What I Want for Christmas

According to Jeremy, he can't think of anything to get me for Christmas.  He says he thought of one thing that costs like $15.  So I started thinking about it--what do I want for Christmas.  Then I started thinking about what I don't want for Christmas and about how Jeremy shops.  As you will see, these things are somewhat combined.

The Ghost of Christmas(es) Past

Over the years (okay, so it's taken 14 years, and I'm still working on it), I have discovered that Jeremy absolutely hates to shop.  The first indication of this shopping "phobia" occurred early in our relationship, when he wanted to go get a computer game at a store in the mall.  "Oh, the mall!" I exclaimed.  "I'll go with you."  I think, simply because it was a new relationship, he agreed, all the while trying to figure out how to get out of any sort of "extended" mall experience that I might rope him into.  His solution?  First, we had to drive separately to the mall.  He came up with some feebly valid excuse, so I agreed.  Then, as soon as we were done at the game store, he bailed.  Thus, after 14 years together, that early experience pretty much sums up the amount of time we've spent together in a mall.  I would say it was his last venture in a mall, but there were a couple of very "horrific" holiday shopping ventures after that.

Which brings us to holiday shopping.  There was the year he used a gift card (his own) from Kohl's to buy me all my presents.  That probably was the best shopping year for him ever because he only had to go to one store.  I will give him the benefit, though--it was the Christmas only a few months after we moved to North Carolina, and we were broke.  It was also the only year I ever received clothing items from him, even though I frequently have them on my Christmas list.

There is also the infamous Christmas Eve K-Mart shopping that he will probably never live down.  And yes, it was exactly as it sounds.  He put off doing any Christmas shopping until Christmas Eve at about 4 pm, and, what a surprise, the only store he found open (and barely open) was K-Mart.  He and several other equally frantic spouses whirled through K-Mart throwing items in the cart like those people who win shopping sprees--only Jeremy wasn't quite so selective.  I think the panic fogged his brain, so I have no clue how he made his choices.  That year for Christmas, I got throw pillows, a blanket, and set of white dishes so heavy that the box was falling apart.  Which meant he barely got the box in the house and kinda just wrapped the top of it.  To his credit, we are still using the dishes (which he periodically claims to hate).  And, if we ever want to have a dinner party for 24, I believe we are set.

I won't even go into the "near" jewelry I got one year.  Okay, I will a tiny bit.  I almost got jewelry one year for Christmas.  But the mall phobia struck--and mall phobia is even worse during the overcrowded holiday season.  So, he's in a jewelry store, and one things leads to another, which is overcomplicated in Jeremy's fuzzy, panic stricken mind, and somehow he ends up leaving the store without buying anything, and probably leaving a very confused sales clerk behind.  Jeremy swears that even the thought of entering a mall stresses him out--I now believe him. As do all my unbought Christmas presents.  Maybe this is an untapped torture venue the government should investigate--sending men into crowded malls during the holiday season.  I bet they could get any information they wanted.

You would think online shopping would now be Jeremy's salvation.  It would be, except for when Jeremy buys almost all the gifts on Amazon.com and forgets to change the shipping address after we'd moved.  So yes, the year before last, most of my gifts got sent to North Carolina.  Then they got shipped back to Amazon.  Then Jeremy got credited for his purchases and forgot to reorder them.  I'm still waiting for my Snuggie!!!

I think Jeremy just gave up last year.  Since I needed a new laptop (mine was 5 years old), he just took me to Best Buy and voila.  This year, he's trying really hard, but he seems to be failing miserably.

Jeremy: When are your classes done in the spring?
Me: May
Jeremy (sounding slightly exasperated): I know May, but when in May.
Me: May 13
Jeremy: Oh.  When do they start for the summer?
Me: May 17
Jeremy: Oh.  That won't work either.  We can't go to Ocracoke.  I was going to put a downpayment down on a rental as a Christmas present, but we can't fit it in.  And rates jump the last week in May.
Me: But what if I teach online?  We could go that week after graduation.
Jeremy: They don't have internet access on Ocracoke.
Me: But there's that one place you can go.
Jeremy: Do you really want to have to go someplace and pay to work everyday on your vacation?
Me: Oh.  But I could do it, or what about. . .
Jeremy: It was supposed to be a surprise, so now it's just moot.

