Hello, boys and girls. Today's post will be all about the penis.
I know, I know. It's not exactly an original topic. And it's certainly not new to Tuna Girl. But something about the penis has been bugging me.
Okay, well not exactly bugging me. But it's been on my mind lately. A few days ago I stumbled upon this entry at Biological Show. And before vacation I really enjoyed this post at the Corky (go to quickies then June 10) (via Wet Dreaming...speaking of sexy dreaming). By the way, none of the pictures at these posts are particularly work safe.
And then someone at Nicky's site mentioned Girls Gone Wild in his comment.
So here's what's been on my mind. Women's breasts have lost all their mystery, while men's penises continue to mystify.
I'm sure there was a time when the mystery of women's breasts kept men in line until they could glimpse their prize.
But now, well with Girls Gone Wild, PG-13 ratings, and the Internet, It's not like little boys are having to wait until they convince some girl to go to second base to really get a good look.
Of course, it's also simple anatomy that keeps women's breasts in the, um, forefront. It's not like I can really hide what I have.
But it seems like despite the Internet, the exposed penis still holds some magical power. Even as I'm writing this I'm realizing that, well, it's probably just me. Maybe it's just me who still feels a little shocked whenever I see a new penis. Perhaps it's just me who wonders what's hiding behind the cargo shorts and CK boxer briefs.
Maybe it's just because I'm a straight female that I find the splendid diversity of men's nether regions so enthralling.
Perhaps it's just because I'm a complete nerdy freak that I wonder about how a man's penis affects his life. You know...does he act like a huge dick because he doesn't have one? Is his baffling cockiness based on the number of inches he's touting down below?
I can't tell you how many of my female friends have commented over the years about how weird/gross/disgusting the penis really is. That's baffling to me. Of course, these are the same women who claim to have never masturbated or given a blow job, so maybe they're just lying through their teeth.
I'll go on the record right now, as one lone straight woman, to declare that size does not matter. As long as it isn't on the freakish extreme of either side of the range, it just isn't that important.
BUT, there are things that do matter.
My first boyfriend (and the first boy I had sex with) rose so far to the left that it actually hurt my side to have sex with him. We'd have to be at 90 degree angles to really get anything accomplished.
Straight is good.
And, good looks matter. I'm partial to good grooming.
And, well, talent matters. But we all knew that.
So, in summation, I'm a big fan of the penis. I'm a huge fan of one penis in particular. Penises are beautiful and useful. I *heart* men. And I admire the penis' ability to keep its mystery.
So I wonder, if women started showing off their vaginas to film crews for a free t-shirt, would the female nether region lose it's mystery too.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Dream Girl
I had my first blogger dream last night.
I tend to dream quite a bit. I have very wild and crazy dreams, but I rarely remember them. When I first wake up, I can recall every detail. Within five minutes I remember only the main points. By the time I've had my first cup of coffee, I might as well never have dreamed at all.
A few dreams stick out in my head. I remember dreaming for a few nights in a row a few years ago that my father turned into a monster right before my eyes. A really scary, skinny monster.
I also dream about war a lot. I guess that makes sense. And my high school and college are often the settings for these combat scenes.
The most common theme in my dreams is that I'm not prepared for something I should be. Like I'm about to take a test and I haven't studied, or I have a softball game and I forgot my uniform.
Lately, I've had this recurring dream about being forced by terrorists to do a stand-up comedy routine. I have to perform in an arena of hundreds of thousands of people, and if they don't laugh, the terrorists will blow us all up. Of course, I'm not prepared with any material. Somehow, I manage to make them roar with laughter (wish I could remember the jokes), but the terrorists just march me to another stadium and make me do it over and over. I'm blaming Patrick for this dream.
I also know that I have some lovely sex dreams. I have absolutely no recollection of them, however. Except the one time that I got it on with Chandler. Not Matthew Perry mind you, but Chandler. (I'm so ashamed to admit that!)
So anyway, this blogger dream was not a sex dream. Sorry.
It had something to do with a race. I really don't remember. But during the course of the dream it became clear to me that I lived next door to a blogger. When I recognized him, I just kept saying, "Why didn't you tell me you lived next door?"
I could say that this dream represents some kind of poignant point about our connectedness. But I won't. It doesn't.
Next time, why don't y'all make a sexy appearance, huh? Make a housewife happy. Channel some of your madcap adventures into my dreams. I promise I'll blog about them.
I tend to dream quite a bit. I have very wild and crazy dreams, but I rarely remember them. When I first wake up, I can recall every detail. Within five minutes I remember only the main points. By the time I've had my first cup of coffee, I might as well never have dreamed at all.
A few dreams stick out in my head. I remember dreaming for a few nights in a row a few years ago that my father turned into a monster right before my eyes. A really scary, skinny monster.
I also dream about war a lot. I guess that makes sense. And my high school and college are often the settings for these combat scenes.
The most common theme in my dreams is that I'm not prepared for something I should be. Like I'm about to take a test and I haven't studied, or I have a softball game and I forgot my uniform.
Lately, I've had this recurring dream about being forced by terrorists to do a stand-up comedy routine. I have to perform in an arena of hundreds of thousands of people, and if they don't laugh, the terrorists will blow us all up. Of course, I'm not prepared with any material. Somehow, I manage to make them roar with laughter (wish I could remember the jokes), but the terrorists just march me to another stadium and make me do it over and over. I'm blaming Patrick for this dream.
I also know that I have some lovely sex dreams. I have absolutely no recollection of them, however. Except the one time that I got it on with Chandler. Not Matthew Perry mind you, but Chandler. (I'm so ashamed to admit that!)
So anyway, this blogger dream was not a sex dream. Sorry.
It had something to do with a race. I really don't remember. But during the course of the dream it became clear to me that I lived next door to a blogger. When I recognized him, I just kept saying, "Why didn't you tell me you lived next door?"
I could say that this dream represents some kind of poignant point about our connectedness. But I won't. It doesn't.
Next time, why don't y'all make a sexy appearance, huh? Make a housewife happy. Channel some of your madcap adventures into my dreams. I promise I'll blog about them.
Monday, June 28, 2004
Tuna's World, Party of Four
Every once in a while, it's good for me to get out and about in the world. Even if it is to the artificial world of Disney. I tend to forget that I live in my own little self-made world. I live in a world where I'm the boss. I have no one to answer to but myself and my own personal values reign supreme.
I forget sometimes that there are people out there who don't feel like I do. There are people who hate. There are people who talk openly about this hate. There are people so unhappy with themselves that they must put down others to distract from their own shortcomings.
The life of a military officer's wife can be quite cushioning. Especially since I live on base, the people I choose to meet on a daily basis are mostly also military. And military folks know to keep politics and belief systems out of casual conversations. We're not exactly Stepford Wives, but most of us have a stronger sense of propriety than your average American. We live in a world where chivalry and respect still hold court.
So when I was walking down the hall of our hotel and saw a kick me sign that read "I'm a fag!" I was taken aback. I was pulled up short. I was appalled. Jesus. Do kids really still do this? Obviously, yes. It is probably as common in the real world as bedtime stories are in mine. But I had forgotten. I really had.
When a relative of mine (through a couple of marriages) mentioned in front of my kids how awful Gay Days at Disney is, I was reminded that my self-made world is really only a world made for four. I can try to spread the confines of my world. I can teach my kids to teach their friends. Better yet, I can teach my kids to teach their own kids about love, respect, honesty, acceptance, and basic human dignity. And hope that I am starting my own little dynasty of nice people, but damn it...that will take a really long time.
I live in a place where a kid was disciplined in school for explaining that his parents are gay. Did you know "gay" was an obscenity? I had no idea.
I remember when I first learned what the word gay meant. I don't know why it sticks out in my memory, but it does. I was about 5 or 6 and had just told someone that they were so gay when my brother stopped me and said, "You don't even know what that word means."
I countered that I did know what it means, it means queer. Well, I guess I was right in my own way, but obviously gay and queer meant the same things to me that weird and stupid and nerd did. So my ten-year-old brother told me what it really meant. I remember thinking that it was so stupid of us to use that word as a put-down. Obviously we were just confused.
My daughter will be five-years-old next month. I have yet to hear her use any kind of slang or put-down, but I know it's coming. She's eternally sweet at heart and doesn't believe in being mean, but she'll hear some kid call another a fag at school, and she'll repeat it at some point, having no idea what she really means.
It's good for me to step out of my world and be reminded of what I DON'T want my own kids to be. Being a mother means I have a lot of power. I am shaping the world of my children. I'm old enough now to know that you can't change the world. Human nature will never change. Never. But you can change the thinking and the lives of those closest to you, and I'm doing the best I can. But the enemy..ignorance...stupidity...hate...it has a strong hold, and it won't give up any time soon.
But, DAMN! There are times when one little slip of paper with the word fag on it makes me want to pick up my spear and go on a war path. This is not the world I want my kids to grow up in. I'll keep them in my world as a long as I can. And while they're here, I'll do my best to give them the tools they will need to stand up and be themselves in the real world. I only hope I am doing enough. Because I'll break the person who breaks their spirits.
I forget sometimes that there are people out there who don't feel like I do. There are people who hate. There are people who talk openly about this hate. There are people so unhappy with themselves that they must put down others to distract from their own shortcomings.
The life of a military officer's wife can be quite cushioning. Especially since I live on base, the people I choose to meet on a daily basis are mostly also military. And military folks know to keep politics and belief systems out of casual conversations. We're not exactly Stepford Wives, but most of us have a stronger sense of propriety than your average American. We live in a world where chivalry and respect still hold court.
So when I was walking down the hall of our hotel and saw a kick me sign that read "I'm a fag!" I was taken aback. I was pulled up short. I was appalled. Jesus. Do kids really still do this? Obviously, yes. It is probably as common in the real world as bedtime stories are in mine. But I had forgotten. I really had.
When a relative of mine (through a couple of marriages) mentioned in front of my kids how awful Gay Days at Disney is, I was reminded that my self-made world is really only a world made for four. I can try to spread the confines of my world. I can teach my kids to teach their friends. Better yet, I can teach my kids to teach their own kids about love, respect, honesty, acceptance, and basic human dignity. And hope that I am starting my own little dynasty of nice people, but damn it...that will take a really long time.
I live in a place where a kid was disciplined in school for explaining that his parents are gay. Did you know "gay" was an obscenity? I had no idea.
I remember when I first learned what the word gay meant. I don't know why it sticks out in my memory, but it does. I was about 5 or 6 and had just told someone that they were so gay when my brother stopped me and said, "You don't even know what that word means."
