Category Archives: … in bed

Sap does not just come from trees

This morning as Andy and I were lying snuggled in bed, I started to ask him a question.   I was going to ask, if you could chose between having love and having wealth, which would you choose?  Before I could even ask it though, it occurred to me that he had already made that choice.  He had made it time and again: when he bought our house to have room for my daughter and me; when he let me get that second dog we couldn’t afford; when he allowed me to quit work and go to law school; when he co-signed for my student loans; when he helped me buy my daughter’s first car; when he embraced me mentoring a foster kid and allowed me to spend our money making her world brighter; when he allowed my daughter to go to an expensive private university; when he supported me starting two businesses; the list goes on and on.  He has, at every possible opportunity, chosen love over money.  With that realization, I wept.

And then I grabbed my camera to capture the moment.  The moment I realized just how much my goofy, sweet, wonderful boyfriend loves me, and was moved by how much I love him back.

And then I thought of last night’s conversation when I told some friends about the poem Neil Gaiman wrote for Amanda Palmer and surprised her with during her show, For Amanda: an Appreciation after Christopher Fry, sort of , and I decided right then and there to simultaneously recite and compose the following:

Why I Love You, a Sort of Poem That I Am Making Up as I Go Along  (as remembered from this morning)

First, I love you because you laugh at my jokes in spite of yourself,
Second, … (um, I’m skipping this one.)
Third, I love your kisses and snuggles,
Forth, when you tell me I’m pretty, I almost believe you,
Fifth, you make me feel safe,
Sixth, you make me smile,
Seventh, I notice your eyes all the time, and I’m not someone who notices eyes,
Eighth, I love that you don’t find it gross that I like to pick your pimples and scabs,
Ninth, I love that you don’t mind that I’m weird and do weird things … like this, right now,
Tenth, I love that we have been together almost 7 years and it feels like 7 days and 7 decades all at once,
Eleventh, I love that I put our lives in my blog an you don’t mind,
Twelfth, you believe in me,
Thirteenth, I love that I can make jokes at your expense and you know that I’m only playing,
Fourteenth, I love the feel of your skin,
Fifteenth, I love that you cry at movies, because I can’t,
Sixteenth? … I think? … I love that I love so many things about you that I’ve lost count.  …

So I guess I’ll go make you breakfast now.  I got fresh bacon at the farmer’s market.  🙂

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Sometimes we take it too far … in bed

Warning: this post is probably offensive to most.  It is an example of why my relationship with Andy works so well and also why no one else would have either of us.  If you’re offended, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

If you are my daughter or some other child who thinks of me like a mom, you’ll probably want to skip this one too.
Last week while lying in bed…

Me: OMG this is seriously the worst period I’ve ever had.  I’m beginning to wonder if I miscarried or something.

Andy: Well if you miscarried I guess  that’s a good thing since we can’t agree on baby names anyway.

Me: Rory for a boy or a girl is a cute name, I don’t care what you say.

Andy: I’ve told you, my family has a name scheme.  I have to keep with the tradition.

Me: Your tradition involves naming any future son I have my ex-husband’s first name.  That shouldn’t be okay with you.  Besides, you’re adopted anyway, so your traditions don’t even count.

Andy: Why you gotta make fun of me for being adopted?

Me: Oh I’m a poor adopted kid whose parents actually wanted me enough to spend a bunch of time, hassle, and money to get me.  I was a teenage accident whose parents were too irresponsible to even put me up for adoption.  Suck on that a while.

Me: Okay, seriously, I’m pretty sure I’m dying.

Andy: You’re not dying.  You just killed my baby, that’s all.

Me: *giggle* You seriously went there! (whacks him with a pillow) I’m going to bed.

So yeah, I think maybe sometimes we go too far.  But the thing is, we know us well enough to know that sometimes, a joke is just a joke.  Learn to take a joke people.  Life’s too short.

