the one where chivalry is left for dead

May 2, 2012

Another glimpse into the ride that is jimi and kat.

I’ll set the scene. We’ve just pulled into a Walgreens parking lot. I get out but the lovely wife doesn’t. I think she may have been sending a text. I decide since I’m out I’ll be a gentleman and walk around to open her door for her.

(I open her door and out falls her bag.)

Wifey: Jerk!

Me: Jerk? I open your door to be a gentleman and I’m a jerk?

Wifey: Well it was rude.

Me: Being a gentleman is rude?

Wifey: Yes.

Love is grand.

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TMI Thursday: Cat pee edition

December 22, 2011

A Christmas themed TMI Thursday! Okay not really but it does involve my lovely wife. If you’re in the Cleveland area you should check out Saint at the Cedar Lee theatre Friday night. A Dutch A horror film where good ole St. Nicholas kidnaps and murders children when there is a full moon on December 5. This trailer is horribly dubbed but the movie will not be. It looks like it will be an amazing good time. See you there!

Time for the TMI! This happened just last week to my wife. You may know that we have to kitties. They are basically good lovable kitties at that. They have been known to pee on clothes but really only when we haven’t cleaned their litter box fast enough. This pretty much makes it our fault not theirs. If it hasn’t been cleaned and some piece of clothing gets left on the floor BAM pee time! Csonka (the youngest) is generally the one who does it and usually on the wifey’s clothing. There are 3 possible reasons for it:

1. She doesn’t like her as much as she does me.
2. The wife leaves her clothes everywhere
3. She knows the wife is usually the one who does the litter box cleaning.

Every now and again clothes get peed on. The week before Christmas can be hectic and it may have slipped our minds. As we got up in the morning (or got ready for bed—I don’t remember—and the wife isn’t picking up her phone.) we found out that one of the cats peed again. How did we find out you ask?

(Impatient!)

The wife pulled on her pair of sweat pants. As she got them completely on she felt something wet. You know in the crotch area. “Eww these are wet” She said. Then (I think) it dawned on her where the pants had been. “OH MY GOD I hope this isn’t cat pee” she moaned as she was pulling them off.

It was.
And it was perfectly placed in the crotch.

There you go a short but ammonia sweet TMI Thursday post for ya.


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.


The one with child locks

May 10, 2011

Hey there interwebbers! I’ve been a bit busy with gorging myself on many a restaurant and visiting with family. So I’ve been a little preoccupied. Fear not I’ve been soaking up adventures to post.

(Yeah right.)

As of late the wifebot has been a bit trigger happy on the child locks. This really does nothing when it comes to the door—it locks the doors but the front passenger will still open. Now the windows stay locked no matter what seat you are in.

So the lovely wife out of fear the trouble I would cause with an open window employs the child lock liberally. I apparently have a habit of yelling “weird” things at people as we pass them by. It’ll go something sort of like this:

Generic driving trip.

(I see someone or something that clicks something in my head.)

Me (to the car): Funny or weird comment.
(I turn toward the window and prepare to open it.)

Kat: No!
(She hits child lock.)

Me: I’m not a child!

Sometimes I throw in “You can’t censor me!”

Lately though she is taking no chances. It just has to seem like I may be saying something and bam child locks! She’s taken to saying “you’ve lost your window privileges.” And then “You have to earn them back.” It may be because I do it so much or a little bit to do with the weather is just turning nice enough to have the window down.

The other day she locked it for no real reason and then as we left wherever we went she unlocked it and said “go ahead enjoy it while it lasts.” I yelled something pretty much at everyone we passed. I said odd but not mean stuff.

Or for instance:

We passed by a valet parking guy (working for MVP) and I said to him: “You sir are my MVP”

Or as we came upon a dude pushing a stroller: “That is some awesome stroller pushing.”

See? Supportive gestures on my part. As we came up Little Italy there was (probably) a family outside. They were just chilling and talking and etc. The adult hugged the young girl and I called out:

“Don’t kill her!”

And the wifebot pushed the window up and said I lost all window privileges. I still say I was just doing my civic duty. Perhaps he thought it would be okay to kill her but now knows it’s wrong? You never know. Apparently this good deed is frowned upon.

Nice job reading guys!


The one with tragedy

March 7, 2011

The one with tragedy

This weekend was a full one. It was the weekend of the wifey’s Absinthe and champagne party. It was planned a while ago but like most things these days really came upon me out of nowhere. It was of course to celebrate her 30th birthday, and you know drink champagne and absinthe.