I countered that I did know what it means, it means queer. Well, I guess I was right in my own way, but obviously gay and queer meant the same things to me that weird and stupid and nerd did. So my ten-year-old brother told me what it really meant. I remember thinking that it was so stupid of us to use that word as a put-down. Obviously we were just confused.
My daughter will be five-years-old next month. I have yet to hear her use any kind of slang or put-down, but I know it's coming. She's eternally sweet at heart and doesn't believe in being mean, but she'll hear some kid call another a fag at school, and she'll repeat it at some point, having no idea what she really means.
It's good for me to step out of my world and be reminded of what I DON'T want my own kids to be. Being a mother means I have a lot of power. I am shaping the world of my children. I'm old enough now to know that you can't change the world. Human nature will never change. Never. But you can change the thinking and the lives of those closest to you, and I'm doing the best I can. But the enemy..ignorance...stupidity...hate...it has a strong hold, and it won't give up any time soon.
But, DAMN! There are times when one little slip of paper with the word fag on it makes me want to pick up my spear and go on a war path. This is not the world I want my kids to grow up in. I'll keep them in my world as a long as I can. And while they're here, I'll do my best to give them the tools they will need to stand up and be themselves in the real world. I only hope I am doing enough. Because I'll break the person who breaks their spirits.
Sunday, June 27, 2004
Back and Better than Ever
Wait. Did I say better than ever? I meant bigger than ever. I feel like I've eaten my way across Orlando.
So tonight is one of those nights when I have tons of things I could blog about, but I can't seem to focus on just one. And I'm pretty sure none of us want me to rehash my trip to Disney. But I will say this much.
It's amazing how your perspective changes when you have kids. I've always loved amusement parks. And Disney is certainly the topper. My husband and I even went to Disney World on our belated honeymoon. In fact, if someone asked me what I would do if I had only X number of days to live, I'd tell them I'd spend them at an amusement park. There is something so surreal, and out-of-time about them. I love the big rides. The scarier the better.
But when you visit Disney for the first time with your kids, you enjoy it through their eyes. My joy came from their joy. We pretty much only visited the preschool attractions, but seeing the amazement in their eyes trumps any roller coaster ride for me.
My son's favorite attraction was riding the monorail.
My daughter loved the Beauty and the Beast show. She has theater major written all over her. Oh! And she also loved Splash Mountain and Big Thunder Mountain. A year ago she wouldn't even go on a Merry-Go-Round. She's growing up way too fast!
Is it wrong that I was checking out the monkey/gymnasts from the Lion King show? Oh my lord! Those guys were hot. And really into the performance.
My husband said he really enjoyed himself on our vacation. Considering we met my parents there, that's saying a lot.
Speaking of parents...I know where I get my pale complexion from. Jeez. My parents together are blinding.
Having Grandma and Grandpa along meant that we got a couple of nights to ourselves. So, do we go ride the big attractions or dance the night away at Pleasure Island? Oh, no. We go see the Chronicles of Riddick. Did I spell that right? Do I care?
Vin Diesel is weird. Sometimes I think he is really hot, and sometimes I think he's just weird looking. I guess his voice makes up for a lot. At least it helped me get through the movie. I almost choked when Judi Dench appeared. Oh dear lord. The dark angels will be swooping in any minute.
But, oh that reminds me. Jessica Alba and Paul Walker are doing a movie together. (Drool! Over both of them, frankly!) It's some sort of sea adventure. We'll be getting a babysitter the night that opens.
That further reminds me, we had the cutest waiter at Joe's Crab Shack. Too bad about the Marcarana that the wait staff are obviously forced to perform.
Wow. So now you all know how my brain works most of the time. This is the kind of blathering crap that I am constantly filtering.
So, two things. Number one. Thanks for not burning the blog down. It will take me at least a week to catch up on all of yours.
Number two. The next time I mention going to freaking Orlando in the middle of frikkin June, please start an e-mail campaign to stop me.
That is all. I missed you guys!
So tonight is one of those nights when I have tons of things I could blog about, but I can't seem to focus on just one. And I'm pretty sure none of us want me to rehash my trip to Disney. But I will say this much.
It's amazing how your perspective changes when you have kids. I've always loved amusement parks. And Disney is certainly the topper. My husband and I even went to Disney World on our belated honeymoon. In fact, if someone asked me what I would do if I had only X number of days to live, I'd tell them I'd spend them at an amusement park. There is something so surreal, and out-of-time about them. I love the big rides. The scarier the better.
But when you visit Disney for the first time with your kids, you enjoy it through their eyes. My joy came from their joy. We pretty much only visited the preschool attractions, but seeing the amazement in their eyes trumps any roller coaster ride for me.
My son's favorite attraction was riding the monorail.
My daughter loved the Beauty and the Beast show. She has theater major written all over her. Oh! And she also loved Splash Mountain and Big Thunder Mountain. A year ago she wouldn't even go on a Merry-Go-Round. She's growing up way too fast!
Is it wrong that I was checking out the monkey/gymnasts from the Lion King show? Oh my lord! Those guys were hot. And really into the performance.
My husband said he really enjoyed himself on our vacation. Considering we met my parents there, that's saying a lot.
Speaking of parents...I know where I get my pale complexion from. Jeez. My parents together are blinding.
Having Grandma and Grandpa along meant that we got a couple of nights to ourselves. So, do we go ride the big attractions or dance the night away at Pleasure Island? Oh, no. We go see the Chronicles of Riddick. Did I spell that right? Do I care?
Vin Diesel is weird. Sometimes I think he is really hot, and sometimes I think he's just weird looking. I guess his voice makes up for a lot. At least it helped me get through the movie. I almost choked when Judi Dench appeared. Oh dear lord. The dark angels will be swooping in any minute.
But, oh that reminds me. Jessica Alba and Paul Walker are doing a movie together. (Drool! Over both of them, frankly!) It's some sort of sea adventure. We'll be getting a babysitter the night that opens.
That further reminds me, we had the cutest waiter at Joe's Crab Shack. Too bad about the Marcarana that the wait staff are obviously forced to perform.
Wow. So now you all know how my brain works most of the time. This is the kind of blathering crap that I am constantly filtering.
So, two things. Number one. Thanks for not burning the blog down. It will take me at least a week to catch up on all of yours.
Number two. The next time I mention going to freaking Orlando in the middle of frikkin June, please start an e-mail campaign to stop me.
That is all. I missed you guys!
Saturday, June 19, 2004
It's a Small World
In less than six hours I'm off on another adventure. This time with the kids, and luggage, and car seats, and stroller, and snacks, and books, and toys in tow. We're spending a week at Disney World. And the celibacy ensues.
I haven't had this much excitement in my life since I gave birth.
I'll see you all next weekend.
I haven't had this much excitement in my life since I gave birth.
I'll see you all next weekend.
Friday, June 18, 2004
Apocalypse Soon
Man, did I screw up. One little trip and I've completely screwed up my sleeping patterns. I pretty much slept all day today, and of course now I'm wide awake. And guess who gets to benefit from my insomnia. That's right. It's you! My faithful blog readers.
So, I think I've witnessed a few signs of the impending apocalypse. First off, I wore make-up two times last week. That's right. Can you believe it? I even wore sexy, high-heeled, strappy sandals and painted my toenails pink. I didn't wear lipstick though. Nope. It's Blistex Shine for me.
Even worse, and a sure sign that we should all take cover, I bought wrinkle cream. Yes. I gave in to the media-induced hype. I noticed that I'm getting this weird little crease under my right eye. Let's call it a laugh line, hmmm. Nivia Q-10 to the rescue.
And I shudder to admit it, but I found a gray hair. It's a big, prominent one too. However, I absolutely refuse to do anything about it. I will just force it away with the strength of my youthful personality.
So I guess 30 really is the peak for women. Because I'm 31 now and clearly sliding down hill. Next, I'll be wearing support hose and a girdle. **SHUDDER** Perish the thought.
So, I think I've witnessed a few signs of the impending apocalypse. First off, I wore make-up two times last week. That's right. Can you believe it? I even wore sexy, high-heeled, strappy sandals and painted my toenails pink. I didn't wear lipstick though. Nope. It's Blistex Shine for me.
Even worse, and a sure sign that we should all take cover, I bought wrinkle cream. Yes. I gave in to the media-induced hype. I noticed that I'm getting this weird little crease under my right eye. Let's call it a laugh line, hmmm. Nivia Q-10 to the rescue.
And I shudder to admit it, but I found a gray hair. It's a big, prominent one too. However, I absolutely refuse to do anything about it. I will just force it away with the strength of my youthful personality.
So I guess 30 really is the peak for women. Because I'm 31 now and clearly sliding down hill. Next, I'll be wearing support hose and a girdle. **SHUDDER** Perish the thought.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
My Sex-Filled--I MEAN--Fun-Filled Trip
Here are all of the important points about my trip to an undisclosed but resort-like location.
Lots of hot men were flying the friendly skies last Friday. And I do mean lots. My husband got all huffy when I told him that.
So, sufficiently horned-up, I was ready and willing to have a quicky in his room on base while maids cleaned all the rooms around his. The walls were very thin. I am not a quiet person. But I bit my lip and held it together.
My husband informed me that there was one condition to this trip. Every time we went back to the hotel room, we had to have sex. Bring it on, Baby!
Unfortunately, late nights and lots of un-Tuna-like activities knocked us out and we didn't adhere to said condition.
I drank two rum and cokes and then danced my ass off the first night. I drank two margaritas and was totally knocked on my ass the second night. I wasn't the least bit tipsy, but I couldn't keep my eyes open.
I was so very proud of my husband at his graduation. He was one of 72 officers to graduate from this program. Think Top Gun, but not Navy. There were 1000 people at the Military Ball to honor those 72 officers. It was intense and impressive.
900 fly boys in formal uniforms: hot!
My husband's home squadron commander flew out for his graduation and even brought a gift. How cool is that?
Okay. I'm so unbelievably tired. It's back to the real world for two days and then we're leaving for Disney World on Saturday. It's off to do laundry for me.
Thanks for hanging with me, guys!
Lots of hot men were flying the friendly skies last Friday. And I do mean lots. My husband got all huffy when I told him that.
So, sufficiently horned-up, I was ready and willing to have a quicky in his room on base while maids cleaned all the rooms around his. The walls were very thin. I am not a quiet person. But I bit my lip and held it together.
