Sleeping with my wife: jazz hands edition

March 23, 2012

 

Well, hello there kiddies. It’s been sometime since the last time you slept with my wife.  Time with her in the sack is always entertaining.

(bow chikka bow wow)

You remember the time with the ninja moves or even this one. If you do you know (or should know) her history of sleep talking/walking/ninja rolling/karate chopping. It had been a while since the last incident—with the exception of a few times of just sitting up and talking. There was nothing really worthy of a post.

Then Tuesday night/Wednesday morning happened to change all that. She went to sleep after much prodding (bow chikka bow wow)—okay it really just took a few reminders that it was late. It was after midnight when she finally went to bed. I stayed up to wash the dishes, clean the kitchen and make her lunch. Wow, what a great husband! I must really rack up them awesome husband points. They probably go toward being able to post these stories.

When I wash the dishes, I listen to the radio (generally sports radio), but since it was late at night it was Coast to Coast AM. I brought the radio into the kitchen and did my chores. Afterwards I sat down for some writing before heading off to bed around 2am.

I tried to be as quiet as I could. I had to plug the radio back in and put it on the dresser next to my side of the bed. As I did this, I heard a familiar movement. Then I heard “Huh. Uh huh?” I ignored it and hoped she’d go back to bed. I put the radio down, and I saw her sit straight up.

“WHAT! What’s wrong?! WHAT!” she asked. I turned the light on. She was sitting up looking toward me.
“You doing okay over there?” I asked.
“I’m…” she started and then stopped and did the hand sign for so-so but really it came off as 2am jazz hands.
“You’re jazz hands?”
“I…leave me alone. I was having really weird dreams.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“Okay.”

 

The end.

(Jazz hands)


Sleeping with my wife VIII

July 22, 2011

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We return with a special Sleeping with my wife. This one is pretty spectacular. It doesn’t offer much in terms of action but the creep factor is off the charts. This past week there has been a lot of sleep activity on her part. She’s been sitting up a lot and saying a thing or two. It’s mostly been a lot of laughter and words I’ve not been able to catch.

There was the time earlier in the week where she started laughing after a lot of commotion from the bedroom. I called out “what’s going on in there?” all she did was laugh some more. She started to come into the livingroom but woke up before she did.

This of course all lead up to last night. It was hot as all get out (like the night before and the one before that) and it was hard to sleep. I got up to get some water and when I returned to the bed all I could was stare at the ceiling sweating. As I waited for sleep she moved around. Soon she sat up.

Wifey: Oh.
(She giggles.)
Me: What’s funny this time?
Wifey: Look at you.
(Laughs more and keeps laughing.)
Me: Seriously I need to find out one of these days just what is so funny.
(Laughs more.)
Wifey: Look at you…look at you…look at you.
(Laughs.)
Me: Who the hell are you talking to?
Wifey: That kid.
Me: What?
Wifey: That kid over there.
Me: Don’t show me because I don’t want to see no kid.

She laughs a bit more before she lay back down. She fell asleep as I made sure my back was to whichever way she was facing. She had no recollection of this happening this morning.


What I learned last week: 6/3-6/10

July 10, 2011

What I learned from last week

Group interviews suck:

Ok technically I already knew this. I’d been in group interviews before and they’ve always sucked. Last week I had an interview for a job at a college. I arrived all gussied up and what not. When I checked in I heard group interview and my first instinct was to run. I didn’t I sucked it up and went through with it. It was horridly painful. It ended with each of us having to get up in front and do a “commercial” about ourselves.

Katy Perry is hot.

Ok again something I already knew. I’ve never hid the fact that I have an HUGE crush on Katy Perry. The problem it seems is I also enjoy her music. I mean it’s not my favorite in the world but I dig it and she is way hot. So the wifebot bought tickets to her concert and I went.

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Katy Perry puts on a surprising good show.

She sort of won me over with her performance.
(Okay she had already won me over with her boobs, but still.)
Her show was very theatrical and pretty fun.

Star Trek the Next Generation: The Porn Parody:

Yes there is this. They do appear to have tried to have a real plot and decent attempt at graphics. Kimberly Kane (another crush of mine.) is in it, but unfortunately not really in the trailer. She plays Dr. Crusher.

I REALLY like to talk about my writing:

We all probably knew that, but this week it really stuck out. There was this strange dude at the wife’s show and he heard me say I was a playwright. He asked to talk with me and asked about my writing. I talked and answered all his questions even when it got weird. He seemed to be steering it toward trying to “collaborate” with me.

