cleatus’s fault. Remember when I used to bitch and complain about him all the effing time? Man, those were the days. He truly has been like some kind of Super Husband lately. HE EVEN BOUGHT ME A NIKON D90 FOR CHRISTMAS. And let me have it two weeks ago because the sound of my whining was about to puncture his ear drum because he loves me so much. Seriously. Super Husband.

However! This morning I woke up on the grumpy side and DO YOU KNOW WHAT, INTERNET? I feel like bitching about Cleatus. Do you know what he did? He came home from work after a 12 hour shift and opened the little cubby/drawer thing where he keeps his keys and wallet and other crap and he put his wallet inside BUT LEFT HIS KEYS SITTING ON TOP OF THE SHELF and! HE LEFT THE CUBBY/DRAWER OPEN. Clearly he doesn’t deserve to live. If he weren’t in bed sleeping right this minute, I’d go in there and fart on his pillow. I guess I’ll just have to settle for farting on his toothbrush.

(Notice how the things I am bitching about now are really only minor inconveniences and I even go ahead and give him credit for the 12 hour work shift? What the hell happened to me? Where did my anger go? I want it back.)

Oh! One more rant (not about Cleatus though, something is wrong with meeeeee!). I listed my old camera on Craigslist, because you know, Cleatus is awesome and super and he bought me a new one. So, some guy was interested in one of the lenses that I had listed and he asked me to come to his tattoo shop(!) to show it to him. Now, I have nothing against tattoos. You go ahead and cover your entire face with a big tweety bird tattoo, see if I care. It’s just…tattoo shops (parlors? Are they called tattoo parlors?) are not my place. I don’t belong, is what I’m saying. I’m a 27-going-on-80 year old frumpy mom who writes a blog, for fuck’s sake. I was feeling out of place before I even got out of the safety of my car.

Anyway, long story short, I stood in there while he bashed my lens around and generally acted like he had never seen a camera lens before in his life (newsflash: you should be GENTLE with them. They are fragile and made of glass and oh my fuck, dude, quit trying to jam it on your camera the wrong way.) and soaked up the smell of incense and biker dude into my clothing. I really hope that smell comes out, because like I said before: frumpy mom with a blog. I do not need to smell like I ride a Harley and smoke dope, thank you.

(I apologize for all the stereotyping in the above paragraph. He just FIT THE STEREOTYPE, OKAY?)

And, all that to say, he didn’t even buy the lens, WHICH I KNEW HE WOULDN’T, because he needed a lens for taking pictures of tattoos, which would be difficult with the 70-300 lens I had for sale. DUH.

Oh, and did I mention that I got the Nikon D90 yet? Squeeeee!

And also:

Y’all sick of pictures of my kids yet?

I was laying in bed last night, in a deep sleep, minding my own business when Cleatus came barging into the bedroom ready to go to sleep himself.

Because I am a delicate flower of a princess, full of grace and dignity and politeness, I quietly stated that it was a tad warm in our bedroom.

Alright, so actually I started thrashing around the bed and moaning that it was so hot in there I was about to melt, fix it, god damn it.

Cleatus said something about the curtains blocking the flow of cool air through the open window. He pushed the curtain aside and asked if that was better.

Half asleep or not, I answered him with my usual charm, stating sarcastically that OH MY, YES! Much better! Why, it feels like the arctic in here!

“Well, let me open the window wider,” Cleatus said. He reached up and pushed and then started freaking the fuck out. “SHIT! OH, SHIT. The window came out of the wall!”

I, of course, started laughing because, seriously. Windows don’t just fall out of walls, he was obviously JOKING. Hahaha, that Cleatus. So hilarious.

“NO! It’s about to fall on your head, I’m holding it up!”

I jumped out of bed, flipped on the light and started screeching about how the next time we replaced windows we were hiring someone who knew what the fuck they were doing.

Cleatus looked at the window. He slowly released his grip on it. He reached up and jiggled it. “Oh. Huh. I guess it’s fine. That’s weird.”

Yeah, Cleatus. Weird. That’s exactly the word I would use.

(Day 2! I’m on a roll, yo!)

You all think my husband is cute, right? I mean, look at him! Those eyes! Did you know that sometimes they are blue and sometimes they are green? Hot, right?

But you don’t know him like I do. I mean, he’s not just a pretty face. There is SO MUCH more to him than that.

Drawing courtesy of Cindy-Lu.
(It probably goes without saying, but this picture is drawn to scale. Obviously.)