Okay, so moot might have been my word, but now Jeremy is back to square one.  Which means I have been trying to think of things I want for Christmas.  And somehow, instead of thinking of things I do want for Christmas, I keep thinking of things I don't want.

Things Lisa Does Not Want for Christmas
 
Just Plain Bad Ideas
Anything that I want for the house.  I only want fun presents.  Which means, while we could use new sheets, I do not want new sheets.  While a dishwasher would be nice, I do not want a dishwasher.  I would not even want a geothermal heating and cooling system for the house for Christmas.  (Okay, so I might concede on that one.  What a luxury to have real heat and air!  I've forgotten what that's like :P).  I do not want a shower for the new bathroom or bathroom vanities.  I especially do not want the tile for the shower that goes into the new bathroom.  And yes, I realize that some women (although I've yet to come across any) do like to get these things for Christmas, I do not.  They are not fun things.  Practical?  Yes.  Useful?  Yes.  Necessary?  In some cases, yes.  But I much prefer the fun and impractical, and, as is probably obvious from earlier in the blog, I can get a little huffy about certain Christmas presents (and yes, the throw pillows made me a bit huffy, which is also part of the reason Jeremy will never live down what we now refer to as THAT Christmas).

I also do not want a boat, a chicken coop, chickens, a hog, goats, a cow, any sort of garden implements, fishing gear, or any power tools.  I mention this strictly because of the birthday present I got one year.  A Cubs baseball cap.  And yes, I do love the Cubs.  And yes, I would have worn the hat, if I ever wore baseball caps.  Who wore the hat everywhere?  Jeremy.  So, for my birthday, Jeremy was not only cheap, but also bought himself a present.  But I digress--birthdays are a whole other issue.  I simply mention these items just in case Jeremy thought it might be a good idea to buy me something for himself (I'm pretty sure he wouldn't--now :D)
 
Pop Culture Items
Justin Bieber tickets.  I was listening to the radio (well, I was scanning trying to find a decent station) and up comes this commercial for Plato's Closet.  You can enter some contest, and, if you win, you get to pick a stocking.  In the stockings will be discounts for Plato's closet.  But the grand prize, if you get the right stocking, is 2 tickets to a Justin Bieber concert, so "everyone with Bieber fever should enter now!"  I do not understand Justin Bieber.  He looks like he's 12.  He sings songs that sound like they were written by a 12 year-old (and I have only accidentally heard Justin Bieber songs, which pretty much all make me cringe).  He has that messy little hair style that has 20 tons of product in to make it look messy.  Doesn't that defeat the purpose?  How exactly does one decide to go for overstyled messy?  Needless to say, I can do without Justin Bieber tickets.

Twilight--pretty much anything related to this series of books is out.  I tried to watch the movies.  The last one made me wish Bella was a vampire and somebody would stake her so she'd quit whining and moping.  I mean really--what is so entertaining about watching someone whine and mope for roughly 2 hours?  Was I the only one that wished she died?  And don't even get me started on the whole vampires sparkling thing.

The Lady Gaga meat dress.  I'm fairly certain I can do without a dress made of meat.  I don't imagine it's the softest material, nor could I find anywhere to sit without first putting down plastic, and after a few hours, I don't think any amount of deodorant, perfume, or air fresheners would cover the smell.  And, no matter how flattering a meat dress might be to the figure, I'm pretty sure it would not be a compliment to be told you smell like rotting meat.

Any albums by the BeeGees.  Okay, so this might be "retro" pop culture.  I tried to like them.  I really did.  But every time Jeremy pulls them up on Pandora, I want to knock myself unconscious.  Add to that anything by Journey, REO Speedwagon, Foreigner, Kansas. . . (I swear they were all the same band, weren't they?).

