Why I’m glad my husband isn’t a drug dealer


This past spring, Gerald and I had a “Breaking Bad” (Br Ba) watching marathon.  As other Br Ba fans know, once this show gets its claws into you, there’s just no turning back.  If you haven’t watched this series yet (yet because it’s simply a requirement and one day you shall, oh you shall), don’t worry, I will not give any plotline or stories away.  I can’t stand to know anything about a show, movie, or book before I start watching/reading.  And I have to start watching/reading from the very beginning or it’s just over!  So I don’t want to be responsible for rocking any of my gazillions of blog readers’ (right??) worlds in regards to any Br Ba spoilers.

That being said, after watching 47 hours and 32 minutes of “Breaking Bad” together, I learned why I would not want Gerald to get involved with drugs and/or drug dealing/trafficking.  Okay, first you have your obvious reasons; I’m pretty sure I don’t need to go into these — it’s illegal, it’s dangerous, he’d always be gone, yada, yada, yada, etc. etc. etc.  No, I’m talking about how Gerald was so quick to want rid of any character who posed even the slightest threat to the drug operation.  And when I say, “rid,” I’m talking about death.  And when I say “death,” death on this show is… oh sorry, I don’t want to say too much here.  I’ll just say death on Br Ba is usually not very nice.

Can you see where this is headed?  Ya see, I realized if Gerald were to become involved in the wild game of illegal drug distribution, he would end up killing everybody!  At some point, any involved person may become a potential threat to the drug empire, someone may talk.  And you just know I would be the first to go — “Oh the wife is nagging about me too much to her family and friends, it’s just a matter of time before she spills the beans about my whole meth making gig.”  I mean, can you just see it?

I told Gerald there would be no one left if he was in charge (of the show or of a real drug operation).  I argued there has to be a supporting cast (on the show and in a real drug operation), even if there’s a chance of someone blowing the lid off the whole deal.  Hello??  You can’t manage a massive drug empire solo!

I don’t know if Gerald took my points to heart, but here’s hoping he doesn’t become a bad-ass drug dealer so I never have to find out.  Hmm… maybe I should be a little less naggy (just in case).



To divorce or not to divorce, that is the question


No, nobody panic.  Gerald’s and my divorce talk is just fantasy.  Allow me to explain.  So Gerald and I figure that being divorced wouldn’t be such a bad deal.  All the divorced couples we know get a kid-free weekend every other weekend.  Hey, where do we sign up??  We fantasize about renting an apartment where we take turns in its occupancy.  I could get some quiet R&R time and try out some new mixed drink recipes in peace.  Gerald could invite his BFFs over to watch boxing or he could start the poker club he’s always envisioned.  I’m making up the whole poker club dream, just call it blog fluff, but I’m pretty sure it’s something he would like to do; it just seems like a guy kind of thing to do.  We could still go on family outings (if we really wanted to).  Why not?  Gerald and I could still have date night; the kids are getting old enough to make do on their own for extended periods.  This is sounding pretty sweet!  We’d probably all be happier people.  Who knew divorce could be so good for our family?!?  Oh sure, then I brought up how great it would be for me to get monthly child support.  Gerald balked at the idea.  Umm… why wouldn’t I get child support, Gerald?  We have two kids together, and if we’re gonna get divorced, I may as well get all I can out of the deal, right?  Well, he refuses to budge on the child support issue so now I’ve totally lost interest in the divorce idea.  The divorce is OFF, Gerald!


The double standard


double standard

I’ve had to explain to Gerald over and over again that yes, there is a double standard when it comes to what women can get away with (and men can’t).  Yes, I may bug the hell out of you, but no, you may not bug the hell out of me.  Yes, I may finish all the orange chocolate your parents brought back just for you from their Scotland trip even though I don’t really like orange chocolate.  Yes, I may take one bite out of every chocolate in a box of chocolates to find one I like and then leave the ones I find yucky for you.  Yes, I may leave whatever junk of mine around the house, but no, you are not allowed to leave dirty clothes, dirty dishes, shoes, etc. laying around.  Yes, I am allowed to be loud and obnoxious while you are napping (it’s funny when I do it), but no, you are not allowed to disturb me when I am trying to sleep (it’s not funny when you do it to me).  If I break something in the house, or even if I mess something up on the car, that’s okay.  But if you break something, you know you will never hear the end of it.  If I am suffering from a self-induced illness/hangover, I am to receive the sympathy and pity I am seeking.  If you are suffering the same fate, you will receive lights on, window shades fully open, covers off, and blackmail camera flashes.