My, my. What a nice large belly button he has. And those scrawny little legs are so sexy. His heart is nice, of course, but we all know it’s his wiener that I love best.

UPDATED: Why are you all looking at the thing over his LIP? Who cares about his mouth! It’s the dick we are focusing on! But, to keep you all happy, I asked Cindy-Lu what that was and she said it was his extra nose. Meh. Whatever. At least she got the male anatomy part drawn correctly.

Do you all remember back in October when I got a speeding ticket on Cleatus’s birthday? (Of course not. I barely remember that far back and IT’S MY LIFE.) Well, I got a speeding ticket back in October on Cleatus’s birthday. It was the best birthday present he received, obviously.

Fast forward to January and guess what I did. I got ANOTHER speeding ticket. Seriously, y’all, I have speeding issues. That, and I think the city is broke and they are trying to make up for it by ticketing every little person they see that goes even a teensy little bit over the speed limit (19 miles over for the first one and 14 miles over for the second! Totally should have gotten off with a warning! Heh.) to make them spend all their hard earned money on tickets and court costs and insurance increases! It’s total crap, man.

All in all, I spent $325 on the two tickets. My court supervision just ended last week, but if I get another ticket between now and October? I lose my license for 3 months. That would suck, yo.

I was smart when I broke the news about the second ticket to Cleatus. I waited for witnesses (his family) and for him to ask me for something (if I minded if he spent the next day hanging out with his brothers instead of catering to my every whim and desire). But, Cleatus was still all YOU DID WHAT? YOU GOT ANOTHER TICKET? WHEN WILL YOU LEARN? WHY DID I MARRY YOU? WHAT THE FUCK? and I was all BUT BABY, I LOOOOOOVE YOU AND PLEASE DON’T BE MAD AT MEEEEEEE! and he forgave me and we went back to our normal lives.

And by “normal lives” I mean that every time we went anywhere together I would watch the speedometer while Cleatus was driving and wait very patiently for him to FINALLY get a damn speeding ticket so that I could get over the guilt I had.

Last week? He got a ticket! His first ticket in something like five years! I was in the car with him when he got pulled over and, honestly, I’m surprised the officer didn’t make me take a drug test. I laughed and snorted and giggled and cackled the entire time Cleatus was being written up.  Cleatus didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did.

Sure, we could have spent that $75 on something fun and exciting, but I’m happy just knowing that he can no longer roll his eyes about my driving or remind me to drive slowly in that mean little voice he uses when he’s acting all smug and better than me.

If he gets another ticket I’ll have to kill him though. We can only afford for one of us to run up hundreds of dollars worth of court costs. We have bills to pay, you know.

I’ve got a couple of questions bouncing around inside my brain and, considering how helpful you all were with the vagina questions, I thought I’d bring them to you. Help a girl out?

Isn’t it true that men generally don’t like to be punched in the dick? I mean, they find that annoying, right? Because I was always under the impression that dick punching is something they want to avoid, but it turns out that maybe I’m wrong. Cleatus has this slight problem with our garbage. As in, he never fucking takes it out. When we were married it was written in our vows that I would clean the toilets and he would take out the garbage. (True story.) (Not really.) (But we SHOULD have written that into our vows.) (Will remember that for my NEXT marriage to the BETTER husband.) I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’m pretty good at cleaning toilets. Cleatus is on the not so good side of taking out the garbage. Obviously, my response to a full garbage can is to punch Cleatus in the dick, but IT’S NOT FIXING THE PROBLEM. Suggestions?

My next question has nothing to do with private body parts, so you can all breathe a big sigh of relief now.

How often do you upgrade to a new computer? It’s come to my attention that I have a wee little computer upgrading problem. As in, I believe that a new computer should be purchased yearly to replace your old computer. Many other people that I won’t name (Cleatus. My mom. My dad. Al Gore. You.) think that this is excessive. I can understand how MAYBE one would think that, considering that we have THREE computers in our home, but really, shouldn’t we just add another computer to the mix and have them all on a yearly upgrade schedule that works out to us purchasing one new computer each quarter? I’m pretty sure my financial planner would be impressed with my obviously high quality budgeting skills here. (If I HAD a financial planner that is.)

Alright, so honestly, I don’t think that all three of our computers need upgraded every year, just my laptop. I’m sorry, but one year in laptop life is like ten years in desktop life and seriously, how many of you are using a ten year old computer?