Holiday Related Items
Apples and Oranges.  I am not certain how apples and oranges became a holiday gift item, but I will also pass on the fruit.  I know I need to eat more fruit, but the reality is fruit sits around our house until it's soft, squishy and oozing, and then it gets thrown away.  Unless it's made into bad things like caramel apples, peach cobbler, cherry cheesecake. . .  we pretty much just end up with bowls of rotting fruit.  And yes, you can also add the fruitcake to that mix as well.  Does a fruitcake ever age?  Was one batch of fruitcakes made in like 1880, and then those just get passed around each year?  And what is with that jellied fruit stuff in the fruit cake?  How is that fruit?  What is that stuff really?

Candy canes.  I only eat peppermints after a meal so I don't have bad breath.  I cannot remember the last time I actually ate a candy cane, which, in reality, is simply a cane-shaped peppermint.  And let's face the facts.  Real candy is chocolate.  (Which is why the advent calendar is perfectly fine.  While they are tiny chocolates, they are still chocolates.)

Holiday Lifesaver Multipacks.  The only Lifesavers anyone likes are the fruit flavored ones.  All the other ones are simply telling the person "Happy Holidays.  You have bad breath."  So, you eat the fruit flavored ones, then stick the peppermint and the wintergreen and the spearmint and the mintilicious (they run out of real mint names so start making up their own) and mintastics in your purse, where they end up busting open and sticking to everything.  So then you're stuck pulling everything out of your purse so you can remove all the lint covered lifesavers.


Things Lisa Does Want for Christmas

Now, to help Jeremy out, I will put together the list of things I do want for Christmas.

The Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock coffee mug.  I can't help it.  I love Sheldon on Big Bang Theory and how could you not love a game that overcomplicates an extremely simple game?
Or maybe that's just me.  Jeremy says I overcomplicate everything.  Sometimes he asks me a yes or no question just to see how long it will take me to actually answer it.  Sometimes he never actually gets an answer.  Not because I intentionally don't answer, but because I forget to give an answer.

This is the "Hide a Squirrel" pet toy.  And really, the only reason I want this is because it makes me think of Jeremy's failed squirrel battle.  So far, it's Jeremy 0, Squirrels like 100.  Did a squirrel fall for the trap in the attic?  No.  Do squirrels still get in the house?  Yes.  Is the attic still littered with empty pecan shells?  Yes.  Do the dogs go nuts when they hear a squirrel running in the attic.  No.  They simply stare up at the ceiling and all their little heads swivel back and forth as the squirrel runs back and forth.  Obviously, they know better than Jeremy :P

Miniature donkeys, golf carts, and fainting goats.  I'm still waiting for these items.  Someone still hasn't taken the rather blatant hint from my earlier blog.  Who wouldn't want a miniature donkey under the tree on Christmas morning?  Or a fainting goat?  Oh.  Maybe there wouldn't be a a tree left.  Hmm.

As for the golf cart, I would play golf, if someone didn't insist on making me be so quiet while golfing.  Never mind the fact I suck at golfing and am fairly positive that will never change.  Still, I could drive my golf cart all over . . . umm . . . Abbeville.

Add a chariot to my list also.  But not just any chariot.  Who wants one of those crummy chariots where you have to stand the whole time.  No thank you.  I'll take mine made of solid gold with a very cushy seat.  The chariot also has an added benefit because the next time Jeremy asks me what I would do with miniature donkeys. . .

 

My very own funnel cake stand in the back yard!  Funnel cakes all year round in a spiffy, designer stand that would immensely add to the landscape, and, thus, the property value.  Just imagine, stumbling out the back door in the morning with a cup of coffee and delighting in the fresh aroma of funnel cakes.  Oh, I also need an employee to go with my funnel cake stand. 

A water park.  This would go great with the funnel cake stand.  Our house is very tall.  It would be no problem to attach a slide to the top.  We can even add another slide off the bedroom where Jeremy tore off the rotten deck.  Then, all we'd have to do is open that door and slide right out.

Moving walkways.  I keep saying I need to lose weight.  Treadmills are so passe.  I want one of those moving walkways like they have at airports.  Then, instead of a tiny, boring treadmill stuck in front of the tv, with clothes hanging off it, we can have a treadmill through the whole house.  Add in the escalator, and I will be set.  I can exercise whenever the mood hits me, and all those other days, I can just let the walkway and escalator carry me around the house.  Actually, put in one from the backyard up to the back door too.  That would make getting groceries in the house so much easier.  And, with very little traffic in our house, when I'm really lazy, I could just sit on the thing and roll off when I reach my "concourse."



