Holding my cat, Flora, up to the ceiling and exclaiming: “Kunta Kitty!”
And then after a second, rocking up on tip toes to put her paws near the ceiling (I’m short, okay.) then singing Spider Cat, Spider cat.
Really, I’m like this almost every day.
Image via Wikipedia
Last night:
“Do you want me to heat up the left over rice?”
I turn around, half the way to look over at Shawn. “Yeah, that’d be good. And while you’re at it, grab those corn tortilla shells you just got. Might as well, makes the food stretch.”
“Psshht, look at you, eating my tortilla shells.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Yeah, about that–I went to go get some cheese to put on my salad today. You know, from the bag of cheddar cheese you brought home?”
Shawn rubs his belly. “Yes. Look at what happened. Look what the cheese gave you. I’m going to have babies–cheese babies.“
Image from Wikipedia
When my husband, Shawn, is at work he often pops on during his break if I’m online to say hello or what have you via AIM (AOL Instant Messenger). Usually what follows is an exchange of brain death that’s usual conversation between the two of us. We really are speshul little snowflakes.
[03:31 PM] elf_fu: WIN.
[03:31 PM] bariguy: I WIN!
[03:32 PM] elf_fu: I WIN. BY BOOBIES DEFAULT.
[03:32 PM] elf_fu: I want cake.
[03:32 PM] elf_fu: For winning.
[03:32 PM] bariguy: Hmmm… everything you see around you you won for boobies default.
[03:33 PM] elf_fu: I don’t see any cake.
In celebration of a successful hunt from lens crafters, I thought I would share a wonderful story Shawn told me today.
The mornings are a joyous time in the Pence household. The arising sun is greeted with the displeased yowls of Raven, who, regardless of being fed everyday at six am, insists on starting to walk over our heads at three am and continue until one of us blearily feeds her.
It is also the time to rush as fast as possible to the bathroom, because for whatever reason the human body decides to store the most crap and pee while we’re sleeping, so that when we awaken we’re pleasantly surprised we haven’t exploded.
Shawn informed me that it was one of those mornings and he bolted awake to run to the bathroom in time to not explode.
He said that he had another one of those geek moments whilst in there—that, as he sat down and went about his business he cried, “Expelliamus!” Then said he giggled for at least fifteen minutes afterward.
I do not doubt the truth of his story one bit, and can imagine my husband sitting on the can and tittering like a fifteen year old over Harry Potty humor.
God I love this man.
Expelliamus* is a Harry Pottery spell.
There is a combination of consumables in which Shawn should never, ever eat together lest he kill me, the cat, the dog and several of the neighbors children from the death gas which leaks out of his butt.
Those three in no particular death order are: Coffee, ice cream and milk. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass in between consuming them, so long as Shawn has had them in a single day, then all of us within the house are doomed to eye watering, strangled gasps for breath for the rest of the evening.
I’d noticed he’d had a bowl of ice cream tonight, right after coffee in the afternoon. I hadn’t noticed, until too late that he was drinking down a cup of milk.
Akin to the evil monkey from Family Guy, my finger came out to point at him with undisguised panic. “Oh no,” I proclaimed. “You are drinking milk.”
“Yes,” he replied mildly, as if I were very simple and needed praise for figuring out he was holding and drinking a glass of milk.
“That is milk. You can’t drink that, you’ve had coffee and ice cream and now milk! You can’t digest milk all that well. The end result is deadly! You’re trying to kill me!”
“I can too digest it, I drink milk and my body produces nerve gas.”
Making a fist and shaking it in his general direction I could only exclaim, “Someday, I will have my revenge. I will let one go that will water your eyes, have you shoot up and out of bed in the middle of the night coughing and gagging, clawing at your neck whilst you desperately lunge for cleaner air in any other room but the one I am in!”
With a wide grin, Shawn replied with, “And on that day, I will weep tears of joy and be proud.”
We’re getting ready to go out somewhere, the both of us are crowded in the bathroom—I’m putting eye liner on and he’s brushing his hair. I look over at his reflection in the mirror and notice his skirt.
When I’m getting ready to go out some where, really getting ready—the make up, the nice clothes, the hair and so on—I get so easily frustrated at myself. I don’t know why I do this, I want to be perfect but I know I’m not. I’m round and blubbery and plain. But for some reason my mind says that it’s just because I can’t get myself together right, then I get angry at myself and bitchy.
So I notice his shirt and decide to channel all of this into him instead, “Look at your shirt. Look at it. It’s covered in hamster piss. That is a nice shirt, why didn’t you take it off?”
He stares at me in an incredulous manner.
“My god, now it’s all stained and it’ll probably never fucking come out. You do this ALL the time; you wear your nice shirts and get them all stained up and never think about wearing a bad one to clean or change hamsters cages with. I want to go eat somewhere nice but noooooooOooooooooooooooo, we can’t, now, because your shirt’s all covered in hamster piss and grease and–”
“I know you’re going to shut up.”
“–we won’t -what?” I splutter.
“I know you’re going to shut up about this. Because you WEAR MY SHIRTS MISS COFFEE AND HOT CHOCOLATE AND MILK ALL OVER MY SHIRTS. MY SHIRTS. THAT YOU WEAR. MINE. ALL THE TIME”
“….I..it..I’ll.” I realize that he’s won, of course.
“I’m leaving the bathroom, now,” as he strode triumphantly through the door.
I love the fact that when I’m being ridiculous, instead of choking me to death he comes at it with humor and logic, which is good because I am lacking the latter a lot.
Several moons ago I was watching one of the many little viral internet videos of Blood Elves, a race of characters from World of Warcraft, doing their high-class little Brittany Spears dance. This was well before Shawn got himself his second pair of glasses.
From behind me, I hear Shawn ask, “What–what is that? Is that a–That looks like a bear bleeding spaghetti from its vagina.”
It’s hard to describe the sort of profound silence that befell me then, as I slowly swiveled about in my computer chair to ogle wide-eyed at the delightful, wonderful man I am spending the rest of my life with. I stared at him staring at me, a tumble weed may have gone by, the clock ticked.
Sheepishly within the edible quiet, he finally added, “I should probably get my eyes checked, huh?”
Indeed, my good man. Indeed.
Awoken early this morning with the sound of an eighteen pound cat attempting to climb onto our head board, Shawn and I murmured about the retard level of our cats. The conversation quickly turned to the age old:
Me: “She’s your daughter. You picked her.”
Shawn: “No I didn’t. She picked me.”
(two second pause)
Shawn: “I just gave her a place to be fat.”
In other news this morning, I was perusing all the tea websites I have gathered in my fox bookmarks of doom and was pouring over
They have a green tea sampler pack of things I haven’t actually tried before (tea virgin lolz) and I thought that was a pretty decent deal. I also like to switch flavors and tastes a lot when it comes to my teas and coffees, so this seemed like a really good idea. They have samplers for all their major groups of teas and the site seems geared to helping people find a flavor, try new teas, etc.
It’ll be sent ground, so it will probably be a week or more before being delivered. I am really looking forward to it! :p
And
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