 

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A letter to my fur kids

Dear animals,

Thank you for once again waking me up at 6:00 AM on my day off.  I’d obviously much rather dish out kibble and walk dogs than relax and sleep in on the rare occasion that I actually have the opportunity to do so.  Oh and while we’re on the subject, thanks for waking me up an hour before my alarm goes off during the week too. I’m glad to see letting you out later and giving you late night snacks has had zero affect on your internal clocks.

I know this is the cross I chose to bear when I got suckered in by your respective sad stories and brought you home for a better life.  It’s fine.  All I ask is this, when I eventually fall over dead from hypertension from never being allowed to sleep or relax, please don’t eat my corpse.  I’m an organ donor.

Yes, Mr. Annoying Pants, I’m talking to you.

Love,

The only light sleeper in this entire stinking house

A/K/A Mommy

OKAY, I’ll throw your toy now!  Jeesh.

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June 9, 2012 · 9:36 am

OMG WTF IS IN MY BED?!?!

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while.  I have a lot of posts rolling around in my head, I just haven’t found time to sit down and write them.  This, however, was too weird not to share right away.

In addition to not falling asleep easily I also sleep poorly.  We bought a Sleep Number bed and it has helped somewhat but I have arthritis and my joints get achy if I’m in the same position for any length of time.  As such, I need to change sleeping positions about 200 times a night.

The night before last I went to roll over and realized something heavy, warm, and thick was on my hand.  Horrified I raised my arm up to see what it was but it was dark so I couldn’t tell.  I also couldn’t think of anything, I mean anything, that could possibly be the consistency of what was in my hand.  It was thick and sort of gelatinous with sizable lumps of something hard and it was warm, very warm.   Still horrified I began moving my fingers around, hoping my brain could come up with some logical explanation for what I was feeling.  Nothing, just squishy, warm, lumpy, unidentifiable SOMETHING in my bed … no, in my hand!  I was holding it in my hand and it came from my bed!  WTF was going on?!?!  My sleep addled brain was reeling, running through a catalog of all possible known substances when the stuff in my hand began to slowly ooze out of my hand toward my face.  I froze, my eyes wide, terrified, wondering what sort of living nightmare  I was about to experience.  It was absolutely one of the most terrifying experiences I’ve ever had while lying in bed.

I eventually got my crap together enough to move my hand away from my face.  The substance continued to ooze until it finally landed on my abdomen.  I audibly gasped.  As I lay there, eyes wide with terror, staring at some gelatinous oozing terror on my stomach, IT GOT UP!  It got up and walked away and then I finally realized what it was.  It was my freaking cat.  There had been a sheet between my hand and the cat so I didn’t feel fur, just all the other stuff a cat feels like.  Freaking cat.  Andy, of course, slept through the entire ordeal.  I think the moral of this story is that both cats and men are completely useless when you’re half asleep and experiencing tactile night terrors.

Coming soon:  Ladies, this is why you don’t have gay friends, Come to the dark side, it’s just cooler here, and at least 2 web comics.

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Frontal Lobe Malfunctions (a comic!)

Please click image to view the entire thing.  This post will be the death of me.

why I can't sleep

 

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Conversations in bed … random babbling

For those who may not have read my previous “conversations in bed” posts

like this one – Conversations in bed: Your guys suck at Star Wars.

or this one – Conversations in bed: Cats are punny.

I have a very difficult time falling asleep most nights.  I also have adult A.D.H.D. and like to talk … a lot.  All of this typically culminates in me annoying Andy until either he falls asleep despite my chattering or I wander off to fall asleep on the couch while watching Family Guy.  Here are a few of last night’s bedtime story gems.

Me: I was thinking, if I had a kid named Jubal, I think I’d make his middle name Lee.  I mean, why not?  If you’re going to stick a kid with with a name like Jubal, may as well go for broke and make him Jubilee.  Lamest mutant ever, by the way.  Ohhh, fireworks.  Stupid.

Andy: You were just thinking about what you would make the middle name of a theoretical kid you don’t plan on having based on a first name you don’t like anyway?

Me: Yup, that and a X-Men character I don’t like.  The name “X-Men” is a bit sexist, don’t you think?  There were plenty of X-Women.  Really cool X-Women at that.