 I'm sure I could think of a ton more things for Jeremy to get me for Christmas, but I think this list should give him a pretty good start.  I just can't wait until Christmas day, when I step out of the bedroom door--the one that goes outside-- and slide down to the heated pool below, then zip around to the back yard on my walkway (I've decided the walkway should go all the way around the house) where the cheerful funnel cake vendor greets me with a fresh and steaming powdered sugar coated delicacy.  I will then zip back up to the house in my golf cart, climb onto the escalator, which will take me to the back door.  As I open the door I will view the beautiful, half eaten Christmas tree with the miniature donkeys under it.  I will then zip over to it on my walkway, and hop into my awaiting chariot, tell the donkeys to mush (what do you tell donkeys to get them going?) and ride off into the artificial hallway lamplight.

Why I Will Be Picking the Next 2,001 Movies We Watch

Over the years, Jeremy has inflicted many "classic" (and not so classic) sci-fi movies on me.  I say inflicted because, while some may love these movies, I seem to remain, at best, indifferent.  I have to say, even at the beginning of our relationship, when everything was new and fresh--that time when you're trying to impress someone--I couldn't even pretend interest.  I'm just not that good at lying about things I, umm, don't like at all.  At first, I think he showed me these movies, convinced that, at some point, one of them would click, and I would realize just how much I was missing out.  Now, I'm pretty sure he convinces me to watch them for his own torture purposes only. 

This image of Tron I found pretty much sums up what I re- 

 member about the movie--except for the fact that I don't      

remember any people in the movie.  Looks thrilling, right?  

        

 

In the Beginning
There was Tron.  Those of you who know me, probably have frequently heard me complain about Tron over the years.  It remains one of the oddest movie experiences I've ever remembered--or rather not remembered.  It's like my mind was almost wiped after watching this movie--maybe it was a personal mental block to try and hide the pain.  All I seem to remember are little blue and red lasers and grids, tiny spacecraft, and maybe Dennis Quaid (I'm not sure about Dennis Quaid, though.  I might have put him in just to alleviate a little more of the Tron pain).  I remember absolutely nothing about the plot, other than the fact that I hated the movie.  Given my Tron "love," you can imagine my dismay and Jeremy's delight at the discovery of the imminent release of a Tron sequel.  Oh joy.  The anticipation is too much.  Maybe this one will have green and purple lights?  And Johnny Depp?  I could watch anything with Johnny Depp in it.  And I do like green.

Somehow, as a child, I completely missed the entire Star Wars mania--the originals, before they became sequels to the later prequels.  Jeremy was baffled--how in the world had I made it well into my 20s without ever having seen these awe-inspiring sci-fi classics?  This travesty, obviously, had to be remedied at once, after all, these movies had shaped his childhood.  Alas, much to Jeremy's disbelief, as an adult, I could find few redeeming qualities in Star Wars.  Luke was whiny, Leia was kind of naggy, and Han Solo was better as Indiana Jones (which I did see as a child).  Pretty much, the things I actually liked about Star Wars were:

1) Yoda.  Have I mentioned I like green?  On top of that, he talks funny--to say, it is not, true, would not be.  I can't help but not like yoda--I'm an English geek!

and

2) Ewoks.  Do I have a clue which movie they were in?  No.  But look at them.  They're just cute, furry little, well, ewoks.  Do I remember really what they do?  Nope, not at all!

You can imagine Jeremy's great disappointment when I did not share his Star Wars enthusiasm.  Entertaining, maybe slightly.  Much better than Tron, apparently, since I can remember bits and pieces of the plots.  More horrifying yet, to Jeremy, was that fact that I called the movies Cheesy.  Now, I tend to love cheesy.  I am completely in love with the  World's Largest Gummy Bear.  After all, who could not want a 5 pound gummy

bear that is the equivalent of 1400 regular-sized ones?  Let me tell you, I would so have this gummy bear (in green, of course), if it didn't cost, ummm, $30.  But, I'm still very tempted!  I mean, $30 for a 5 pound gummy bear is still a deal!  But anyway, I digress.  I did not find Star Wars good cheesy.  Even the fact that I called Star Wars and all its sequels, prequels, and prepostsequels cheesy, to Jeremy, was sacrilegious.  Thus, yet again, Jeremy failed in his mission.