Now what’s so hard to understand about that?


A goodbye ode to summer

My kids are back to school in a mere number of days and… I’m not ready!  Over the years, when I’ve been asked to answer one of those get-to-know-you surveys, I never really had a particular favored season (the old “What is your favorite time of year?” question).  I always figured it should be Christmas, because of the meaning of the season and time spent with family, but after my children started school, and I’m talking after they got past the cute kindergarten and 1st grade years, with like maybe five minutes of homework tops, I have realized my favorite time of year is definitely summer.

Ah summer, the carefree days of summer.  Light traffic, longer days, bike rides, swimming, watermelon, yummy berries, microwaved hot-dogs (who wants to stand near that hot grill??), no homework<–this one is huge.  Kids can stay up later, we have many no-stress days.  And every year since summertime has become my ultimate favorite, it goes by so fast.  One minute I’m packing for a family trip, only to shop for back-to-school the next.

So a goodbye ode to summer is in order —

Goodbye, summer
You’ve been great
You allow the boys to stay up real late

Goodbye, summer
Our time went so fast
The memories made are now memories past

Goodbye, summer
Hot and humid though you may be
You’re a true blessing to my family and me

Goodbye, summer
Same time next year?
We look forward to it with much cheer

A poet, I am not (buy hey, at least it rhymes!).

Happy back to school, dear friends! Have a blessed school year!


My embarrassing moments list

Unlike my recent My embarrassing bucket list blog entry, this entry is about embarrassing events that have happened to me in the past.  (And here’s hoping I will never have to re-experience them in the future!)

Not knowing what the little “occupied” slider handle was for in a plane restroom — Found out real quick when a handful of Japanese business men opened the door on my 12 year old self sitting on the tiny little toilet seat in the tiny little bathroom.  They laughed hysterically and I just wanted to disappear (but not really down that tiny little hole).  I was so humiliated, I didn’t tell anyone about this incident for years.  I still don’t like to talk about it.  At least now I know how the whole vacant/occupied lock thing works (or I’d never make it at Buc-cees!).

Undies on display on university campus — It was the early nineties, and I was wearing one of those babydoll skort dresses (yeah, I know, right?), and thankfully I was wearing tights (and, unlike certain young women celebrities of today, underwear), but I don’t know how far I had gone, or how many students/faculty I had flashed, before a girl ran up to me to tell me that I was (underwear) mooning the whole campus (because she said she would want someone to tell her.  Darn straight!).  The motion of me hiking up my backpack over my shoulder had caused my wide and breezy skort shorts to be hiked up as well, exposing the entire right side of my backside.  I remember my outfit was a deep purple color.  I’m pretty sure my face matched the purple as I pulled my skort short leg back over my rear.

Kind of like this dress-looking thing, only solid purple (and black tights). Note this is not me; it’s a picture I found on a “babydoll skort dress” Google search.

I’m a big proponent of a list having at least three items, but I cannot think of another embarrassing moment (about me, that I’m willing to share).  I even asked Gerald if he could think of something for me or even for him.  We came up with nada (publishable) and I discovered my husband doesn’t embarrass easily.  I mean, at all.  He may get embarrassed for the other person, but oh no, he’s not phased at all.  What does this mean, I wonder?  I’ll have to explore that in a separate blog entry.

Anyway, here’s to embarrassment-free days for all my gazillions of blog readers (right??).  And feel free to share your totally embarrassing moment with the world, or at least with my gazillions of blog readers (right??), in the Comments.


Throwback Thursday quotes

I’ve heard people reference “Throwback Thursday” (on Thursdays, no doubt).  So in honor of this so-called “Throwback Thursday” Day, I thought I’d blog about some of my “famous” quotes from my former place of employment.  These quotes were so outstanding, they made the group’s whiteboard. <–<sniff> I’m so proud.