The wifebot is an amazing actress:

Again already knew this but the shows this weekend were pretty impressive. Plus look what the Sun News said: Catherine Remick (the wifebot) and Natalie Dolezal start off the festival with strong, snarky emotion absolutely crucial to the scene and some of the most capable and natural acting in the production. I got it here.

Going out to see Fireworks can be a good time:

I’ve sort of been lukewarm about going to see fireworks. I mean I enjoy it but this year I had a lot of fun.The three shillelaghs headed over to family fest (I think it was called that) presented by RTA. It was a good time. It was nice to hang out enjoying the 216 on a blanket with friends and random people.

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We’re rock stars:

Two times last week the wifebot and I were singled out for being awesome. As we left for the Katy Perry concert we were stopped by a lady. She said “you two look like you was walking right out of a magazine.” On the 4th of July as we entered the family fest (or whatever) a man stopped us to take our picture. He thought we were “such an interesting couple” and “looked made for each other.”

Finding lost friends:

Just yesterday my meebo app (lets me chat easily on my phone) signed on by itself. My sound was off and I was unaware. It’s connected to my aim (I know right?) and someone who I met thru a band’s message board immed me. I saw it like 3 hours later but luckily she was still online. We talked and it was nice. We’ve made sure to connect in other ways. It was very nice.

Movies on the couch:

It is such a simple joy putting in a movie and cuddling with the wifebot. Perfection.


the one with a bum buggering dresser.

June 23, 2011

A wee bit of jimi business before we begin; today is my four year anniversary with the very lovely Kat. I love her more and more. She’s made me the poet, writer and person I am today.

(So send her all complaints!)

Now on to what you really came here for—the ass rape.

(Wait what?)

It was 3 in the morning. A summer night that was not unlike most summer nights. The apartment was quiet. The cats sprawled out on the living room floor in attempt to hide from the heat. I was up late (again) and lost track of the time. I tried to shake the sleep from my bones but it clung with a righteousness I simply couldn’t match. My fingers plugged away at the keyboard till the lids of my eyes grew heavy. There would be no beating sleep. I made my way to the window and paused to peer out into the darkness. What wearied traveler was out there?

(Okay enough of that. Who do I think I am Denis Johnson lite?)

I trudged off to the bedroom—trying to be as quiet as possible. The wifebot of course had to be up in 3 hours. Turning off the remaining lights I used the flashlight app on my phone to lead the way. After peeing and tossing my pants off I was ready for bed.

Except I forgot earlier in the night I washed the dishes while listening to the Indians game. I left the radio in the kitchen. You see I need the radio on to sleep. I switch between Coast to Coast AM and a Sports talk show. It all depends on my mood. If I don’t want to be bothered by real life I leave it on the sports show. Now if that show spends too much time on a sport or story I don’t like I switch on over to Coast to Coast.

AnyNowYouKnowHowJimiSleeps I had to go to the kitchen to get the radio. I knew this would lead to noise and waking her up. How could it not, after the perfect execution of silently getting into bed? I made my way slowly into the kitchen with my phone. While in there I made sure to switch the station back to the one I wanted and to turn the volume down to an acceptable sleeping level. That done I went back to the bedroom. As I used my phone to see the socket it told me it would be dying soon. No worries I’ll plug it in right now.

(Ah crap the plug is in the living room.)

She stirred.

(Ah crap I actually said that first thing out loud.)

Off to the living room to fetch the charger. Now the cats were stirring. Rasputin following me from the living room to the bedroom—he does this most nights as I head off to bed. I could hear her sleeping soundly as I rounded the home stretch. I just may get through this. All I had to do was plug the phone charger into the wall and slide into bed. I made sure all the pillows were in the right place. I plugged in the charger and it made its little noise assuring me it would begin to charge.

None of this woke her up.
(Whew.)

I moved toward the bed and pulled the plug out of the wall. That’s okay I’ll just reach down and plug it back in. For some reason I didn’t bend over to do this but instead squatted down. As I did my ass made contact with the corner of an open drawer. Bull’s-eye! I mean the Enterprise (my ass) was just sitting there shields down when a Romulan Bird of Prey decloaked and slammed a torpedo right through the hull (the hull being my bum.)

“YOWWWWWWW!”
(Pause.)

The wifebot sits up. “Whaa…whaaa…?” She appears to still be mostly asleep.