My husband informed me that there was one condition to this trip. Every time we went back to the hotel room, we had to have sex. Bring it on, Baby!
Unfortunately, late nights and lots of un-Tuna-like activities knocked us out and we didn't adhere to said condition.
I drank two rum and cokes and then danced my ass off the first night. I drank two margaritas and was totally knocked on my ass the second night. I wasn't the least bit tipsy, but I couldn't keep my eyes open.
I was so very proud of my husband at his graduation. He was one of 72 officers to graduate from this program. Think Top Gun, but not Navy. There were 1000 people at the Military Ball to honor those 72 officers. It was intense and impressive.
900 fly boys in formal uniforms: hot!
My husband's home squadron commander flew out for his graduation and even brought a gift. How cool is that?
Okay. I'm so unbelievably tired. It's back to the real world for two days and then we're leaving for Disney World on Saturday. It's off to do laundry for me.
Thanks for hanging with me, guys!
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
I'm Back!
Hey Guys! It's so nice to be home. Four days away from my children was more than enough. And by my children, of course I mean all of you.
Great BIG hugs to Cassidy for filling in for me. She's the best and I really, really appreciate her help. To hear more about Cass's life, visit her at CWill's Pen.
I'll fill you all in on my trip tomorrow. I can't wait to catch up on all of your blogs.
Great BIG hugs to Cassidy for filling in for me. She's the best and I really, really appreciate her help. To hear more about Cass's life, visit her at CWill's Pen.
I'll fill you all in on my trip tomorrow. I can't wait to catch up on all of your blogs.
Installment #6 (Last one?)
[Editor's Note: Don't worry folks, Tuna Girl will be back soon from her orgy I MEAN vacation. In the meantime, here are a few more of her Q&A's.]
Do you consider yourself an introvert or an extrovert?
I force myself to be an extrovert, but I’m really an introvert at heart. I don’t think I’ve ever turned down an invitation to a party, but I always dread going. I’m the kind of person who can be very open and entertaining if you approach me first. But when I really think about it, I don’t suppose that anyone who is really introverted would want to blog.
One thing about being a military wife is that with all the moving, if you don’t make an effort to connect with people, you never will. I have gone all alone to Officer’s Wives Club events many times. I show up, put on a nametag, and start introducing myself to anyone who makes eye contact. I suppose I really have the world tricked into thinking I’m an extrovert.
What parts of yourself do you see in your children? Are these good things or bad things?
Wow. That’s quite the question. I don’t think that my daughter is very much like me at all. She is very timid and sensitive. She takes everything people say to the very core of her heart. She is as girly as can be. But I do think that she got my intelligence and love of words, music, and dance. She’s also pretty stubborn. I am about as stubborn as a person can get. I don’t necessarily think that is a bad thing though. At least it means that she is determined.
My son on the other hand is very much like me. He’s independent and stands up for himself. He’s affectionate and sweet. He’s also intelligent, but in a more cognitive way. He loves to read and he absolutely loves music. I’ve had a pretty easy life, so I hope that having a similar personality to mine will help him have an easy life too.
Picture your kids at age 25. What will they be like at that age, if you are to consider yourself a success as a parent?
Picturing my kids as adults is almost impossible. But to put it quite simply, as long as they are happy with themselves, than I am a success as a parent. (Well, my husband gets some credit too.)
I’ve said to my husband many times that I don’t care what they do with their lives as long as they are happy. We do expect them to graduate from college. And we hope that they will be physically fit and healthy. But other than that, the possibilities are endless.
But they do have their own unique personalities, and I can already see glimpses of what might make them happy. I think my daughter will make a wonderful mother. I hope that she will be able to stay home and raise her children as I am.
And I’m already getting the feeling from my son that the most important thing in his life will be his family. I hope he finds somebody worthy to love.
In fact, I think that finding the right person to share their lives with is my biggest concern for them as adults. It’s one of those things that parents just have no control over. You can only hope to raise them so that they know themselves and can recognize true love. The best way to do that is to model a loving marriage for them. And my husband and I are definitely doing that.
Do you consider yourself an introvert or an extrovert?
I force myself to be an extrovert, but I’m really an introvert at heart. I don’t think I’ve ever turned down an invitation to a party, but I always dread going. I’m the kind of person who can be very open and entertaining if you approach me first. But when I really think about it, I don’t suppose that anyone who is really introverted would want to blog.
One thing about being a military wife is that with all the moving, if you don’t make an effort to connect with people, you never will. I have gone all alone to Officer’s Wives Club events many times. I show up, put on a nametag, and start introducing myself to anyone who makes eye contact. I suppose I really have the world tricked into thinking I’m an extrovert.
What parts of yourself do you see in your children? Are these good things or bad things?
Wow. That’s quite the question. I don’t think that my daughter is very much like me at all. She is very timid and sensitive. She takes everything people say to the very core of her heart. She is as girly as can be. But I do think that she got my intelligence and love of words, music, and dance. She’s also pretty stubborn. I am about as stubborn as a person can get. I don’t necessarily think that is a bad thing though. At least it means that she is determined.
My son on the other hand is very much like me. He’s independent and stands up for himself. He’s affectionate and sweet. He’s also intelligent, but in a more cognitive way. He loves to read and he absolutely loves music. I’ve had a pretty easy life, so I hope that having a similar personality to mine will help him have an easy life too.
Picture your kids at age 25. What will they be like at that age, if you are to consider yourself a success as a parent?
Picturing my kids as adults is almost impossible. But to put it quite simply, as long as they are happy with themselves, than I am a success as a parent. (Well, my husband gets some credit too.)
I’ve said to my husband many times that I don’t care what they do with their lives as long as they are happy. We do expect them to graduate from college. And we hope that they will be physically fit and healthy. But other than that, the possibilities are endless.
But they do have their own unique personalities, and I can already see glimpses of what might make them happy. I think my daughter will make a wonderful mother. I hope that she will be able to stay home and raise her children as I am.
And I’m already getting the feeling from my son that the most important thing in his life will be his family. I hope he finds somebody worthy to love.
In fact, I think that finding the right person to share their lives with is my biggest concern for them as adults. It’s one of those things that parents just have no control over. You can only hope to raise them so that they know themselves and can recognize true love. The best way to do that is to model a loving marriage for them. And my husband and I are definitely doing that.
Monday, June 14, 2004
Installment #5
When you started blogging, what did you expect to get out of it? How has reality matched up with your expectations?
When I started blogging, I didn’t think I would last more than three days. I’ve never kept a journal or diary for more than three days. I’m coming up on three months now. That is astounding to me. I’ve never done anything on a daily basis for three months in my whole life!
I expected it to be an outlet for me. I have some wonderful and supportive friends, but they’re not the kind of people who I sit and talk with these things about. Their views on life are vastly different than mine and I often feel like my husband is the only adult with whom I can really talk.
I never expected to have any readers. Really. I’m a freak. I’m not entertaining, or funny, or interesting. Why would anyone want to read about all the crap that goes through my brain? I didn’t think anyone would get it.
Now I found that I have this circle of people who I feel like I know. I feel validated and supported in a way that I never expected. It’s given me some confidence to be more ME with the people I deal with everyday. It has been an incredible outlet for me. It feels like I’ve held up a mirror to my soul, and I can see my real self better than ever before.
Who's your favorite blogger? (Just kidding. *grin*)
Well, Cassidy is the long lost sister I never knew I misplaced.
MAK is the most adorable.
Ajax is the hottest.
Mark is the sweetest.
David is the most unique.
Toddy is the funniest (in one sense).
Patrick is the funniest (in another sense). (I also suspect that Patrick may be as horned up as I am.)
Adam is the one I understand best (oddly enough).
Jenniy is the most normal (I love that about her!)
Rossie is my fellow mom.
palochi is THE babycakes (glad he’s posting more)
And all the rest of y’all make me smile, laugh, think, feel, or...well...get horned up on a regular basis.
Have fun doing all those links Cass! :)
[Yeah, that was a delight and a half, Kar. Couldn't you have fewer friends? -- Cass]
When I started blogging, I didn’t think I would last more than three days. I’ve never kept a journal or diary for more than three days. I’m coming up on three months now. That is astounding to me. I’ve never done anything on a daily basis for three months in my whole life!
I expected it to be an outlet for me. I have some wonderful and supportive friends, but they’re not the kind of people who I sit and talk with these things about. Their views on life are vastly different than mine and I often feel like my husband is the only adult with whom I can really talk.
I never expected to have any readers. Really. I’m a freak. I’m not entertaining, or funny, or interesting. Why would anyone want to read about all the crap that goes through my brain? I didn’t think anyone would get it.
Now I found that I have this circle of people who I feel like I know. I feel validated and supported in a way that I never expected. It’s given me some confidence to be more ME with the people I deal with everyday. It has been an incredible outlet for me. It feels like I’ve held up a mirror to my soul, and I can see my real self better than ever before.
Who's your favorite blogger? (Just kidding. *grin*)
Well, Cassidy is the long lost sister I never knew I misplaced.
MAK is the most adorable.
Ajax is the hottest.
Mark is the sweetest.
David is the most unique.
Toddy is the funniest (in one sense).
Patrick is the funniest (in another sense). (I also suspect that Patrick may be as horned up as I am.)
Adam is the one I understand best (oddly enough).
Jenniy is the most normal (I love that about her!)
Rossie is my fellow mom.
palochi is THE babycakes (glad he’s posting more)
And all the rest of y’all make me smile, laugh, think, feel, or...well...get horned up on a regular basis.
Have fun doing all those links Cass! :)
[Yeah, that was a delight and a half, Kar. Couldn't you have fewer friends? -- Cass]
Sunday, June 13, 2004
Installment #4
Where's the farthest you've ever traveled in your life from where you grew up? What place(s) in the world would you most like to visit?
I grew up in Boston, so I think my trips to San Diego would be the farthest away from home. We went to Tijuana once too when I was a teenager.
Every time I’ve left the U.S. I’ve had a hard time getting back in. When we went to Canada when I was four, I developed chicken pox. My parents snuck me over the border under a blanket.
When we walked back over to California from Mexico, the border guard let my family through, and then stopped me. “Are you an American Citizen?” he asked.
“Y—y—yes,” I stammered. My father had spent the whole day telling us how our human rights as Americans meant nothing in Mexico. He regaled us with stories of when he was in the Navy and had to go rescue sailors out of Mexican prisons. And now this border guard was eyeing me like the last piece of prime rib. I was truly terrified.
Then he let me through.