I’ll go to Fuddruckers as long as we can sit close to the cheese.  <–I don’t know; it just came out.  That’s what happens when you forget to turn the filter ON.  I was a pretty big Fuddruckers fan and I always thought, and still do, how silly it was to order (and pay for!) cheese on your burger.  Hello?  Free hot, melted cheese in the middle of the condiments/veggies section!  All-you-can-eat melted cheese, or cheese-like cheese-whiz cheesy substitute?!?  How can anyone pass up on that deal?  Well, as the years have passed, I am now one of those silly people who pass on the free “cheese.”  It’s called lactose intolerance.  Touche.

Can you imagine me with no clothes?  <–I had a good excuse for a weak filter in this instance as there was a potential emergency.  I got all the way to work and had HOT IRON STILL PLUGGED IN AND TURNED ON! flash across my brain.  I was a solo apartment dweller, so there was no one to ask to check to make sure I turned it off.  I was making a beeline back to my car and ran into my supervisor and he was all like, “Where are you going?”  And I was all like, “I think I left my iron on!”  Thoughts of a disastrous apartment fire in my head, I added, “Can you imagine me with no clothes??”  I realized as soon as it came out of my mouth how inappropriate it sounded, but I couldn’t take it back.  And the quote ended up on the whiteboard.  For a week.  Oh, and the iron was off and unplugged.

Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth.  <–This one did not make the board, but it could have if the same (awesome) whiteboard writing co-workers had still been around!  That and we no longer had a centrally located whiteboard anymore; many resorted to using dry-erase markers on the windows.  A window placement just wouldn’t have been as prestigious as the whiteboard anyway!  I have a knack for misquoting common sayings/expressions and this was one of them.  I believe my faux pas is totally understandable though – “look a gift horse…” doesn’t make any sense either.  I found this explanation, but it was kind of long (hmm… kind of like some of my blog entries?) and so I didn’t bother to read the whole thing.

Happy Thursday, everyone!  <and nanoo nanoo>


Navigation Lady

This past weekend, I took my older son to visit family, just the two of us navigating roads I rarely travel.  Right there is a recipe for disaster, but hey, the car will tell me where to go, right??  Or is it left?  We’ve only had the new vehicle for about three months now and I’m still trying to understand the quirkiness of the navigation system.

“The freeway is on the right.”

Okay, well good for you, Navigation Lady.  Now, am I exiting to the right or are you just informing me that the freeway is on the right?

I found out twice on the way there that did actually mean I was supposed to exit (at least for this trip anyway).  I’m glad to report that we did make it to our destination (on the right).

Now on the way back —

“Exit 299 is on the right.”

There is no Exit 299, Navigation Lady.  Lots and lots of construction so perhaps Exit 299 has been temporarily relocated/detoured/?  Now what??

“Next right.”

Okay, whatever you say.  We ended up in the heart of the little town of Temple, Texas.  Navigation Lady was leading me back to a highway I was supposed to get on upon exiting Exit 299.  But like I tried to tell Navigation Lady, there is no Exit 299.  Oh, Navigation Lady, why do you play such games with me??

I’m glad to report that we finally made it to our home destination (on the left).  I must say it did make for an interesting trip, countryside and little picturesque towns never seen before.  Maybe I should thank Navigation Lady.

Thank you, Navigation Lady!

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your command.  Try again.”




My embarrassing bucket list

Oh no, I’m not going to list things that would be an embarrassment to me, this is a “to do” list of all the embarrassing things I want to accomplishment for the sole benefit of my boys!