“I think I just lost my virginity to a fucking dresser,” grabbing my bum and doing a little hop step.

“Oh.” She turns over and is back into her dreams.

I gingerly walk over and sleep on my side. The next day I tell her about it and she says:

“That’s what you get for leaving the drawers open all the time.”

(Probably true.)


The one with a real scumbag

May 2, 2011

This could have been a serious post

(Hey it’s been known to happen from time to time.)

It COULD have been a serious post. Maybe one about how I feel, or where I was when I heard the news that Osama Bin Laden had been killed.

For the record: I was in our library (read dining room) watching a WWE PPV.

I mean there are tons of possibilities to go with that story. One could chronicle their emotional response or even their logical response. Hell I technically started work on some fine poetry. I could post that.

(No no don’t leave I’m not going to post my poetry!)
(Did you stay?)
(Whew.)

I’ll get on with it. I’m only doing a post to help ease my nervousness. You see I’ve got an interview in a few hours and have to call back another place too. I’m a little freaked out by the whole process and well writing a frivolous post would help. Don’t worry the post isn’t just this. Oh no if you stuck it out you get a story.

So the other night the wife and I were getting ready for bed. Neither of us had fallen asleep yet. We talked it up a bit and then this happened:

Her: (Some sort of joke making fun of me.)

Me: You’rrrrre a reaaal scumbag.

(Silence.)
(Silence.)
(Suspenseful no?)

And then we both just sort of started cracking up. I mean full on hardcore laughter. It lasted about a minute. Then she got up to turn the fan on and one of us said it again.

“You’rrrre a reaaal scumbag”

And we were laughing again. It was laughter that was very loud and way after midnight. This lasted about 5 minutes in total. This was earlier in the week and well it still cracks us up. If either one of us makes fun of the other, tries to annoy (etc) the other will bust it out.

We will laugh no matter when or where we are. That dear reader is how you win at marriage.


Sleeping with my wife Part VII: The New Blood

March 1, 2011

Hello,
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone home?

I’ll give you a moment to recover from the vague Pink Floyd reference or the coughing fit caused by the dust of 10 straight days without a post. Go on take your time.

(Don’t take your time we haven’t got all day. I’m sure YOU should be working.)

(Slackers!)

As you know (from the title) it’s time for another installment of slepping with my wife. You also would see that I’m still awesome at making vague horror movie references!

No my wife is not Jason Voorhees.

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Today we return to the fertile ground that is my lovely wife. It’s her birthday tomorrow so wish her a happy birthday on twitter!

Last Friday night was a very weird night. I want you to know I resisted the urge to quote the Katy Perry song ‘Last Friday Night’ there.

It was hard though.

(That’s what she said!)

Swoon. So hot.

(Shut up)

Okay so last Friday (during the day) was mostly uneventful. I was mostly searching for jobs and battling the gloom bug. Around the time the wifey came home (about 4:45 or so) I decided I’d be taking a nap. That really turned out ugly and I slept essentially till 8. Grub and tv time followed.

The time came to get into bed.
(Bow chikka bow wow)

The wifey (as most usually) was asleep pretty much as soon as her head hit the pillow. I had a bit more trouble, which of course made sense. I after all did sleep like 4 hours during the afternoon. The only problem was I was VERY sleepy. I felt like I could sleep for days but sleep never came. I was a lump of wide awakeness on the bed. The kitties joined me but they too quickly went right to sleep.

I was alone.
All alone.
(You say awwww now.)
(Do it.)

I listened to sports radio. I got up and had some water. I tried my left side, I tried my right side. Nada. I got up and watched some bad TV and did a little bit o writing. A very little bit. I got back in bed. I was still just a lump of sleeplessness. Then as I tried to plunder dream land the wife sat up.

Then she got off the bed. She stood there for a split second and then began to chuckle.

Me: Something funny.
Her: Yeah.
(Chuckles.)
Me: Gonna share?

(Now she’s on the move. She went around the bed and stopped near the door. She laughs some more.)

Her: I can’t believe I forgot. So much to do. (Laughs.)
Me: What are you doing?
Her: I forgot about it.

(She goes out of the bedroom and looks back in. Then she slowly closes the door.)

Me (to one of our cats): Should I go get her Rasputin?
Rasputin: ….
Me: Good answer.

(About a minute or so later she came back in.)

Me: What were you doing?
Her: I don’t know…I thought….

