Andy: (putting vacuum cleaner away in closet adjacent to room) …
Me: Okay, this isn’t as weird as it looks.
Andy: It looks like you’re playing Words with Friends in the nude.
Me: Well, I am, but I’m playing against my cousin.
Andy: Okay, that’s actually weirder than it looks.
Me: No, see, I was getting in the shower and I heard Words with Friends chime so I came in here to mute it so it wouldn’t be annoying but then I decided to go ahead and take my turn and then I saw on facebook that my friend’s wife had a baby and I was like “awesome! I didn’t even know they were expecting” and … well … I was getting ready to get in the shower.
Andy: I’m pretty sure you crossed all sorts of weird lines right there.
Me: Well it’s not like I have a webcam.
Andy: Sigh … (wanders away)
This is why people with A.D.H.D. shouldn’t multitask.
Earlier today I was thinking about how it sucks that I have to work so much harder than Andy does to make less money than he does all because my vagina is being penalized. It’s not nearly as fun as it sounds.
Speaking of being screwed by your vagina (aka gender inequality) today when I came home from work and immediately cooked dinner like I always do not because anyone asks me to but because there’s a societal expectation that as a woman I am supposed to take care of the house and family and … WHOA! Sorry about that. I sent my daughter to a liberal arts school and clearly I’ve spent way too much time talking to her lately. I’m all for feminism, don’t get me wrong, but this is a post about co-dependent fat people.
What I was trying to say was, tonight I made a batch of Red Lobster cheddar bay biscuits for dinner because Andy loves them and I love cooking things that make him happy. But he wants me to be happy too so he does things like eat way too many and then tell me I should eat more because he feels bad for eating too many and then I eat more because I feel like he has given me some permission I needed or something and then the next thing you know, we seriously ate an entire batch of cheese and butter filled dough. 14 biscuits, you guys. I am not even exaggerating. I’m fairly certain we aren’t going to make it until morning. I think I can actually feel my arteries congealing as I type this.
The sad thing is, we do this crap all the time. Not just with food either, but with being lazy. Andy is very sedentary and constantly talks me into joining him in sedentary activities. I do it easily because I like spending time with him and the things we do together are fun. The thing is though, when Andy and I got together 7 years ago, I was strictly watching what I ate and exercising every day and he was controlling his portions and trying to make a point to be less sedentary. We have become locked in a co-dependent relationship where we are each dependent on the other to allow us to be fat.
Andy and me in 2006.
Andy and me in 2012.
So I guess the first step is admitting we have a problem. The second step is making the rest of the cheddar bay biscuits and taking them to the pot luck I’m going to on Saturday.
Also, even though they’re mine, I’ll say it. Boobs. That’s not a step, that’s pointing out the white elephant in the room. Literally, in this case.
and also, I may have to move.
Believe it or not, I was in my 20’s the fist time I saw a centipede. Well, I mean, in real life and outside of the insect house at the zoo. I always hated that scene in Willy Wonka though. Anyway, I remember my first centipede because I was in the shower and it crawled across the wall. I horror movie screamed and ran wet and naked down the stairs. We had company. I was too busy being horrified to care.
I guess we didn’t have centipedes in the house I grew up in because my dad owned a pest control company and stored bulk containers of pesticides directly beneath my bedroom in the garage. That probably explains a lot of things about my childhood, actually.
Anyway, the house I live in now has centipedes ALL THE FREAKING TIME and by all the freaking time I mean I see 1 or 2 a year. Each time I scream and shake and freak out until someone comes and deals with it or I manage to hit it with one of the objects I am chucking at it from across the room. The centipedes we get here are fast and have really long legs that look like false eyelashes and I’m pretty sure they are getting in through a portal straight from hell. They are horrible and creepy and I just found out recently that they BITE! Holy fudge can these things get any more horrible?!?! (and no, one didn’t bite me, a fb friend was bitten and I was like, GAH OMFG ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?! and I looked it up and was like OMG WHY IS LIFE SO TERRIBLE!?!?!)
So last night I was ripping tiles out of my shower and scraping up caulk when I stepped into the hallway to grab a trash can and an entirely different variety of centipede crawled across my hallway floor. This one was bulky and had short legs and looked much more like the giant ones at the zoo than the eyelashy ones we usually have. I screamed so loudly that Andy ran up 2 flights of stairs to see what was wrong. I had a tile in my hand so I threw the tile on it and then jumped up and down on it several times. I made Andy check to be sure it was dead and then had him throw the tile away. I’ll just buy a new tile. It’s okay.
The point of all of this is, I just found out there are at least 2 species of centipedes in this area of the country and apparently they’ve both found the hell portal into my house.
Now I’m all itchy and keep seeing centipedey shadows. *shudder* Yeah, I’m going to have to move.
Yeah, that happened.
When I was getting in the shower this morning there was either a dead centipede or a wad of dog hair on the mat. I couldn’t determine which and I didn’t want to look closer for fear of lapsing into some Lovecraftian monster induced madness, so I threw a towel over it and tried to pretend it wasn’t there.
I took my shower, put on Andy’s giant robe and went to let the dogs out. As soon as I got outside though, it felt like something bit me so I squealed “Ahhh centipede” flung my robe open and began jumping, swatting, and shooing simultaneously before remembering I was in my yard wearing nothing but the robe I had just flung open. Yeah.
Luckily it was 6:00 AM so most of my neighbors were probably asleep. Less luckily I saw the neighbor directly behind me let her dogs out just before I let mine out so I knew she was up. Also her lights were on. So I fixed my robe, stood on my back porch and squinted into my neighbor’s house to see if I could see her within seeing distance of me. I’m not sure what I planned to do if she was though.
Then I realized that if she could see me, what she saw was me stand facing her place, rip my robe open, act all crazy, and then stare at her. I’m hoping she doesn’t call the police. This will be pretty hard to explain.