What I’m saying is, the Easter Bunny brought me a laptop last year and this year all I’m going to get is NOTHING AT ALL and really, if the economy is so bad that the Easter Bunny is scaling back the gifts, then maybe we should all just get it over with and go DIE, because life without a shiny new laptop is really no life at all, now is it?

In other news, my dirty, dull year old laptop is currently being repaired (it keeps overheating and just SHUTTING OFF. Very irritating.) and I won’t have it back for a few days. I did like eighty-three back-ups before I took it to the fixer people, but god damn it, if I have to actually USE those back-ups I will stab someone. Also, if this post looks all wonky or there are misspelled words it’s totally because I’m using the Mac and for some reason it doesn’t give me little red squiggly lines when I misspell words and HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GO ON LIVING IN THESE CONDITIONS?

You may remember about six months ago when I was bitching about Cindy-Lu’s brand new dresser falling apart after two days of use so I duct taped it together. (Okay, so chances are you DON’T remember that, but whatever.) Well, SURPRISE, that dresser has been held together with duct tape all this time. And by “held together” I mean one of the drawers was totally useless because the front part is completely seperate from the drawer part and the other drawer had a bottom that kept randomly falling out which would then cause me to have a seizure every time I attempted to open that drawer because the bottom part was halfway in the drawer beneath it so it wouldn’t open and JESUS CHRIST ON A PIECE OF TOAST, WHY HAVE I LIVED THAT WAY FOR SIX MONTHS?

Last night I had a dream that I superglued the dresser back together.

Today I tried to superglue the dresser back together.

Luckily for the dresser, I couldn’t find any damn superglue. All I could find was that stupid craft glue that I bought when I thought maybe I was crafty so I ran out and bought eight million dollars worth of crafty stuff and then decided that nope, not actually crafty and owning all the crafty supplies isn’t going to change that!

Craft glue actually holds pretty well. But, I didn’t stop there. I didn’t want to be in the same situation a week from now, so I decided to GET TO THE ROOT OF THE PROBLEM. Why was the bottom continually falling out of the drawer? What was causing this? I had to find the answer if I wanted to correct the situation, and god damn it, I wanted to correct the situation.

It was Cleatus’s fault. Obviously. When he nailed the bottom part of the drawer into the drawer part of the drawer (huh?) he COMPLETELY MISSED. The nail went through the bottom part of the drawer and up into THIN AIR. The moron. You KNOW he had to see that when it happened. And did he fix it? No. Bastard.

So, I started looking for a hammer. All I could find was a stupid ball-peen hammer and the only reason I know it is called a ball-peen hammer is because Cleatus asked me to get it for him a couple of weeks ago and I said “what the hell is a ball-peen hammer?” and then he showed me. Ball-peen hammers, in case you are wondering, do not have the little grippy things for removing nails and I really needed the grippy thing to get the nail out because I couldn’t find any other nails to use.

I got a fork. It is totally similar to the grippy things on a hammer. But it didn’t work.

I got a knife and tried using the edge of it to pry up the nail. Didn’t work.

I got a bottle opener and, honestly, I’m not sure how I thought that was going to help, but I was going to give it a shot, but then I remembered seeing a pair of pliers laying around and I got those.

I was able to pry the nail up with the knife just enough to grip the nail head with the pliers and I got the nail out. Then I used the stupid hammer and hammered it into place.

So there you go. I am a home improvement guru. I glued it and I nailed it.

I’ll let y’all know how long it lasts.

And, now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go hang some new cabinets in my kitchen. With my fork.

I’m back! The whole flying thing was, um, not so much with the fun. Lots of the nausea and the puke bags, but not a lot of the fun. I should have known. I can’t ride anywhere in the backseat of a car without wanting to DIE, so what made me think I’d be able to fly around in the back of a plane? I’m sure I’d be juuuuuust fine if I were able to DRIVE the plane (or, okay, FLY the plane, if you want to get technical), but then instead of an upset stomach I’d have, you know, MISSING BODY PARTS and whatnot from the crash.

I really don’t have much else to report. The trip was nice. I saw lots of family that I hadn’t seen in years and years (and years) and I missed family that I’m used to seeing every day. I knew I would miss Eeyore, but I didn’t realize how much I liked my husband until I couldn’t see him for a few days. I really missed him for some odd reason. I think it’s because he’s so hot.

