50 shades of panic

on saturday, Mr. REA left me alone for 5 hours.

alone. in my apartment.

during this personal time i:

- folded laundry
- prepared a crockpot meal
- baked treats
- attempted to write a paper
- vacuumed
- contemplated working out

oh yah, and went to the bathroom.

...number two...

it was actually the very first thing i did once he left.

who's got two thumbs and priorities?

this girl.

aaaaand i clogged the toilet.
...as is tradition.

i let the disaster fester, with the intention of returning back to the scene of the crime later to clean up.

unfortunately for me, i was too busy indulging in domestic goodness that i did in fact, forget to clean it up.

by the time i remembered it was too late.

way too late.

Mr. REA came home.
he kissed me hello.
he hung up his coat.
he took off his shoes.
he went into the bathroom.
he went into the closet.
he got out the plunger.
he plunged the toilet.

i stood in the kitchen.
at first i was confused.
then i was completely mortified.

i have vowed to myself never to mention The Incident to Mr. REA as long as i live.
what sort of sicko does he think i am?

but the good news is, he hasn't dumped me yet.
so i think we're good.

"enough of the domesticated bliss"

moments after i posted that last post i recieved a text message.

or rather, a series of text messages.

from Gman. a long-time reader, and ex boyfriend.


your blog is so f-ing gay these days. where are the funny stories? you forgot to leave out dinner?? yeah thats the kind of story that your readers like. maybe if you forgot dinner and shit your pants.

stop wasting my time. i eat cereal for dinner all the time. i don't blog about it because its not interesting. at all. to anyone. 

lately i gag, not because you shit your pants and throat f-ed a hobo, but because you're just so gay. 



so, let me begin by saying thank you Gman, for the constructive feedback.

after careful consideration, and an analysis of my sources, i have concluded that i am in fact, not gay. however, i am extremely happy with my life and the people in it.

and if blogging about it is gay to you, well then.
gay actually means happy anyway, you loser. so jokes on you Gman.

having said that, i've got a good near-pants-shitting story coming up.

oh mister REA

last week, i fell asleep after work, before Mr. REA came over.

so basically i went to bed at 8pm.
two nights in a row.

and silly me, i forgot to leave dinner out for My Man.

heaven forbid he look in the refrigerator.

or even think about eating leftovers.

so that's the short story about how Mr. REA ate cereal for dinner.
alone.
two nights in a row.

my poor baby.



-our drive to work the next day-

Mr. REA:
we didn't even get to talk last night...

Me:
but we can talk now.

Mr. REA:
i dont like to talk in the morning.



oh.
well then.

comeback

...and just when you thought i was becoming a domesticated softy, i come back.
with a barf story.

it started out like most barf stories do, at the much anticipated Holiday Work Party.

it was a White Elephant.
my favorite kind of party.
i made a clever card.
i obsessed over it.
i tried to force everyone else to appreciate my cunning sense of humor.
my gift was the most coveted.

i walked away with sheers.
thats a fancy word for scissors.
and no one loves scissors more than i do.
except maybe Martha Stewart herself.

afterwards, we went to favorite bar with coworkers for an hour.
then i went home to change into something fancy for my friends party.

now, i'm sure you can piece together this puzzle rather easily.

here are the facts:

- woke up on couch at 2 am.
- fully dressed.
- covered in blankets.
- with a trashcan nearby
- and a glass of water.

and here are the mysteries:
- who's hair tie is this?
- how much did i drink?
- why does my breath stink SO bad?
- why do i have so many pairs of socks on?
- what the heck am i going to do with all this jalapeno dip?

i'm a moron.
or an alcoholic
either way, i have some explaining to do.

to my Friend, whose party i missed.
to Mr. REA, who wiped my barf off the toilet.
and to myself.

happy belated holidays everyone.

love notes

i'm not quite sure when the transformation occurred, but somehow i've turned from the icon of hot mess into a younger, more beautiful, law-abiding (debatable) Martha Stewart.

or Betty Crocker.

which one was the cooker?

regardless, i made a delicious meal one night.

frozen meatballs.
jarred pasta sauce.
rotini noodles.
broccoli.

your mouth is already watering. i can tell.

the details are beyond the point.
i created a meal from scratch and waited for Mr. REA to come over.

and waited. and waited.

and waited.

at 9:30, i ate alone.

at 9:35, i went to bed.

in the morning, Mr. REA was there in bed. sound asleep.

i fought the urge to wake him up abruptly and demand answers.
note: this is also referred to as hiding the Crazy Card

i walked blindly into the kitchen to turn on the sink light.
oh but wait what's this?

a note.

i turn on the coffee maker.
and what's there?

another note.

i stumble into the bathroom.
what's on the mirror?

a note.

three little yellow sticky pieces of paper later, and all was forgiven.



you're so lovely.

you're the best.

you're so beautiful. 

now that's what i refer to as, the cutest thing ever. 

comparisons

we were out at a club one night with Mr. REA's sister.

i know i know. it was awkward.

no, not the sister part. but the being at a club part.

don't worry, i didn't dance.


so Mr. REA's sister says to me:

you know who you look like - Brooklyn Decker.

i was stunned. flattered.

i have been compared to many an actress in my days, but never the beautiful Brooklyn Decker.

the woman is a bikini model.

i am not a bikini model.

but i won't read too far into the compliment.

noticing my obvious excitement, Mr. REA inquires:

what got you so happy all of a sudden?

Mr. REA's sister repeats,

i said she looks like Brooklyn Decker.

just as i am basking in the glory of once-again being compared to a gorgeous bikini model, Mr. REA interjects without skipping a beat,

Brooklyn Decker has double D's.


and that was the end of that.

for the love of the game

Mr. REA:
if my team loses on saturday, don't talk to me for the rest of the weekend.

Me:
excuse me?

Mr. REA:
im serious.


so we can all thank the gracious football gods for the victory in my favor. 
both my relationship and my sanity were spared.

however my biggest fear still lies ahead:

I better pray for a Superbowl championship or be prepared for ongoing pouting until the next sports season starts up.

 It's baseball, right?

resolutions

oh hello everyone. 

i'm baaaaaaack. and boy do i have some stories for you. 

this year, i resolve to be more consistent in publishing posts that make you laugh out loud. or maybe just feel sorry for me. either one is fine by me. 

hopefully i can make it past the end of January before i forget or give up. 

cheers to you, 2013.