It was also marking my first attempt at making chocolate covered beer flavored marshmallows. I found the recipe thanks to Lead Paint Cookbook and knew I had to try it. The Champagne and absinthe party seemed like the best excuse to try. So of course I went ahead with it. I decided to use Guinness as the beer. It was an easy choice. I love Guinness, its flavor is bold and well I had some.

(Yeah I’m cheap I know)
(Also unemployed you jerk faces!)
(Now that was unpleasant. I accept your apology.)

Now it just came time to make it. I was worried because the whole baking thing isn’t really my forte. So I bugged my lovely wife a lot but I did a majority of the work.

Where is the tragedy you ask?

(You sick sons of bishes!)

It was not in the making of the beer flavored marshmallows. No they turned out pretty yummy. I’ll post about their yummy gooeyness in some other post. Why? Because I’m in charge here! Also this is about tragedy not triumph.

Later on as the party neared I was helping with finishing things up. I had just cleaned up the kitchen and washing the dishes. As I put one of the bowls away it slipped out of my hand. I almost caught it but managed to just send it higher up and then of course back down. It bounced on the sink’s edge (didn’t break) and barreled into our good great friend General Pressem. Gen. Pressem was the name of our French Press.

The bowl blindsided him as he sat drying. He never stood a chance. He flew off the counter and down to his explosive demise. He shattered and shattered. I watched in horror unable to save my friend. Pieces of his body went everywhere—including my hair.

We have some great memories of our time with him. He was always smiling and such a jokester!

He got along so well with our kitties:

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Oh man did he party it up in the Keys:

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He could roll a 300 blindfolded:

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R.I.P General Pressem


The one where I kill a man

December 7, 2010

It happened in the Alcazar. We were one of the first to arrive. Melvin sat on a couch and rose to greet us. I lied and said it was nice to meet him. His handshake wasn’t firm, but then neither was mine. He broke into the usual chit chat with Kat. I slid out of my coat and dropped it on a green chair. I reached out and shook the chair. It wasn’t something I normally did. I couldn’t tell you why I did it either. I moved it. I looked. I saw. My mind slipped down a rung.

He slumped in the chair the weight of the world ready to push down on his shoulders. As he sat his gray suit bulging at his stomach more than he remembered. With a sigh he pulled his hat off and hoped this night would end soon. The door barely made a sound but he heard it open nonetheless. The hat fell to the floor a distant memory. He spun out of his chair producing a small pistol as he did. Pop. Pop. He did all this without thinking. The man hardly out of the door way crumpled. Slowly he walked over. Carefully he toed the man’s gun away. He was dead. He knew this but checked anyway. It was time to go. Gunshots aren’t the sort of things you stick around after but he needed to say it. He needed to send this man off properly and with the reverence he deserved. Straightening up he glanced out the door and then he spoke in a hushed tone.

“Do you need anything young man?” he said in a shaky old lady voice.

Son of a bitch.

I looked up and sure enough I had wandered a little too close to the help desk. There was an older woman waiting for my answer. There was a younger man (which younger really wasn’t too hard to be) in the back office and he was staring at me. I matched their looks and then smiled. I lifted my notebook up allowing it once again to be my shield.

“Oh no I’m just looking and writing. I’m just waiting for the rest of the group.”

I fixed my ninja turtle stocking cap. Raphael met them head on. They’d be no match and I held back a laugh. I watched as he jumped over the desk and planted her with a kick to the stomach and a sai to the chest. Before the young guy had a chance to move he was downed with a sai tossed into his forehead.

I moved on. The lobby was warm and well lit. A couple of old ladies sat on one of the vintage looking couches. The décor was a mixture of wood pieces and thrift store chairs. The walls were a white faded brick. I circled the lobby. I walked past the couches and the bathrooms. I stopped at the rack with brochures with things to do in and around town. I searched for any sign of the man from earlier. I would take either one of the men—dead or alive—but they were gone. I fingered a community paper from last month. I hoped to find a headline that would catch his eye. I shoved the paper in his pocket but his coat was just a ghost like he was.

They were watching me now. Not necessarily with the eyes of hawk’s or any suspicion but more with a confused wonder. I touched the sign that told us all visitors had to check in at the desk. To the left was a table with a pot of water for coffee and some blueberry muffins. I wondered if he was hungry.