[Editor's Note: Nothing like using scare tactics to keep kids in line, eh? If you want your kids to behave while on vacation, tell 'em they'll end up in JAIL if they don't. I'm sure that, to the parent or authority figure, it seems like an easy method of discipline, and I suppose it is, if pants-wetting terror is an acceptable side effect. Rule through fear. I'll have to remember that.]
I want to see the whole world once my kids are old enough. I want to go to London and see the RSC. I’d like to visit the town my family came from outside of Dublin. I’d like to visit the Portuguese island the other side of my family came from. Rome, Athens, Tokyo, Moscow...I want to see it all. I’d love to go to every Olympic games until I die.
I grew up in Boston, so I think my trips to San Diego would be the farthest away from home. We went to Tijuana once too when I was a teenager.
Every time I’ve left the U.S. I’ve had a hard time getting back in. When we went to Canada when I was four, I developed chicken pox. My parents snuck me over the border under a blanket.
When we walked back over to California from Mexico, the border guard let my family through, and then stopped me. “Are you an American Citizen?” he asked.
“Y—y—yes,” I stammered. My father had spent the whole day telling us how our human rights as Americans meant nothing in Mexico. He regaled us with stories of when he was in the Navy and had to go rescue sailors out of Mexican prisons. And now this border guard was eyeing me like the last piece of prime rib. I was truly terrified.
Then he let me through.
[Editor's Note: Nothing like using scare tactics to keep kids in line, eh? If you want your kids to behave while on vacation, tell 'em they'll end up in JAIL if they don't. I'm sure that, to the parent or authority figure, it seems like an easy method of discipline, and I suppose it is, if pants-wetting terror is an acceptable side effect. Rule through fear. I'll have to remember that.]
I want to see the whole world once my kids are old enough. I want to go to London and see the RSC. I’d like to visit the town my family came from outside of Dublin. I’d like to visit the Portuguese island the other side of my family came from. Rome, Athens, Tokyo, Moscow...I want to see it all. I’d love to go to every Olympic games until I die.
Saturday, June 12, 2004
Installment #3
What's your motto?
Decide you’re cool and go with it.
I also find myself saying, “Be nice to each other,” and “How many things can Mommy do at one time?” and “Please don’t make a huge mess,” at least a couple of times every day.
Write a personal ad for yourself, as if you were trying to find and meet your husband.
Ha! If I were writing a personal ad, it probably wouldn’t be to meet the man of my dreams. I’d probably be advertising for kinky sex. But if I were…hmmmm….
“SWF seeks SM with large feet. Must be able to install light bulbs, mow lawn, and support me in a manner to which I’ve become accustomed. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Because when it comes right down to it, a large manhood, domestic skills, and enough money to keep me happy are all a man really needs. I can take care of the rest.
[Editor's Note: Ayyyyyy-men, sistah.]
Have you ever quit a job without having another one lined up? Why or why not?
I’ve quit lots of jobs (see Tuna list #1) and I’ve never had another one lined up. That’s partly because we moved a lot on very short notice. But it’s also because I really hated every job I ever had. To me, working for someone else feels like prison. I need freedom! If I ever have to work again, I’ll go back to freelance writing. But other than that, I’ll be one of those Ladies Who Lunch. Well, a lady who lunches between running the PTA and coaching soccer and planning parties and carting the kids around.
[Editor's Note: It's kind of refreshing to hear a full-time mom describe her life as "freedom." :)]
What was your worst subject in school? Best subject? Explain.
School was pretty easy for me, but my absolute worst subject was French. I suck at languages. My four-year-old knows more French than I do, and I even took it in college.
Oh! I had to cheat to pass typing too. I would memorize the passages and then look at the keys as I type. I don’t even come close to using the home keys. Thank god my school had computers and I could backspace my way to a B.
My best subject was gym. We actually had exams in gym class. And I could hurl a dodge ball with the best of them.
[Editor's Note: Cheat to pass typing??]
14. Do you have any regrets?
The only regret I have in life is that my family isn’t more open. I keep thinking that if I confronted them and brought it out into the open, they would change. But I doubt it. Of course, I don’t have the guts to try, so I can’t complain.
When my brother called to tell me that his last baby boy was born, I forced myself to tell him I loved him. I don’t think I’ve talked to him since. It’s been eight months. We talk through my mother. It made me wonder how much I really love him at all. I know I’m supposed to, but I don’t really know him. How can I love someone I don’t know?
I should get to know my brother. I always tell my kids that they have to respect each other, because your sibling will be your special friend your whole life. I wish that were true for me.
Which would you rather be: ridiculously wealthy, divinely beautiful, dazzlingly clever, or angelically good?
Ridiculously wealthy. It sounds shallow, but I don’t care. Beauty fades and isn’t important anyway. Being clever can just be annoying. And goodness! Ha! That would make me pretty boring in bed. Money brings security to you and yours. As long as I can keep everything else I already have, I’ll take the money, please.
Complete this sentence: Life is too short to...
wear costume jewelry.
Decide you’re cool and go with it.
I also find myself saying, “Be nice to each other,” and “How many things can Mommy do at one time?” and “Please don’t make a huge mess,” at least a couple of times every day.
Write a personal ad for yourself, as if you were trying to find and meet your husband.
Ha! If I were writing a personal ad, it probably wouldn’t be to meet the man of my dreams. I’d probably be advertising for kinky sex. But if I were…hmmmm….
“SWF seeks SM with large feet. Must be able to install light bulbs, mow lawn, and support me in a manner to which I’ve become accustomed. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Because when it comes right down to it, a large manhood, domestic skills, and enough money to keep me happy are all a man really needs. I can take care of the rest.
[Editor's Note: Ayyyyyy-men, sistah.]
Have you ever quit a job without having another one lined up? Why or why not?
I’ve quit lots of jobs (see Tuna list #1) and I’ve never had another one lined up. That’s partly because we moved a lot on very short notice. But it’s also because I really hated every job I ever had. To me, working for someone else feels like prison. I need freedom! If I ever have to work again, I’ll go back to freelance writing. But other than that, I’ll be one of those Ladies Who Lunch. Well, a lady who lunches between running the PTA and coaching soccer and planning parties and carting the kids around.
[Editor's Note: It's kind of refreshing to hear a full-time mom describe her life as "freedom." :)]
What was your worst subject in school? Best subject? Explain.
School was pretty easy for me, but my absolute worst subject was French. I suck at languages. My four-year-old knows more French than I do, and I even took it in college.
Oh! I had to cheat to pass typing too. I would memorize the passages and then look at the keys as I type. I don’t even come close to using the home keys. Thank god my school had computers and I could backspace my way to a B.
My best subject was gym. We actually had exams in gym class. And I could hurl a dodge ball with the best of them.
[Editor's Note: Cheat to pass typing??]
14. Do you have any regrets?
The only regret I have in life is that my family isn’t more open. I keep thinking that if I confronted them and brought it out into the open, they would change. But I doubt it. Of course, I don’t have the guts to try, so I can’t complain.
When my brother called to tell me that his last baby boy was born, I forced myself to tell him I loved him. I don’t think I’ve talked to him since. It’s been eight months. We talk through my mother. It made me wonder how much I really love him at all. I know I’m supposed to, but I don’t really know him. How can I love someone I don’t know?
I should get to know my brother. I always tell my kids that they have to respect each other, because your sibling will be your special friend your whole life. I wish that were true for me.
Which would you rather be: ridiculously wealthy, divinely beautiful, dazzlingly clever, or angelically good?
Ridiculously wealthy. It sounds shallow, but I don’t care. Beauty fades and isn’t important anyway. Being clever can just be annoying. And goodness! Ha! That would make me pretty boring in bed. Money brings security to you and yours. As long as I can keep everything else I already have, I’ll take the money, please.
Complete this sentence: Life is too short to...
wear costume jewelry.
Friday, June 11, 2004
Installment #2
[I know we all enjoy hearing about Tuna Girl's love life. So here is the next question for her, in honor of her *ahem* Weekend o' Fun with the Hubby. --Cass]
Question #2: What was the nearest you ever came to screwing up your life?
Tuna Girl's Answer: I am way too cautious to ever even come close to screwing up my life.
There was that one time though, when I got in a car with a very suicidal boyfriend. Probably not the smartest thing I ever did. Breaking up with the boyfriend was a good idea though. Luckily, he told me to get out of the car before he drove it into a tree. A tree that was about 10 feet in front of his parked car. So he was only going about 5 miles an hour when he hit. But still.
Now, my husband on the other hand. He’s come pretty close to irrevocably screwing up our lives a number of times. He almost didn’t go to boot camp because his grades were too low. (And he informed me of this right before I went to pitch in a championship softball tournament. I cried on the mound and got pulled from the game.)
He got cold feet a couple of months before our wedding. Why are men so stupid? Let me rephrase. Why are straight men so stupid? He said that he thought I wouldn’t be a good military wife. He thought I wouldn’t like the moving and wouldn’t be strong enough to deal with the mission coming first. That’s so much bull.
He told me years later, that he just freaked, just a little bit, that I‘d be the only person he ever had sex with in his whole life. It didn’t help that he had these two little **ahem** admirers ready to show him just what it could be like with someone else.
I remember telling him that no matter what he thought, I KNEW we were meant to marry. So he had just better take a few days and straighten himself out. I had to pitch a game that day too. But I swore I wouldn’t let him ruin another game, and I pitched my ass off.
He called the next day and told me I was completely right. Damn straight. It’s taken him a few years, but he eventually learned that I’m always right.
As far as the sex thing goes...yeah...he doesn’t regret marrying me.
***
[All together now: Awwwwwwwww. Would that we could all be so certain of our future mates! --Cass]
Question #2: What was the nearest you ever came to screwing up your life?
Tuna Girl's Answer: I am way too cautious to ever even come close to screwing up my life.
There was that one time though, when I got in a car with a very suicidal boyfriend. Probably not the smartest thing I ever did. Breaking up with the boyfriend was a good idea though. Luckily, he told me to get out of the car before he drove it into a tree. A tree that was about 10 feet in front of his parked car. So he was only going about 5 miles an hour when he hit. But still.
Now, my husband on the other hand. He’s come pretty close to irrevocably screwing up our lives a number of times. He almost didn’t go to boot camp because his grades were too low. (And he informed me of this right before I went to pitch in a championship softball tournament. I cried on the mound and got pulled from the game.)
He got cold feet a couple of months before our wedding. Why are men so stupid? Let me rephrase. Why are straight men so stupid? He said that he thought I wouldn’t be a good military wife. He thought I wouldn’t like the moving and wouldn’t be strong enough to deal with the mission coming first. That’s so much bull.