Then she was in bed and back to sleep. I however didn’t sleep again until about 9 in the morning. She apparently had a dream that people from work were coming over and she forgot about it. She thought she needed to get busy cleaning because they’d be there soon.


Sleeping with my wife part the VI

February 8, 2011

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And everyone’s favorite little segment is back.

(I know I know you perverts like the TMI sex posts the most!)

(Settle down!)

It’s been a while since I’ve delved into the virtual treasure trove of blog fodder that is “Sleeping with my Wife”. I chose to do so today because it’s quite easy to blog about this than anything else. As of late the stress of not having/continually searching for a new job has bested me. Not only does the job search prevent me from writing as much as I like to but stress has crept in too.

I won’t bore you with the whines and moans. Stress can foul up a lot of things and writing is no different. So I wanted to keep this place flowing and get the feel for blogging/writing consistently. What better way than a short piece on something that generally writes itself?

(Laziness FTW)

So there we were sleeping as a happy little family. Rasputin was scrunched up on her pillow and Csonka was curled up in a ball by my feet. I’d slept a little bit and then got up to do some writing. I’d recently returned to the bed and had been dozing when she began to stir.

“Huh?” She said.

Then she got up and mumbled something as she swung her feet off the bed. She made her way slowly around the front of the bed and stopped.

“Meow” Csonka warned. A few shuffled steps later and she was next to me on my side of the bed. She stopped.

“Meow.” Csonka said a bit louder.

I shifted as the wifey bent over. Great she’s going to Kung Fu me again! Nope she felt around the small drawer next to the bed. She felt the side of the bed.

“Where?” She searched lower. “Where is it?”

“What are you looking for?”

“Oh no. Oh no.” She looked some more.

“It’s okay come back in bed honey.”

“Oh no.”

“Come on back to bed.” I rubbed her leg.

She quietly got back in bed. I got up and turned the light on and asked her what she was looking for. She said she didn’t know. I kissed her head and we went back to sleep.


Sleeping with my wife # 3: Things get poopy

December 22, 2010

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Today we return to that familiar pool of ideas. Yep that’s right my wife.
(Congrats you read my crudely made banner for it.)

I’ll warn you now like I warned my wife a long time ago: This will be a short one.

I’m just joking. Okay? I am huge. I mean HUGE. Jimi be packing some serious heat here. King Kong ain’t got shit on me!

(Woo Training Day reference!)

On a side note (I know when has this been anything but a side note?): I just realized the likelihood that the only people who will be reading the jokes about my general are my mom and my sister. Great. Fun times and all but shall we move on? This post will be a shorty.

Like a lot of these instances I stayed up later than she did. She went to bed around midnight. I stayed up taking care of some cleaning up. Also I hoped to get some good writing done before my sister was here for the weekend. So I was up pretty late. I think I ended up getting bed about 3am or so. I was as quiet as I could be and it seemed to work. I managed to get into bed without her shifting or waking up even a little bit.

(Hooray!)

Half an hour later I was still awake when she of course sat up. I looked over at her and she was just sort of sitting up on her knees. She wasn’t moving but appeared to be thinking something over. I was about to tell her to go back to bed when she said:

“Poopy.”

It was said with a sort of disappointed tone. Then there was silence. I waited. The radiator whizzed and then finally I rubbed her leg.

“Lay back down honey.” I rubbed her leg again and opened up the covers for her. She quietly got under them and went back to sleep. We never figured out (really) what the disappointed poopy was about.

Good times.


Sleeping with my wife: Crouching Tiger

November 23, 2010

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That’s right kiddies the ever popular Sleeping with my wife segment is back. Let’s just jump right into it.

It was a Sunday night or actually it was a Monday morning when I crept into bed. I stayed up at first with a good purpose: work on some writing. It quickly morphed into a zombie-esque staring at the computer screen. There was for some reason a very loud party going on. Yes a loud party on a Sunday night that went on until a bit after 4am. I know this because I was up for it all. Now the fact that I was up had nothing to do with the party but it was still pretty obnoxious and clearly (in part at least) what lead to this story. I managed to get into bed without waking the wife up. As I tried to fall asleep the noisy party finally seemed to wind down. My eyes didn’t want to stay open but my mind wouldn’t shut down. Eventually though everyone out there quieted down as did my mind. Ah finally sleep was taking over—

“oh ugnh noo.”