Andy:  (ignores me and tries to fall asleep.  Somewhere in the house his phone says “droid”)

Me: Phone’s droidin’, dude.

Andy: mumble charging mumble

Me: I think if I have to go into practice by myself, and open my own law firm, I think I should legally change my last name to Droid but spell it like a last name, like D – R – O – Y – D or something.  Then, on my sign and business cards and ads and stuff, I can put “Droyd Law Office, this IS the Droyd you’re looking for”

Andy: Why do I let you speak?

Me: Seriously, you know what kind of cool clientele I’d get?  I’d have the best clients ever.

Andy: I don’t really think it works like that.

Me: COME ON! If you needed an attorney and were looking through the yellow pages or Google or whatever and you saw “Droyd Law Office, this IS the Droyd you’re looking for” would you continue to browse attorneys?  Heck no!  You’d be like, ‘Frick yeah!  This attorney is AWESOME!”.  This is pure gold here!  I could get elected to office with a slogan like that.

Andy: snnnnnnn

Me: Fine!  You know, you used to share my vision.

Andy: snnnnnn (if you’ve ever heard Andy snore, you know this is dead on how he sounds)

Me: sigh Family Guy it is.

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Conversations in bed … bad cat jokes

I’ve been narcoleptic for a couple of weeks.  Not literally, but I have been fighting some nasty sinus crud and I suspect my blood pressure is high so by 7 PM or so I can barely keep my eyes open.  This has probably been a very good thing in Andy’s opinion because he hasn’t had to deal with my usual bedtime shenanigans.  Last night, however, I went to bed and Andy promptly began bothering me.  Well, he asked for it.

Andy HATES bad punny jokes.  I, on the other hand, LOVE bad jokes.  The more moan inducingly bad the better.  I revel in coming up with jokes to make Andy tell me I’m fired, or he’s done with me, or whatever.  The best part about torturing Andy with bad jokes is that he’ll laugh, and then hate himself for laughing.   It’s like having my very own one man Statler and Waldorf.  It’s fantastic!

So last night Andy was bothering me and I made some bad joke that I can’t remember now just as the cat was jumping up on the bed.

Andy: Ugh, why do I talk to you.  I should know you’re just going to come back with some horrible pun.

Me: It wasn’t me.  It was the cat.

Andy: Cats don’t make bad puns.

Me: Not true.  You just don’t notice them. You know why this cat doesn’t speak to you?

Andy: Why? (See what I did there?  He really sets himself up)

Me: He’s MEW-t

Andy: Moan

Me: Not really.  You want to know the real reason?

Andy: sigh why?

Me: There’s nothing MEWs-worthy to talk about.

(Andy rolls over so his back is to me.  I get closer to his ear)

Me: Hey, you know why the cat crossed the road?

Andy: giggles why?

Me: He was chasing a MEOW-se.

Andy: That was terrible!

Me: Don’t blame me, it was the cat.  I’m just translating.  I told you, cats make the worst puns.

Andy: Then I’m done with both of you.

Me: Why me?  It’s not my fault the cat is MEW-sless .

Andy: giggle That’s it.  I’m kicking you out.

Me: (moving the cat’s mouth to make it look like he’s talking) Oh no!  I’m afraid of outside! Where will I go?

Andy: The cat can stay until you find a new place.

Cat: Hooray!

Me: Will you help us MEWve?

Andy: I think they’re getting worse!

Me: I can do this all night, you know.

Andy: Yes, I know.  Coming up with horrible punny jokes is like your super power.

Me: I told you, it’s not me, it’s the CAT!  You know who the cat wants to vote for in the primaries?

Andy: (pretends like he is ignoring me)

Me: MEWt Gingrich

Andy: That was really awful

Me: It IS awful!  What a terrible choice.  It’s a good thing cats can’t vote.

Andy: sigh goodnight

Me: Awww are you un-aMEWsed?

Andy: Done now.  We’re done.  Goodnight.

I would have kept going but the cat was also done with me at that point and ran away.

Poor punny cat.  Haters gonna hate.

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