He told me years later, that he just freaked, just a little bit, that I‘d be the only person he ever had sex with in his whole life. It didn’t help that he had these two little **ahem** admirers ready to show him just what it could be like with someone else.
I remember telling him that no matter what he thought, I KNEW we were meant to marry. So he had just better take a few days and straighten himself out. I had to pitch a game that day too. But I swore I wouldn’t let him ruin another game, and I pitched my ass off.
He called the next day and told me I was completely right. Damn straight. It’s taken him a few years, but he eventually learned that I’m always right.
As far as the sex thing goes...yeah...he doesn’t regret marrying me.
***
[All together now: Awwwwwwwww. Would that we could all be so certain of our future mates! --Cass]
"Imitation of a Life"
An original play.
Book by Tuna Girl and Cassidy Will.
Songs by Stephen Sondheim.
Choreography by Susan Stroman.
****
Notice:
The part of TUNA GIRL will be played by CASS in the form of a SOCK PUPPET.
****
STAGE: Bare, except for a small plywood BOX with a window cut in the middle. The BOX is painted a garish red with gold trimming.
A SOCK PUPPET appears in the window.
SOCK PUPPET: Hi everybody! I'm Tuna Girl! Welcome to my life! I'm glad you made it! We're all going to have just a rip-snortin' good time here, I can tell. I will be presenting y'all with a series of questions about Tuna G--I mean about ME, and my answers to those questions also. There will be laughter, there will be tears, but I think we will all come out of this as better people than we were at the start. There's a whole world contained in these words, my friends, if you are unafraid to let them enter your life and transform you. So just sit back, open your mind, and enjoy the show!
Exit SOCK PUPPET.
****
Question #1: Which would be worse to spend 12 hours in a room with, a rabid pit bull or a CD of accordion music/yodeling set on "Continuous Repeat"? Explain.
Tuna Girl's Answer: Ha! I’m terrified of dogs. There is no accordion music/yodeling in the world bad enough to drive me into a room with any sort of rabid animal.
When I was 2-years-old my parents bought a German Sheppard. I named her Puppy. She had to be the sweetest dog ever born. But I was terrified of her. My parents were so worried that my fear of dogs would turn into a phobia that they bought me a Maltese. Because, you know, a mop with four legs will help me realize that all dogs aren’t bad.
When we got married, I wanted a wee little puppy of my own. So my husband returned from a TDY with a Siberian Husky. Yeah. Thank, Hon. Not exactly what I was looking for. His step-mother had bred Shit-Zu’s and he had to give his bedroom up to them and sleep on the couch for a major portion of his childhood. Therefore, he had to have a BIG dog.
The Husky was lonely all day, though, and we sort of fell into getting an Akita as a playmate for him.
That dog was my baby, until I had actual babies. Then when my husband was deployed, the Akita suddenly went blind and became very aggressive, even to me. I had to have him put to sleep. So now, I’m right back to being afraid of dogs. I loved that damn dog with all my heart, but you just never know what an animal will do.
When the Husky dies, we’re getting a Maltese or Pug. Or some equally tiny animal. My husband just doesn’t know that yet.
Besides, who says yodeling is so bad. If Jewel can do it, I can put up with it.
Book by Tuna Girl and Cassidy Will.
Songs by Stephen Sondheim.
Choreography by Susan Stroman.
****
Notice:
The part of TUNA GIRL will be played by CASS in the form of a SOCK PUPPET.
****
STAGE: Bare, except for a small plywood BOX with a window cut in the middle. The BOX is painted a garish red with gold trimming.
A SOCK PUPPET appears in the window.
SOCK PUPPET: Hi everybody! I'm Tuna Girl! Welcome to my life! I'm glad you made it! We're all going to have just a rip-snortin' good time here, I can tell. I will be presenting y'all with a series of questions about Tuna G--I mean about ME, and my answers to those questions also. There will be laughter, there will be tears, but I think we will all come out of this as better people than we were at the start. There's a whole world contained in these words, my friends, if you are unafraid to let them enter your life and transform you. So just sit back, open your mind, and enjoy the show!
Exit SOCK PUPPET.
****
Question #1: Which would be worse to spend 12 hours in a room with, a rabid pit bull or a CD of accordion music/yodeling set on "Continuous Repeat"? Explain.
Tuna Girl's Answer: Ha! I’m terrified of dogs. There is no accordion music/yodeling in the world bad enough to drive me into a room with any sort of rabid animal.
When I was 2-years-old my parents bought a German Sheppard. I named her Puppy. She had to be the sweetest dog ever born. But I was terrified of her. My parents were so worried that my fear of dogs would turn into a phobia that they bought me a Maltese. Because, you know, a mop with four legs will help me realize that all dogs aren’t bad.
When we got married, I wanted a wee little puppy of my own. So my husband returned from a TDY with a Siberian Husky. Yeah. Thank, Hon. Not exactly what I was looking for. His step-mother had bred Shit-Zu’s and he had to give his bedroom up to them and sleep on the couch for a major portion of his childhood. Therefore, he had to have a BIG dog.
The Husky was lonely all day, though, and we sort of fell into getting an Akita as a playmate for him.
That dog was my baby, until I had actual babies. Then when my husband was deployed, the Akita suddenly went blind and became very aggressive, even to me. I had to have him put to sleep. So now, I’m right back to being afraid of dogs. I loved that damn dog with all my heart, but you just never know what an animal will do.
When the Husky dies, we’re getting a Maltese or Pug. Or some equally tiny animal. My husband just doesn’t know that yet.
Besides, who says yodeling is so bad. If Jewel can do it, I can put up with it.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Doing a Happy Dance
Tomorrow I am off on my orgy--I MEAN--trip. But do not despair. I will not leave you with Tuna withdrawals.
The lovely (and funny) Cassidy of CWill's Pen has graciously agreed to guest blog for me. Cass even came up with a list of creative questions, which I answered, and she will post for your enjoyment.
Cassidy always leaves such great comments on my blog, and others. I couldn't resist asking her to fill in for me while I...um...enjoy my husband. Be nice to her! I strongly suggest you check out Cass's blog.
I will leave you with this lovely comment that I inflicted upon Cass's blog this week:
Wow. My blog is like vomit. Everyday I sit down and write a post. Whatever comes out, comes out. I spell check and post it right away. If I see a blatant error, I'll go back and fix it, but mostly I just don't care anymore.
I think people enjoy vomit. They like to poke around and see what's in it, even if it makes them gag.
I'm so sorry for making this comment. Please still like me.
The lovely (and funny) Cassidy of CWill's Pen has graciously agreed to guest blog for me. Cass even came up with a list of creative questions, which I answered, and she will post for your enjoyment.
Cassidy always leaves such great comments on my blog, and others. I couldn't resist asking her to fill in for me while I...um...enjoy my husband. Be nice to her! I strongly suggest you check out Cass's blog.
I will leave you with this lovely comment that I inflicted upon Cass's blog this week:
Wow. My blog is like vomit. Everyday I sit down and write a post. Whatever comes out, comes out. I spell check and post it right away. If I see a blatant error, I'll go back and fix it, but mostly I just don't care anymore.
I think people enjoy vomit. They like to poke around and see what's in it, even if it makes them gag.
I'm so sorry for making this comment. Please still like me.
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Why I *Heart* Hockey
Yesterday was a day of mourning. The 2003-2004 NHL season is officially over. Now my husband and I will have to find actual shows to watch on television.
The Tampa Bay Lightning won the Stanley Cup. We really thought this might be the year for our beloved Bruins, but no. The curse on all Boston sports remains intact.
The Captain of the Lightning is Dave Andreychuk. He waited 22 years to win a championship. The look of pure joy on his face as he lifted the cup made me cry. I always cry when any team is awarded the Stanley Cup. As they pass the cup around and skate around the ice, I weep like it was my own husband or son out there.
Damn, I love hockey.
There is something about hockey that is different from any other sport. It makes sense that I would love it, since I'm so fascinated by men. It's a sport where every guy is a tough guy. There is no hiding on the ice. It is still considered perfectly gentlemanly to throw off your gloves and fight for your honor. The celebrations after a goal are heartfelt and sincere. Real smiles. Actual hugs. None of that stupid showboating that has permeated other sports.
At the end of a series, the teams line up and shake hands. Hockey harkens back to the days of old, when men were men, and there was a code.
It helps that a lot of the players are hot. And the equipment and helmets make every guy appear hot, even if he is only lukewarm.
I loved to go to my husband's hockey games when he played in college. He was a scrapper. He was the intimidator on the ice that the other team would check hard just to make a point. It was hot. (Have I mentioned that my husband is not tall?)
That's when I first realized that other females might find my husband attractive. "Number 27!" they'd scream out. "Score one for me, big boy!" Mm hm. Oh, the pride of ownership.
Another NHL season has gone by. Another year of disappointment settles in. I wonder...if I got my son up on skates now, will he be ready for the NHL in 2023?
The Tampa Bay Lightning won the Stanley Cup. We really thought this might be the year for our beloved Bruins, but no. The curse on all Boston sports remains intact.
The Captain of the Lightning is Dave Andreychuk. He waited 22 years to win a championship. The look of pure joy on his face as he lifted the cup made me cry. I always cry when any team is awarded the Stanley Cup. As they pass the cup around and skate around the ice, I weep like it was my own husband or son out there.
Damn, I love hockey.
There is something about hockey that is different from any other sport. It makes sense that I would love it, since I'm so fascinated by men. It's a sport where every guy is a tough guy. There is no hiding on the ice. It is still considered perfectly gentlemanly to throw off your gloves and fight for your honor. The celebrations after a goal are heartfelt and sincere. Real smiles. Actual hugs. None of that stupid showboating that has permeated other sports.
At the end of a series, the teams line up and shake hands. Hockey harkens back to the days of old, when men were men, and there was a code.
It helps that a lot of the players are hot. And the equipment and helmets make every guy appear hot, even if he is only lukewarm.
I loved to go to my husband's hockey games when he played in college. He was a scrapper. He was the intimidator on the ice that the other team would check hard just to make a point. It was hot. (Have I mentioned that my husband is not tall?)
That's when I first realized that other females might find my husband attractive. "Number 27!" they'd scream out. "Score one for me, big boy!" Mm hm. Oh, the pride of ownership.
Another NHL season has gone by. Another year of disappointment settles in. I wonder...if I got my son up on skates now, will he be ready for the NHL in 2023?