Speaking of Cleatus and his hotness, guess what came in the mail for him today? A freakin’ AARP card. In case you are not aware, AARP is for SENIOR CITIZENS. I like to make fun of my father for being a member. Cleatus is only 28 years old! I will not be married to an AARP member! But, you know, he’s older than me and I really enjoy teasing him about it, which is why I saved his membership card instead of throwing it away.

Him: “Why the hell would they send me this?”

Me: “Maybe they think you’re old?”

Him: “Why would they think THAT?”

Me: “I dunno. Maybe they saw your receding hairline?”

He’s so happy I’m home.

I was at the Taco Bell drive through the other day (I am addicted to those Big Taste Tacos) when a boy and girl walked out of the restaurant hand in hand. They were in their teens, it was a Saturday, they walked slow and talked and smiled and were just enjoying each other. They looked like they didn’t have anywhere to be or anything to do and were just happy to be together.

I miss that so much. I miss the feeling of falling in love with Cleatus. I miss dating him. I miss wondering if he would call, if he would kiss me good night, if he was flirting with some other girl at work.

I remember our first “real” date. The two of us and his brother, his friend, and my friend were all going out to a movie. (So, it was a real date, but with others. Whatever.) My friend and I sat upstairs and stared out the window at the road waiting for them to come driving up. We were both so excited. They arrived with their hair sticking straight up in spikes. All of ‘em. They thought they were hilarious. So did we. They went into the bathroom, fixed their hair, and then we headed to the movie.

I remember how Cleatus used to have to stop at almost every gas station we passed, either to pee or to buy another soda. I remember making fun of him and moaning and groaning about it. Before he’d get out of the car, every time, he’d ask if I wanted anything. Sometimes I’d request a Sprite, but most of the time I didn’t want anything. He would get me a Sprite every single time, whether I wanted one or not. When he gave me a promise ring, the little speech he said as he was slipping the ring on my finger included “I promise to buy you all the Sprite you don’t want.”

I remember the first time he held my hand while he was driving and how excited I was about that. I remember him sneaking into my high school to have lunch with me. I remember skipping school and heading to his apartment to beg him to skip class at the local college. I remember telling my mom I was staying the night with a friend and sleeping at his apartment on his disgusting twin bed with no sheets. I remember how he ate cereal for dinner all the time. I remember how sometimes he didn’t have any money at all, but he’d never let me buy him anything, not even a soda or a pack of cigarettes. I remember how he used to open my car door for me every time we got in. I remember driving down the road with him and throwing goldfish crackers out the window and screaming “Flying fishes!” I remember parking in a grade school parking lot during school hours so that we could make out. I remember how he would come over at night and we’d both just hang out in my room talking until we fell asleep. I remember waking up in the morning and finding a note hanging on my door with the lyrics to our song. I remember laying on the floor with Cleatus in his apartment and watching one of our friends play Frogger (On the Playstation, not Atari. I’m not that old.) when he rolled over on top of me, kissed me and told me he loved me for the first time. I remember giving him a little card telling him I loved him and how he saved that card.

I remember so much. I miss it all.

Marriage is nice and secure and boring in a good way, but sometimes I miss those first few months with him.

Homecoming 1998

He’s gotten 100 times hotter. I’ve gotten 100 times fatter.

The scene: Cleatus, the cat, and I are in bed. Me, scratching around underneath the blankets so that the cat will pounce on my fingers. After growing tired of having the cat pounce on me, I move on to Cleatus.

Me: grabbing hold of Cleatus’s wiener *flop flop flop*

Cleatus: What are you doing?

Me: Trying to make the cat pounce on your wiener.

Me: *flop flop flop*

Lily: *POUNCE*

Cleatus: What the fuck, dude?

****

The scene: Cleatus and I at a restaurant looking at the menu.

Cleatus: Are we going anywhere after we eat?

Me: I dunno. Why?

Cleatus: There’s this chili cheese omelet that looks good.

Me: So?

Cleatus: Well, I don’t want to order it if we are going shopping afterward. I’ll need to shit first.

****

The scene: Cleatus and I back at home to measure a closet for shelves. The measuring is done and we are getting ready to walk out the door to buy the shelving.

Cleatus: Wait. Is this going to take longer than an hour?

Me: I doubt it. Why?

Cleatus: Tryin’ to decide if I should poop now or if I should just wait.

Me: Do you NEED to poop now?

Cleatus: I don’t know. How long is this going to take?

Me: IT DOESN’T MATTER. DO YOU NEED TO POOP NOW?

Cleatus: *thinking* Oh, fuck it. Let’s flip a coin.