No of course not don’t be stupid. I looked to my right and there was an old work desk. Above it there were books and papers, and a puzzle box. On the desk sat a puzzle half made. I crossed the room. There was a pile of the pieces waiting to be used.

Begging almost.

He remembered begging. It was often a part of death. He kneeled next to the dead man who he didn’t know. For a brief instance he thought about looking for his wallet. He wanted to say his name to commit his name to memory, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Softly he closed the eyes of man he just killed. This wasn’t helping. He stood and whispered.

“vaya usted con Dios.”

Then he did the sign of the cross. He checked outside one last time and then picked up his hat. As he crossed the lobby a large black man entered the room. His voice boomed. “What is up everybody? What are all of you doing here?’ There was laughter and once again the man in the gray suit faded.

Unnamed.

However the large black man did have a name. It was Oatman or Michael. Which one depended on where you stood on the first or last name debate. He smiled and greeted everyone personally. The night was ready to begin. We sat down first in the lobby and then headed into another room. We sat around a giant conference table. Mints and water made their rounds. There was laughter. There was seriousness. Discussions were had. Ideas were floated. Everything was chummy. I sat in the background watching. Everyone was relaxed.

The violence that came did so swiftly from left field.

I said something. Nobody heard it. I said it a little louder this time standing up. The eyes of everyone fixed on me as I pushed forward. My target on the other side of the room and I was on him before he could react. I kicked him in his large gut. He toppled over. The rest of the group just watched.

One slap. He cried out.
Another slap. He mumbled and struggled. I kicked him. Hard.
A third slap produced a trickle of blood from his mouth.

He looked around but there was no help to be had. I kicked him some more and with a hand that didn’t feel like my own pulled out a sharp knife. He flailed and begged. His eyes locked with the group’s leader. I looked that way myself. One large black fist rose up and came back down as thumbs down.

I kicked him hard one more time just for the fun of it and then slit his throat in one long quick motion. It slurped and sucked and blood sprayed up. He chocked and fell silent. I pulled back blood on my face and neck. The knife fell from my hand. I was his executioner and I didn’t even know his name.

“Vaya usted con Dios.” I whispered.

Just then a lady came into the conference room. She was slim and aging. Her glasses hung around her neck. She asked something. The group startled and mumbled at her. Oatman asked her for two more minutes.
The play reading was about to start. The actors and playwright quickly scribbled in new additions and well one big cut. The blood of that cut was on my hands. I had spoken up. I spoke honestly and from the point of view of another playwright. The body in the corner was that of the psychiatrist and meant its actor would have 1 paragraph of dialogue at the end of the play. When I say the end of the play I mean it literally. It is on the last page. They are the last words heard.

All in all it was an interesting experience. The reading was well received. I always enjoy seeing the wife do theatre stuff. There isn’t a time where she seems happier than when doing stuff like that. She is never as beautiful as when her passion flows like that.

Danger Will Robinson. Danger! Wow that was sappy huh?

It’s my blog and I can be sappy if I want to. Sappy if I want to. You would be too if it—

I know. I know.

(Shut up)


Sleeping with my wife #2

October 4, 2010

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That’s right kiddies the ever popular* Sleeping with my wife segment is back. I planned on having a fun, cute or hilariously written intro for this but it’s not written yet.** So look for that in the future, when I’m not so lazy.***

You can always click here to read the one with the kung fu punch or we’ll just jump in it.

This happened at about 3:30 in the morning on a night were we actually went to bed about 11:30pm. I woke up to some heavy shifting next to me. I could feel her sitting up and looking around. She laughed. It wasn’t a creepy laugh (you’d think waking up to a laugh at 3 in the morning it would be) but instead almost a sweet one. It was a genuine giggle. It sounded happy. Usually when she talks or reacts in her sleep it’s not a happy thing. It usually involves whimpers. This was a giggle. I turned over to her laughing again and still looking around.

Me: Are you actually awake?
Her: It’s funny.
Me: What is?
Her: He’s funny over there.
Me: I don’t know what that means.

(She laughs again and says something I don’t catch.)

Me: Okay honey go back to sleep.

(She gets back under the covers and scoots towards me.0

Me: You’re not going to punch me again are you?

(She falls immediately back into sleep.)

*There is no actual proof that this segment is even remotely popular.
**I in fact did not plan it at all (but probably should write one)
***Do not hold your breath


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