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
Help a Housewife Out
Yesterday's moment of maternal doubt was brought to you by my so-called-friends.
Mothers are the most competitive bunch of people you will ever encounter. From where they send their kids to school, to what kind of food they put in their mouths, it's all up for comparison. I've always tried to stand above that kind of thinking, but when you see your worse traits emerging in your children...well...it's upsetting.
Today we returned to music class after a two week break. The summer session brings a whole new crop of children. After this morning, I will never doubt my parenting abilities again.
Oh...My...Dear...Lord! I am afraid for the future of this country.
In happier news, I have three more days until my sex-filled--I MEAN--fun-filled trip to see my husband. Woo hoo!
I counted it up last night, and it has been about nine years since the last time I went to a club or bar. Not including the Officers' Club, of course. I'm not a big drinker. I discovered in college that I have a very high tolerance for alcohol. I could out-drink any of the cadets, which bothered them to no end. So if you can't get buzzed, and you have no money, it's better just to be the designated driver. I can't tell you how many cadets I've tucked into bed.
When I went out with my own friends, we usually went to gay or lesbian bars. I would always offer to drive, since I figured it was more their scene. I was there to be supportive. Well, to be supportive and dance like a slut.
The very last time I went to a bar was after my last college softball game. All of my teammates bought me drinks. I had seven large Alabama Slammers that night. I got a little buzzed. Buzzed enough to have to hold on to the wall when I walked to the bathroom.
So this leads me to a question. I know you're all the party experts. Or at least you're the alcohol experts.
I will be drinking this Friday night. Woo hoo! I don't like beer. I don't really like the taste of alcohol at all. (Does anyone?) What should I order?
And be nice now. Let's not embarrass the Tuna Girl. Let's not make this like the time someone told my mother that a Pearl Harbor didn't have hardly any alcohol at all.
Sober or drunk though, I'll still be dancing like a slut!
Mothers are the most competitive bunch of people you will ever encounter. From where they send their kids to school, to what kind of food they put in their mouths, it's all up for comparison. I've always tried to stand above that kind of thinking, but when you see your worse traits emerging in your children...well...it's upsetting.
Today we returned to music class after a two week break. The summer session brings a whole new crop of children. After this morning, I will never doubt my parenting abilities again.
Oh...My...Dear...Lord! I am afraid for the future of this country.
In happier news, I have three more days until my sex-filled--I MEAN--fun-filled trip to see my husband. Woo hoo!
I counted it up last night, and it has been about nine years since the last time I went to a club or bar. Not including the Officers' Club, of course. I'm not a big drinker. I discovered in college that I have a very high tolerance for alcohol. I could out-drink any of the cadets, which bothered them to no end. So if you can't get buzzed, and you have no money, it's better just to be the designated driver. I can't tell you how many cadets I've tucked into bed.
When I went out with my own friends, we usually went to gay or lesbian bars. I would always offer to drive, since I figured it was more their scene. I was there to be supportive. Well, to be supportive and dance like a slut.
The very last time I went to a bar was after my last college softball game. All of my teammates bought me drinks. I had seven large Alabama Slammers that night. I got a little buzzed. Buzzed enough to have to hold on to the wall when I walked to the bathroom.
So this leads me to a question. I know you're all the party experts. Or at least you're the alcohol experts.
I will be drinking this Friday night. Woo hoo! I don't like beer. I don't really like the taste of alcohol at all. (Does anyone?) What should I order?
And be nice now. Let's not embarrass the Tuna Girl. Let's not make this like the time someone told my mother that a Pearl Harbor didn't have hardly any alcohol at all.
Sober or drunk though, I'll still be dancing like a slut!
Monday, June 07, 2004
Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Mother
I think I must be one of the all-time worst mothers.
I let my kids drink juice. Lots of juice and chocolate milk.
I let them eat in front of the television.
I make them take a nap everyday.
Even if they don't sleep, they're not allowed out of their rooms.
I make them both go to bed by 7 p.m. every night.
I don't give them a bath everyday.
I don't always make them pick up their toys.
I don't listen to kids' music in the car.
In fact, I listen to my own iTunes mixes.
My son knows the words to Lady Marmalade (Gitchy Gitchy Ya Ya).
I sing Beyonce songs as lullibies. (Baby Boy)
I've never once taken them to Mom's Day Out.
I rarely go to Chucky Cheese.
But I do buy them fast food.
I give them frozen waffles for dinner.
I let them eat dropped food off the floor (10 second rule).
I tell them they can get a puppy when our old dog dies.
I let them wear pajamas all day sometimes.
And worst of all, when somebody says something mean to them, I tell them to say, "Whatever!"
Obviously, I'm not fit for motherhood. The authorities will read this and come take my children away any moment.
Sometimes I just think and wonder at all the ways I'm screwing up my children. I think about all the things they'll have to tell their therapist about their mother.
I hope they'll be able to say, "She loved us with all of her might." And I hope that is good enough. Because it is the best I have to give right now.
I let my kids drink juice. Lots of juice and chocolate milk.
I let them eat in front of the television.
I make them take a nap everyday.
Even if they don't sleep, they're not allowed out of their rooms.
I make them both go to bed by 7 p.m. every night.
I don't give them a bath everyday.
I don't always make them pick up their toys.
I don't listen to kids' music in the car.
In fact, I listen to my own iTunes mixes.
My son knows the words to Lady Marmalade (Gitchy Gitchy Ya Ya).
I sing Beyonce songs as lullibies. (Baby Boy)
I've never once taken them to Mom's Day Out.
I rarely go to Chucky Cheese.
But I do buy them fast food.
I give them frozen waffles for dinner.
I let them eat dropped food off the floor (10 second rule).
I tell them they can get a puppy when our old dog dies.
I let them wear pajamas all day sometimes.
And worst of all, when somebody says something mean to them, I tell them to say, "Whatever!"
Obviously, I'm not fit for motherhood. The authorities will read this and come take my children away any moment.
Sometimes I just think and wonder at all the ways I'm screwing up my children. I think about all the things they'll have to tell their therapist about their mother.
I hope they'll be able to say, "She loved us with all of her might." And I hope that is good enough. Because it is the best I have to give right now.
Sunday, June 06, 2004
What's that Burning Sensation?
I've gone as low as I can go. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel of my personal pride. I'm absolutely disgusted with myself. This is what my life has been reduced to:
I watched Gigli. Last night, in my boredom and loneliness, I thought it would be a good idea to watch the lowliest piece of cinematic crap ever to be produced. I thought a movie with a tattooed Ben Affleck and a yoga-performing Jennifer Lopez couldn't be all bad. I couldn't have been more wrong. Yet I sat through the entire thing. I may be a little bit masochistic. Please pray for me.
My late night television viewing also exposed me to Trojan's new product, the Warming Sensation condom. At first I thought, "Hmmm. Warming. Sex. That sounds kind of good." But my brain immediately made the leap from warming to burning. And really, who wants a burning anything inserted into their vagina. Or, well, south of the vagina. I now feel that this is the most horrific product to ever be conceived.
I'm so sorry to bring up such horror on a lovely Sunday morning. Misery loves company and you're all along for the ride.
I watched Gigli. Last night, in my boredom and loneliness, I thought it would be a good idea to watch the lowliest piece of cinematic crap ever to be produced. I thought a movie with a tattooed Ben Affleck and a yoga-performing Jennifer Lopez couldn't be all bad. I couldn't have been more wrong. Yet I sat through the entire thing. I may be a little bit masochistic. Please pray for me.
My late night television viewing also exposed me to Trojan's new product, the Warming Sensation condom. At first I thought, "Hmmm. Warming. Sex. That sounds kind of good." But my brain immediately made the leap from warming to burning. And really, who wants a burning anything inserted into their vagina. Or, well, south of the vagina. I now feel that this is the most horrific product to ever be conceived.
I'm so sorry to bring up such horror on a lovely Sunday morning. Misery loves company and you're all along for the ride.
Saturday, June 05, 2004
Paul
My mind is on complete and utter overload today. I have dozens of things to talk about and I can't seem to get it all sorted out. So, I decided to start writing and see what came out.
I'm having serious performance anxiety about writing today. I've been reading way too many blogs and I just feel that in comparison to a lot of people, I have absolutely nothing of interest to say. But I've decided to decide I'm cool and go with it. Maybe my quaint little views on life are part of my own particular charm.
Both Mark's and palochi's comments from yesterday have me thinking about my father. How friggin sweet is it that Mark's dad called him Punkin? And he was a cop, just like my dad. I know that my father loves me very much, but he has absolutely no idea how to show it.
I don't even call my father Dad. When my brother was a toddler he started saying da da and my father said, "No. My name is Paul." So he called my father Paul and I just followed his lead. I have never called him anything else. Do you know how hard it is to find a non-sentimental Father's Day card that doesn't say Dad or Daddy?
He is an imposing man. He's just huge. A lot of it is fat but he has that broad, thick, HUGE physical presence that no one would want to meet in a dark ally. Plus, when angry he turns a mottled red color and absolutely fumes. I was so scared of my father as a child. It's not that he ever hit me (though my brother and mother both got a few smacks over the years) but he would threaten physical violence. He would say things like, "If I catch you doing that I'll put you in the hospital." I think we sort of believed him.
Because he was a cop, and eventually even the chief, nobody messed with him. He was either everybody's best friend, or a hated enemy. For example, when I got married, I barely paid for anything in town. The florist, limo company, photographer, and bakery all owed him favors. He was the local hero because he had driven the mafia out of town. But the mafia sure hated him.
A couple of times as a kid, I had run-ins with the police. I never, ever did anything wrong. I was so afraid of my father that I would never break a rule or go a mile over the speed limit. But one night a bunch of my friends and I came out of the place we worked and the cops pulled up and told us that someone had called in a report of teenagers loitering in the parking lot. It wasn't us. All I said to the cop was, "You know, my dad is Paul..." I didn't even have to finish. "You're his kid?" they said. "We know there's no way you'd ever do anything wrong. Who'd want to face that? Sorry to bother you."
I can't ever remember him showing one sign of affection or pride once I reached school-age. If I brought home a 96 on a test, he wanted to know where the other four points were. When he got an 88 on his chief's exam I said, "Where are the other twelve points?" and he hit the roof. He must have pointed and yelled at me for ten minutes. It was my fault that he got an 88 (which is really very good) because I didn't help him study and I disturbed him. Nothing was ever his fault.