**All items listed must be done in front of, or at least within earshot, of my children’s friends**

  1. Speak long and loud about the importance of clean underwear.
  2. Give a “stranger danger” pop quiz while in transit.
  3. Turn up the country music and sing like there’s no tomorrow.  <–car, house, in public, it doesn’t matter where
  4. Loudly encourage them not to eat so much, reminding them about the explosive diarrhea they had the last time they ate like that.
  5. Dress in 80’s style sweatpants, with banana clip hairdo. <–Oh how I miss banana clips!  Not too long ago, a friend and I actually talked about trying to push for a banana clip comeback.
  6. Talk as if I know who all the latest kid-favorite celebrities are.  Make up names and act shocked that they’ve never heard of Bananarama. <–Oh wait, that really was an 80’s band.  I like bananas.  Banana clip, Bananarama…  I am kind of hungry.
  7. Kiss their dad and smack his ass, laughing, “Go grab me a beer, sugar lips!”
  8. Stand in front of the TV so nobody can see it. <–we still have one of the “old fashioned” big screens that is heavy and sits on the floor!  How embarrassing!  Maybe “Have a heavy big screen tv” should be it’s own embarrassing bucket list item.
  9. Go in their room, not saying anything, and sit on the bed to hear the latest kid gossip (and act interested).  <–I’ve done this sort of thing before, it’s funny how they all stop talking at once and look at you in uncomfortable silence.  Mission accomplished.  Yes!!
  10. Address them by their special pet name / nickname. <–I do this strictly out of habit; that’s just the name I use all the time, I don’t even think about it.  But the uncomfortable squirm when I do it in front of their friends?  Priceless!

So I guess it’s not a 100% ‘bucket’ bucket list as I’ve already done some of these (definitely 1, sort of 2, definitely 10), but I suppose having the list will ensure I remember to do everything well into the future.


Long live the banana clip!

If your marriage can survive these two things, you’re solid

1) If you are able to survive a move with your spouse, then this is good, it’s good!  It does not matter how big or small the move is; you could be moving a chair to a different spot (IN THE SAME ROOM); this act can prove bru-tal.  A few weeks after Gerald and I were married, we chose a Friday night to pack up what was left in my apartment.  Gerald, being a man and all, figured we’d be out of there in an hour, tops.  He kept his short time estimate to himself, by the way.  It was mainly the kitchen we had to pack, so how much stuff could Karen possibly cram into her tiny apartment kitchen?  You sooo know that’s what he was thinking.  Well, after the 3rd hour of packing and still pulling out cooking utensils and gadgets from nooks and crannies one wouldn’t even know existed, I believe he discovered that his new wife could pack A LOT of shit into a tiny space.  We were finding things I didn’t even remember I had.  And no, no way — You are not throwing out any of my plastic food storage containers!  I don’t care how many keep falling out of the cabinet and that I’m only one person with enough Tupperware containers to handle the leftovers for a family of ten!  That reminds me, I really need some new Tupperware…  Anyway, this simple move resulted in our first real big fight as man and wife.  And since we now lived in the same apartment, we could no longer go to our separate corners (apartments) like we would do after having an argument (prior to our getting hitched).  I believe Gerald and I both knew going in, that marriage takes work; I just don’t think we realized we would be tested so soon!  But we did make it through the experience, and I think we even came out a little stronger.  This first move was able to give us preparation for when we moved from our newlywed one-bedroom to a two-bedroom in the same complex, and then our next bigger step of moving into a house.  All of these moving experiences had their misery, and sometimes even the smallest rearranging of something in the house still invokes stress, but we get through it.

2) If you are able to survive the first six months of your first-born’s life, then this is good, it’s good!  Our first kid?  Now that was hard.  He was so colicky and fussy and up during the night literally every two hours, for–The First. Six. Months.  Gerald and I were exhausted and totally sleep deprived.  We would fight about whose turn it was to get up with the baby because we were both so tired.  We would find ourselves fighting during daylight hours as well.  We were short-fused and would blow over the other’s littlest infractions.  It was rough.  That proved to be a very trying time for us as a couple.  Gerald likes to tell our first-born that his little brother may have come along sooner if the first go-round hadn’t been such a rough period!  But like most (traumatic?) events in life, what you can survive will just make you that much stronger.