Just to name a few others, I've endured the entire Alien series, Predator, Species, Alien vs. Predator, and an expansive amount of science fiction that I don't even remember the titles of, which, of course,  means that, at some point, I will be tricked into watching them again.  In fact, I'm pretty sure the only reason I remember anything about Alien is that whole "birth" scene.  I can see why no man with a pregnant wife, and, for that matter, no pregnant woman, should ever watch that movie.  Ewwww.  

This brings us to present day:

2001 Space Odyssey

It's Sunday afternoon.  I'm relaxing, not doing much of anything, when Jeremy strides into the kitchen.

"Come on.  We're watching 2001 Space Odyssey," he commands, trying to leave me no room for argument.

"But I'm not in a movie mood," I reply, thinking especially not for some old science fiction movie.  Unfortuantely, he knows me and knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"We're watching it.  It's a classic."

"But I don't want to," I grumble.

"It's a classic," Jeremy keeps insisting.  It's really the only argument he can use.  Somehow, I feel that if something is a classic it a) must have some redeeming worth, b) must cover some idea that somehow transcends its original time period, and c) probably is something I should see/read/listen to because if it's called a classic, see a and b.  I grumble in my head, wishing I had been doing something important because now I'm stuck.  Suddenly, I would much rather be washing the dishes or working on the laundry, but alas, I've left myself no escape route, and I slowly shuffle off behind Jeremy to the living room, hoping there is some last ditch idea I can come up with before the movie starts.  No such luck.

I settle back into the couch.  And wait as the movie starts.  There's music and a black screen.  I wait.  And wait.  I poke fun at the "riveting" movie I'm watching and am told to shut up and watch the movie.  I look at Jeremy, "What movie.  It's been a black screen for like 5 minutes.  Is this the whole movie cuz there are other things I can do."

"Shut up and watch the movie; it's a classic."  Sigh.  Oh look!  Finally something's happening.  It's . . .  Apes.  Lots of Apes.  Apes eating, Apes dancing, Apes playing what looks like Red Rover.  Apes touching a big, black thing (I'm promptly informed that this is a monolith.  Well, hooray).  Apes now killing each other.  Finally, after half an hour, no more Apes.  

Not that it gets any better.  The next 15 minutes is shots of space and what looks like a giant hamster wheel.  Over, and over, and over.  Finally!  A man!  Someone talked!  But, nothing happens.  The man uses a video phone, "stewardess" women with big mushroom hats walk upside down delivering food, the man has a drink, gets on a spaceship, and then I am stuck watching this spaceship slowly land.  After about 5 minutes of watching the spaceship slowly land I'm about to explode.

"Good grief is that think ever going to land?  I need to let the dogs out.  Let me know if it ever does land."  Yay!  An excuse!  I know he's waiting for me to come back, but I dink around as long as possible, letting the dogs out, refilling water, slowly getting their food, giving the cat tuna, straightening up the kitchen.  I'm contemplating doing dishes, but figure that might be a bit excessive, and Jeremy might notice the fact that I've been missing for that long.  I have no clue how he's even watching that stupid movie.  Resigned, I let the dogs back in and head back to the living room.  Just in time to see another slow flying spacecraft and INTERMISSION across the screen.

INTERMISSION (If there was an actual Mission, I missed it)

"Intermission?  That means this movie is only half over?  You've got to be kidding me!" I grumble.  Jeremy seems delighted.  He decides, near the end of the intermission, that he needs a drink and something to eat.

"Better hurry up," I advise him. "You might miss something."