He was absolutely sick about my wedding. He was terrified of the father/daughter dance. He didn't want to do it. He said, "I'll just be stepping out for a bit," or "I'll just stand there and you can dance."
He was such a wreck the day that I got married that he injured me. We were early for my wedding and had to wait in the limo. When it was time to go in, he grabbed my hand to help me out of the car and pulled. Hard. I smacked my head on the door. Hard. He said, "Oh, you're fine," and kept going.
A couple weeks later, I loaded up my car with everything I owned and drove to New Mexico to start my new life with my husband. He started sobbing as I was heading out the door. He yelled at me, "Just go. Just go." I thought I'd get in the car and start crying but I surprised myself by just getting really angry. He had 23 years to show me he loved me. 23 years to be close to me and build a relationship. 23 years when he could have hugged or kissed me just once, and didn't. And now he's going to cry like I'm breaking his heart. It probably wasn't fair of me to feel that way, but I did.
When my daughter was born my brother asked me what my kids would call my parents. My father piped in with, "Paul works just fine." I put my foot down. There was no way I was going to let him get away with that for another generation. I bet he's glad I did that now. My daughter is his little baby girl. He treats her so differently than he ever treated me.
My father thinks I am this very outspoken, very tough woman. I think he needs to see me that way to feel that he raised me the right way. I'm also the only one who will dare stand up to him. But even now, as an adult, there is a line I will not cross. I state my case, when he starts fuming or making a joke out of my position, I just let it drop. When he criticizes something I'm doing with my kids I always say, "Are they the best kids you know?" Of course they are. "Well, then I must be doing something right. They weren't born this way."
My father certainly wasn't all bad. And hell, what I just outlined really isn't anything compared to what a lot of people go through. But he absolutely shaped who I am. I chose my husband with an eye for finding someone exactly the opposite of him. When my husband does act like my father, I get irrational. But I'll tell you what, my daughter will be calling my husband Daddy on her wedding day and dancing in his arms with happy tears in her eyes. I only hope my father is there to see it.
I'm having serious performance anxiety about writing today. I've been reading way too many blogs and I just feel that in comparison to a lot of people, I have absolutely nothing of interest to say. But I've decided to decide I'm cool and go with it. Maybe my quaint little views on life are part of my own particular charm.
Both Mark's and palochi's comments from yesterday have me thinking about my father. How friggin sweet is it that Mark's dad called him Punkin? And he was a cop, just like my dad. I know that my father loves me very much, but he has absolutely no idea how to show it.
I don't even call my father Dad. When my brother was a toddler he started saying da da and my father said, "No. My name is Paul." So he called my father Paul and I just followed his lead. I have never called him anything else. Do you know how hard it is to find a non-sentimental Father's Day card that doesn't say Dad or Daddy?
He is an imposing man. He's just huge. A lot of it is fat but he has that broad, thick, HUGE physical presence that no one would want to meet in a dark ally. Plus, when angry he turns a mottled red color and absolutely fumes. I was so scared of my father as a child. It's not that he ever hit me (though my brother and mother both got a few smacks over the years) but he would threaten physical violence. He would say things like, "If I catch you doing that I'll put you in the hospital." I think we sort of believed him.
Because he was a cop, and eventually even the chief, nobody messed with him. He was either everybody's best friend, or a hated enemy. For example, when I got married, I barely paid for anything in town. The florist, limo company, photographer, and bakery all owed him favors. He was the local hero because he had driven the mafia out of town. But the mafia sure hated him.
A couple of times as a kid, I had run-ins with the police. I never, ever did anything wrong. I was so afraid of my father that I would never break a rule or go a mile over the speed limit. But one night a bunch of my friends and I came out of the place we worked and the cops pulled up and told us that someone had called in a report of teenagers loitering in the parking lot. It wasn't us. All I said to the cop was, "You know, my dad is Paul..." I didn't even have to finish. "You're his kid?" they said. "We know there's no way you'd ever do anything wrong. Who'd want to face that? Sorry to bother you."
I can't ever remember him showing one sign of affection or pride once I reached school-age. If I brought home a 96 on a test, he wanted to know where the other four points were. When he got an 88 on his chief's exam I said, "Where are the other twelve points?" and he hit the roof. He must have pointed and yelled at me for ten minutes. It was my fault that he got an 88 (which is really very good) because I didn't help him study and I disturbed him. Nothing was ever his fault.
He was absolutely sick about my wedding. He was terrified of the father/daughter dance. He didn't want to do it. He said, "I'll just be stepping out for a bit," or "I'll just stand there and you can dance."
He was such a wreck the day that I got married that he injured me. We were early for my wedding and had to wait in the limo. When it was time to go in, he grabbed my hand to help me out of the car and pulled. Hard. I smacked my head on the door. Hard. He said, "Oh, you're fine," and kept going.
A couple weeks later, I loaded up my car with everything I owned and drove to New Mexico to start my new life with my husband. He started sobbing as I was heading out the door. He yelled at me, "Just go. Just go." I thought I'd get in the car and start crying but I surprised myself by just getting really angry. He had 23 years to show me he loved me. 23 years to be close to me and build a relationship. 23 years when he could have hugged or kissed me just once, and didn't. And now he's going to cry like I'm breaking his heart. It probably wasn't fair of me to feel that way, but I did.
When my daughter was born my brother asked me what my kids would call my parents. My father piped in with, "Paul works just fine." I put my foot down. There was no way I was going to let him get away with that for another generation. I bet he's glad I did that now. My daughter is his little baby girl. He treats her so differently than he ever treated me.
My father thinks I am this very outspoken, very tough woman. I think he needs to see me that way to feel that he raised me the right way. I'm also the only one who will dare stand up to him. But even now, as an adult, there is a line I will not cross. I state my case, when he starts fuming or making a joke out of my position, I just let it drop. When he criticizes something I'm doing with my kids I always say, "Are they the best kids you know?" Of course they are. "Well, then I must be doing something right. They weren't born this way."
My father certainly wasn't all bad. And hell, what I just outlined really isn't anything compared to what a lot of people go through. But he absolutely shaped who I am. I chose my husband with an eye for finding someone exactly the opposite of him. When my husband does act like my father, I get irrational. But I'll tell you what, my daughter will be calling my husband Daddy on her wedding day and dancing in his arms with happy tears in her eyes. I only hope my father is there to see it.
Friday, June 04, 2004
What's in a name?
Okay. I'm sure that you all know my first name by now. I'm not exactly a super-spy or anything. I haven't exactly been hiding it. But I have been hesitant to splash it all over these pages because I need to appease my husband's sense of security. He has valid concerns about bad guys trolling the net to prey on officers' families.
But if it weren't for him, my blog wouldn't be anonymous at all. I just don't have a very good filter. I'll tell just about anyone anything, as long as they ask first. (Let's ignore that I said that and move on.)
All of that being said, I hate my name. I always have. It has to be one of the most boring names ever. And as boring as my last name is now, my maiden name was even worse.
People rarely call me by just my first name. Everyone tends to use both my first and last name when they talk to me. Isn't that kind of weird? I think it's partly because my first name is probably the most popular girl's name of the 70s. And I think it's partly because my name is very close to a famous person's name. Which causes people to call me by her first name instead of my own.
And I've never had a nickname. I stole Tuna from my husband.
But I do have an absolute adoration for endearments. Call me Sweetie and I am like putty in your hands.
I sort of remember my father calling me Love when I was very little. But other than that, my parents always used my first and middle names combined.
My husband has pretty much always called me Hon. Not even Honey, but Hon. That's okay. When my daughter was born, he started calling her Darling. I had never heard him utter that word before then and I think it is rather sweet that he has his own special endearment for her. He'll occasionally call me Darling and I have to ask if he's talking to me.
I call my husband Hon too. But lately I've become partial to Baby or Babe. I'll call my kids every endearment in the book. And a few that aren't.
So all you blog people who use endearments when you comment or E-mail me...oh, man! You're feeding my starved little heart.
In the I Have Way Too much Time on My Hands file, these are the lovely things you've called me:
Sweetie, My Sweet
Baby, Babe, Baybee
Darling, Darlin'
Honey
Punkin
Girl, Girlfriend, Sister
(and my favorite) Slut
I've even gotten kisses and hugs XOXOXO
Oh. You love me. You really love me. Or you're at least good at making it sound like you do.
But if it weren't for him, my blog wouldn't be anonymous at all. I just don't have a very good filter. I'll tell just about anyone anything, as long as they ask first. (Let's ignore that I said that and move on.)
All of that being said, I hate my name. I always have. It has to be one of the most boring names ever. And as boring as my last name is now, my maiden name was even worse.
People rarely call me by just my first name. Everyone tends to use both my first and last name when they talk to me. Isn't that kind of weird? I think it's partly because my first name is probably the most popular girl's name of the 70s. And I think it's partly because my name is very close to a famous person's name. Which causes people to call me by her first name instead of my own.
And I've never had a nickname. I stole Tuna from my husband.
But I do have an absolute adoration for endearments. Call me Sweetie and I am like putty in your hands.
I sort of remember my father calling me Love when I was very little. But other than that, my parents always used my first and middle names combined.
My husband has pretty much always called me Hon. Not even Honey, but Hon. That's okay. When my daughter was born, he started calling her Darling. I had never heard him utter that word before then and I think it is rather sweet that he has his own special endearment for her. He'll occasionally call me Darling and I have to ask if he's talking to me.
I call my husband Hon too. But lately I've become partial to Baby or Babe. I'll call my kids every endearment in the book. And a few that aren't.
So all you blog people who use endearments when you comment or E-mail me...oh, man! You're feeding my starved little heart.
In the I Have Way Too much Time on My Hands file, these are the lovely things you've called me:
Sweetie, My Sweet
Baby, Babe, Baybee
Darling, Darlin'
Honey
Punkin
Girl, Girlfriend, Sister
(and my favorite) Slut
I've even gotten kisses and hugs XOXOXO
Oh. You love me. You really love me. Or you're at least good at making it sound like you do.
Thursday, June 03, 2004
My Husband's Big Gay Road Trip
My husband finally called me at about 12:30 a.m. last night. At first I thought he had maybe read my blog and was looking for some hot phone action. But, no. That was just the first time he'd been able to get a minute to call.
He was so adorable and cute on the phone last night. He cracked me up. I'm not sure how well it translates to the written word though, especially since, like most couples, we have our own language. But here's trying.
He and his friends went on a road trip last weekend. All six of them stayed in one hotel room. They had two full beds and one fold-out full couch.
Me: You guys must have gotten cozy.