Blog entry wrap up — My blog “to do” list:

  • Write something (?) for my About Me page
  • Figure out how to do a blog hits counter (to confirm my gazillions of blog readers (right??))
  • Find the best pic of myself to put on my blog (or at least a catchy image)
  • Figure out how to put a pic or image on my blog
  • Create a catchy closing line or phrase to end every blog. I’m thinking, something like, “COL! –kd” You know, COL = Crank Out Loud? And then my initials? Get it? Who’s with me? Any other suggestions?
  • Invite my gazillions of blog readers (right??) to leave comments and to share their experiences (but don’t be too sensitive to any critical comments)


My second blog entry ever

My first blog entry ever was met with much enthusiasm by my gazillions of blog readers (right??) so the pressure is ON for the second blog entry to be just as good, or even better! <gulp>  I’ve actually been drafting several blog entries behind the scenes, previous to my <sound the trumpets> official blog launching, and I’m trying to determine which of these to post first.  And then I’ve had new ideas bouncing around in my head since the blog launching.  So I don’t know if I want to publish my already-in-the-can THANK YOU, CLEANING LADIES, or a new blog idea titled, I REALIZE THE ONLY EMBARRASSING STORIES I CAN EVER POST ON MY BLOG CAN ONLY BE ABOUT ME OR THE DOG UNLESS I WANT TO FACE SOME SORT OF UNCOMFORTABLE SOCIAL SHUNNING OR A POTENTIAL LAWSUIT.  Hmm… I think I just wrote the whole blog entry for the second one there.  The title itself sort of gives it all away, no?  So without further ado, I give you, huh hum, THANK YOU, CLEANING LADIES —

We have our house cleaned every other week, and although I know I should be grateful that I do get every-other-week relief from my perpetually cluttered/dirty/messy house, I find myself complaining about how the ladies leave some areas or things in the house. For instance, thankfully I noticed the showerhead was facing up towards the ceiling before turning on the shower this morning. Thank you, cleaning ladies. And I have to go around the whole house–okay, it doesn’t really take that long to go around my house, but still–and flip the window blinds back the other way, the way everybody knows they’re supposed to go!  Thank you, cleaning ladies.  One day I spent 40 minutes looking for the small vacuum attachment, only to discover they had put it inside the Halloween pumpkin bucket at the top of the closet.  Thank you, cleaning ladies.  This last visit, I noticed one of our sofa cushions was zipper-side out; oh, and it still is. <sigh>  Thank you, cleaning ladies.  These are all small infractions, I know, and I should be thankful we actually have a cleaning service (we’ve kept for almost a year now–that’s gotta be a record!), but I suppose I am set in my ways of cleaning.  That and I always have this nagging guilt that I should be the super woman-mom that is able to do it all, balance it all — work, home, family, life.  I should be able to work full-time, cook healthy meals for my family, stay physically fit, oh, and keep a clean and orderly house, all without flipping out from the stress.  Right?  Right, that’s gonna happen.  But at least having the cleaning service does prevent that little bit of extra stress that could totally send me over the edge. So for that, I have to say, and Gerald probably has to say, seeing as his wife hasn’t gone completely crazy (at least not yet), “Thank you, cleaning ladies!”

Hmm… maybe I should have published my still-has-yet-to-be-written THE ACCIDENTAL PORN SURFER entry to spice things up a bit. Yeah, that got your attention, right?! Such a title, pretty much any title with the word “porn” in it, will pique the interest. And no perverted pun intended there. And if you don’t know what potential pun I’m referencing then don’t worry about it, you’re a much nicer person than I. But really, the “porn” story is simply about a misunderstanding, oh, and porn, but the accidental viewing of porn.  Well, now maybe I’m not leaving much to actually blog about for that one.  But no worries, I’m sure all will be exposed in due time.  Again, no perverted porn pun intended.  Now I’m wondering if I need to add something about being a pervert on my yet-to-be-crafted About Me page, all this talk about porn and perversion.  Okay now, where was I?  Obviously, I do need to include something about my tendency to ramble.  Hmm…

And then this looks like an appropriate moment to wrap up my second blog entry ever! Thanks bunches to whomever happens to still be reading!

And call out to SW — I think the comment filtering tool thingee may have mistaken your comment as SPAM. I saw some message about how it “already detected 1 SPAM comment.” ?? I still have lots to figure out regarding this thing called “blogging,” obviously, huh hum..