And then she was sitting up. No other signs that something was going to happen. In the darkness I could see her sitting up. She whipped her head left, right and up. One more time she surveyed things and then she went all Chuck Norris.

(No luckily there was no karate chopping jimi.)

She did some sort of ninja roll off the bed like she was Chuck Norris avoiding bullets. She jumped off the bed ready to return fire and just sort of crouched there. She sort of hid there looking up.

“There was a fire” she said still crouching.

“What the hell?”

“There was a light on there. Up there it was…” and that was all I could really understand.

“What?” Moving closer to here but you know not close enough for a fist to the face. “Okay come on back to bed.”

“On the ceiling. Damn assholes….” Again I lost most of what was said but it essentially equaled “Those damn kids! Get off my lawn.” She crawled back into bed and after mumbling something fell back asleep. The next day she explained that there was apparently some sort of giant arrow of fire coming down at her head.

Yeah. That’s who I sleep next to every night.


TMI Thursday: Brownaconda Attacks

November 18, 2010

I’m weird. This is something the wife tells me all the time. People’s eyes tell me this all the time too, but my doctor said I should stop saying stuff about talking eyes.

(I’ll be here all week.)

Oh look the parenthesis are back. I don’t know why that started. I don’t know when either so don’t expect an answer or a link.

(Mostly too lazy)
(Shut up)

Whatever. You stopped reading after the title I’m sure. Now I’ve developed a fun (depending on who you ask) habit of naming my pooping ventures. Sometimes I announce the names to my wife as I head into the bathroom. Sometimes it doesn’t get a name until after the fact. This is usually based on amount, size, difficulty and or color. Oh and generally (read always) these excursions are named for some movie. For example:

Off to film The Hunt for the Brown October.
I just got done shooting Pooptanic.
Just got off the set of Brownaconda.
Indiana Jones and the temple of Poo.

The best instance had to have happened in Florida. After filming I come into the bedroom where kat and Pelvic Joann are and say:

Me (very seriously): “Have you seen Alec Baldwin?”
(Now after some initial ignoring I finally get a response)
Me: Yeah just finished shooting the sequel to Hunt for the Red October…Hunt for the Brown October.

I don’t do this every single time and I try to mix it up and not use the same one. Carissa—which if you aren’t reading here you should be—has convinced me to create a list. I am and so thank her for that disgusting list when it happens.

Anypooping back to the tmi. This happened late at night (like 2am) so there was no announcing of a shooting schedule. The wife was sweetly tucked away dreaming of sugar plum or murders. More likely she was dreaming of murders and kidnappers but that’s another story. Check one out here. So I went to the bathroom without being able to say some witty movie name.

(Poor jimi)

I’ll spare you the details of the actual event. I will say that there was quite a lot of it in the bowl afterwards. Now above the toilet on a rack sit her collection of duckies. You know the little rubber duckies? They have different versions. You know like punk rock duck, bad girl duck, Hitler duck,devil duck, irish duck, Jean Bonet Ramsey duck.

(Horrible jokes jimi)

So they’re up there. I finish my business and wipe and all that. As I finish I happen to put my hand up there. I knock poor Chicago duckie off balance and he falls. I like Spider-Man grab out for it. I catch it but the Green Goblin comes along and distracts me and Chicago duckie falls out of my hand. I almost catch it again but instead as it falls out into the air leaps the fabled Brownaconda and snags it into his jaws.
Sorta like this:

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Yes we apparently pee and poop into a misshapen bucket. We classy like that. It was horrible how angry it sounded as it grabbed poor poor Chicago duck. It fell pretty much directly into the poop and sunk in too.

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So I don’t know if it was because it was late, I was sleepy or the trauma of the brownaconda attack but I without hesitation reached right into the misshapen bucket the toilet. You know brownaconda and all. I grabbed Chicago duckie (sunk in a bit more as I did) and it I swear made a sort of plop-pop sounds as it pulled free. I managed to not get anything on my hand. I’m still not sure how because there was a ton in the bowl and poor Chicago duckie was covered in it. I tossed it into the shower and turned it on. After it was all gone I dried the poor fellow off and replaced him. I thought about not telling her about it but I did first thing the next morning. For 2 reasons I knew I’d use it on here and I wanted to gross her out. So I told her about the spin off to Anaconda.

Brownaconda: Dead Duck

I of course embellished some of the details of the story for her. I may or may not have said something about
pieces of food sticking to her duckie.
You’re welcome.


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