Him: Well yeah. But they're so stupid. Two of them slept on the floor instead of sharing a bed.
Me: But you shared a bed?
Him: Yeah. Me and Jag shared the pull out couch.
Me: Did he care?
Him: No. We just both wanted to go to sleep and could care a less. Those guys are so homophobic.
Me: Really? Are you? (Now, I know the answer to this question, but I wanted to hear what he'd say.)
Him: No. I've known too many gay men in my life to be homophobic.
Me: Really? Who?
Him: All of those friends of my mother's. Friends of yours. (This reminded me that when we first got together in 1989, he had just lost a couple of family friends to AIDS.) And I would have shared a bed with any of them the same as I shared a bed with Jag.
Me: Knowing those guys, they teased you about it.
Him: No, but it was pick on Tuna weekend. Especially when I got hit on by Superman.
Me: What?!
Again, I thought he was making a reference to my post about how hot he is, but no. He actually was hit on by Superman.
They went down to the Chinese Theatre to see the stars.
He told me, "They had these costumed characters out front. I noticed that Superman was looking at me, so I looked back and he made eye contact with me. He smiled and nodded so I did too. Then he looked me up and down. He was checking me out the whole time we were there. I turned to ElGuapo and said, 'Superman was checking me out!' And ElGuapo said, 'Superman was checking you out!'"
Ha ha. My man is hot enough for Superman. Neener neener. This cracked me up, because my husband was probably flirting right back without even realizing it. That's just him.
So we went on to talk about my friends and gossip and what have you. He asked if I had talked to AH in a while, and I told him that I haven't even heard from her since the last day of ballet class. "Must feel good," was his response. And he's right. But between my friends moving away and my friends driving me crazy, I'm running out of friends.
Me: I don't have any friends, you know.
Him: You've got me.
Me: That's right. That's all I need. Sometimes, though I wish I had a girlfriend as close as a sister. You know. Someone I can talk about sex and stuff with. I can't exactly tell CB about my horniness problems.
Him: Yes. Thank you for that. But you have your blog. I'm sure you talk all about your horniness there.
Okay. Now I'm convinced he's read my blog recently, considering what I wrote yesterday. But he says he hasn't. He says that he just knows me that well. He said, "I know the way you get and I know the way you write." And he does, so I can't argue with that.
When I write it all out like that, it doesn't sound half as cute or funny. But it was almost 1 a.m. and I was probably punchy. He says he's making big plans for when I come out to visit. And then he asked me my bra size. I wonder how those things are related. I can't wait! One week and one day! Time flies when you're as horny as I am.
He was so adorable and cute on the phone last night. He cracked me up. I'm not sure how well it translates to the written word though, especially since, like most couples, we have our own language. But here's trying.
He and his friends went on a road trip last weekend. All six of them stayed in one hotel room. They had two full beds and one fold-out full couch.
Me: You guys must have gotten cozy.
Him: Well yeah. But they're so stupid. Two of them slept on the floor instead of sharing a bed.
Me: But you shared a bed?
Him: Yeah. Me and Jag shared the pull out couch.
Me: Did he care?
Him: No. We just both wanted to go to sleep and could care a less. Those guys are so homophobic.
Me: Really? Are you? (Now, I know the answer to this question, but I wanted to hear what he'd say.)
Him: No. I've known too many gay men in my life to be homophobic.
Me: Really? Who?
Him: All of those friends of my mother's. Friends of yours. (This reminded me that when we first got together in 1989, he had just lost a couple of family friends to AIDS.) And I would have shared a bed with any of them the same as I shared a bed with Jag.
Me: Knowing those guys, they teased you about it.
Him: No, but it was pick on Tuna weekend. Especially when I got hit on by Superman.
Me: What?!
Again, I thought he was making a reference to my post about how hot he is, but no. He actually was hit on by Superman.
They went down to the Chinese Theatre to see the stars.
He told me, "They had these costumed characters out front. I noticed that Superman was looking at me, so I looked back and he made eye contact with me. He smiled and nodded so I did too. Then he looked me up and down. He was checking me out the whole time we were there. I turned to ElGuapo and said, 'Superman was checking me out!' And ElGuapo said, 'Superman was checking you out!'"
Ha ha. My man is hot enough for Superman. Neener neener. This cracked me up, because my husband was probably flirting right back without even realizing it. That's just him.
So we went on to talk about my friends and gossip and what have you. He asked if I had talked to AH in a while, and I told him that I haven't even heard from her since the last day of ballet class. "Must feel good," was his response. And he's right. But between my friends moving away and my friends driving me crazy, I'm running out of friends.
Me: I don't have any friends, you know.
Him: You've got me.
Me: That's right. That's all I need. Sometimes, though I wish I had a girlfriend as close as a sister. You know. Someone I can talk about sex and stuff with. I can't exactly tell CB about my horniness problems.
Him: Yes. Thank you for that. But you have your blog. I'm sure you talk all about your horniness there.
Okay. Now I'm convinced he's read my blog recently, considering what I wrote yesterday. But he says he hasn't. He says that he just knows me that well. He said, "I know the way you get and I know the way you write." And he does, so I can't argue with that.
When I write it all out like that, it doesn't sound half as cute or funny. But it was almost 1 a.m. and I was probably punchy. He says he's making big plans for when I come out to visit. And then he asked me my bra size. I wonder how those things are related. I can't wait! One week and one day! Time flies when you're as horny as I am.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
My Most Shallow Post
Okay. Those of you with delicate constitutions should look away. Look away, I tell you! If the peanut butter and mayonnaise didn't turn you off my blog forever (Seriously people. Who would eat such a thing on purpose? Gag. Choke. I think I threw up a little!) then this is sure to do the deed.
I am so horny I could die.
I'm so horny that I was turned on by the twins on Queer Eye last night.
I'm so horny that Joe from Blue's Clues is looking pretty yummy.
I'm so horny that I'm trolling the internet for pictures of hot men.
Speaking of which, y'all need to stop being so friggin adorable! You're making me crazy!!!
What's going on here? I mean, my husband has been away before, you know. I always get a little horned up when he's gone. But usually he's been gone for a couple of months before I get myself into this state. Jeeze! I can't think of anything but sex.
It doesn't help that this hot man has been staring at me from the top of the magazine rack in the living room.
I'm a sucker for hockey players anyway, but this shot just makes me want to dive right into those hockey pants.
And then to make matters worse, I get this magazine in the mail today.
With this lovely picture of Jake on the inside.
Now, I was never a huge fan of Jake Gyllenhaal before, but put a man in some wet clothes and my knees get weak. I hate disaster movies (don't we get enough of that in real life?) but I bet I could convince my husband to see his new movie with me.
For someone who isn't hung up on looks, my blog has gotten pretty damn shallow lately. It's amazing what a little sexual frustration can do.
You know, people always say that men reach their sexual peak at 18 and women at 30. From personal experience, I'd say that's pretty true.
You know those ads in the back of porn magazines that advertise services from bored housewives. I've become that stereotype. It doesn't help that I haven't even heard from my husband in days. The last contact we had was exchanging suggestive text messages five nights ago.
Okay. I could go on and on about sex. But I'm probably making you all a little sick. So to maintain what little dignity I have left, I shall just leave you with this.
If you are married to me and you read my blog, find some personal time and CALL HOME! I'll make it worth your while.
I am so horny I could die.
I'm so horny that I was turned on by the twins on Queer Eye last night.
I'm so horny that Joe from Blue's Clues is looking pretty yummy.
I'm so horny that I'm trolling the internet for pictures of hot men.
Speaking of which, y'all need to stop being so friggin adorable! You're making me crazy!!!
What's going on here? I mean, my husband has been away before, you know. I always get a little horned up when he's gone. But usually he's been gone for a couple of months before I get myself into this state. Jeeze! I can't think of anything but sex.
It doesn't help that this hot man has been staring at me from the top of the magazine rack in the living room.
I'm a sucker for hockey players anyway, but this shot just makes me want to dive right into those hockey pants.
And then to make matters worse, I get this magazine in the mail today.
With this lovely picture of Jake on the inside.
Now, I was never a huge fan of Jake Gyllenhaal before, but put a man in some wet clothes and my knees get weak. I hate disaster movies (don't we get enough of that in real life?) but I bet I could convince my husband to see his new movie with me.
For someone who isn't hung up on looks, my blog has gotten pretty damn shallow lately. It's amazing what a little sexual frustration can do.
You know, people always say that men reach their sexual peak at 18 and women at 30. From personal experience, I'd say that's pretty true.
You know those ads in the back of porn magazines that advertise services from bored housewives. I've become that stereotype. It doesn't help that I haven't even heard from my husband in days. The last contact we had was exchanging suggestive text messages five nights ago.
Okay. I could go on and on about sex. But I'm probably making you all a little sick. So to maintain what little dignity I have left, I shall just leave you with this.
If you are married to me and you read my blog, find some personal time and CALL HOME! I'll make it worth your while.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Let's Review My Day
Today I got a paper cut in the web between my fingers.
Today I made my daughter a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich. (Oops)
Today I had to clean up three piles of doggy doo and two puddles of doggy pee in my kids' bedrooms. (On new carpeting too)
Today I had to fish a dead little bird out of the kids' pool.
Today I went to return library books, only to realize that I had left them on the dining room table.
Today I fell asleep when my kids took a nap and didn't wake up for four hours.
Today I need a hug!
But...
Today my daughter told me I was pretty. (Okay, she's smart enough to know how to suck up to mom, but still)
Today a friend called out of the blue to thank me for a gift.
Today my orthodontist said it's time to go ahead with my surgery.
Today I got to see hot pictures of MAK! :-)
And finally, today I still feel pretty damn lucky to be the Tuna Girl! Even when I have a paper cut.
Today I made my daughter a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich. (Oops)
Today I had to clean up three piles of doggy doo and two puddles of doggy pee in my kids' bedrooms. (On new carpeting too)
Today I had to fish a dead little bird out of the kids' pool.
Today I went to return library books, only to realize that I had left them on the dining room table.
Today I fell asleep when my kids took a nap and didn't wake up for four hours.
Today I need a hug!
But...
Today my daughter told me I was pretty. (Okay, she's smart enough to know how to suck up to mom, but still)
Today a friend called out of the blue to thank me for a gift.
Today my orthodontist said it's time to go ahead with my surgery.
Today I got to see hot pictures of MAK! :-)
And finally, today I still feel pretty damn lucky to be the Tuna Girl! Even when I have a paper cut.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)