In the next half, I at least get two characters' names and a bit more dialogue.  But not much.  There's Dave, who wears a red space suit when he goes outside, there's some other man who wears a yellow space suit when he goes outside, there's Hal, who's supposed to be an uber smart computer, who instead is very creepy, and there are a bunch of men stuck in what look like futuristic coffins who are apparently "sleeping" through the long flight.  We spend about 15 minutes watching Dave run around in a circle, which means Dave sometimes runs flat toward the screen, sometimes runs sideways, and sometimes runs upside down.  Big whoop.  Then Dave spends some time getting in touch with his artistic side, drawing the sleeping men in their space coffins.  Wonderful.  Then Dave goes outside to repair something.  I turn to Jeremy.

"What is that helmet thing on his head?  He looks like a big fire ant with those two eye things on the top."  Fire ant Dave pokes around, has a secret conversation so Hal can't hear, but Hal does, and then Hal starts killing everybody, except for Dave.  Bye-bye sleeping coffin men.  Thank you for letting me watch the heart rate monitors on them for 10 minutes as they slowly died.  Bye bye yellow fire ant man.  Sorry you couldn't make it back to your little space pod.

Then, suddenly, another "monolith."  Now, I will show you the problem I had with the whole monolith thing.

This, to me, is a monolith--a very tall column 

This is 2001's monolith.  This looks like a giant, very solid, black
door.  So essentially, the Apes at the beginning are excited about
a door.  I don't think they should be so excited since whomever
sent them the giant, black door obviously forgot the rest of the house.

So, there we were, staring at yet another "monolith," this one floating through space amidst a swirling variety of colors and patterns.  I felt overwhelmed--and not in an awe-inspired way.

"What the heck is this?  What's with all the weird colors and flashing?  And the door again?  Is Dave on an acid trip?"

"Just watch," Jeremy says.  "Besides, it is kinda pretty." I sigh.  And begin yet another wait for something to happen.  When it does, it's a green room.  All done in light green.  With various versions of, I guess, an older Dave.  Dave eating.  Dave sleeping, blah, blah blah.  Then, suddenly a giant, somewhat deformed looking baby.  The End

"What was that!  That was the end?  That was the whole movie? A weird baby thing!  I watched this entire movie for that!  What was that!"  Jeremy's droning on something about the creation of life and intelligence and questions about life and intelligence and I'm just dumbstruck.  I have lost 3 hours of my life that I can never get back for a creepy, oversized baby.

"You actually like that movie?" I asked, finally tuning back in.  "How can you like that movie!  That was completely awful!"

Jeremy just looks at me and grins.  "I didn't say I liked it.  I just said it was a classic."

Later that Night

We're sitting around reading.  I need some sort of escape.  I now know what it must feel like to have a lobotomy.  Jeremy looks up from his book.

"How much dialogue do you think that movie had? 100 words?"

"Twenty-five," I reply.  "One hundred is way overestimating."

"And just think, tomorrow night, we can watch 2010 Space Odyssey."

"No."

"But it's 2010."

"No."

"But--"

"No."

The 10 Second Visual Synopsis of 
the "Classic" 3 hour 2001 Space Odyssey

      

Apes worshipping a door    

                                            

Big hamster wheel in the sky keeps on turning
(sorry, bad Journey pun)

     

Mushroomhead space stewardesses  

Dave--yep, the moral of the story, don't get stuck with a

psychotic computer while dressed as a giant fire ant

Hal--aka a talking stoplight 

Oooh, the pretty colors, or, don't go into the light! (it's 

what happens when you get suckered into watching this

movie--that and you might find yourself suddenly   

prone to drooling)    

                                                                                       

Since I do love green, I have to say, this room was the
highlight of the entire movie.  And that is just 
very, very sad!                                                                  

Giant Ugly Baby!  THE END

            

Seizure the Day

I was so proud of myself last night.  It's the day before registration and two days before classes begin.  I had two out of three syllabi completed and had managed to wash dishes, taking care of whatever had died in the kitchen sink.  It was about 11:30 pm, I had taken melatonin, and for once, I was actually getting to sleep at a decent time the night before I had to get up early in the morning.  All was well in the Bro household, and me, the perpetual night owl, was actually going to sleep early (yes, some, including Jeremy, might argue that 11:30 is not early, but for me, anything before midnight is early).  After triple checking, I even had the alarm and the clock both set the the right times, and I peacefully drifted off to sleep.

12:30 am
Audrey has a seizure.  It's the first one in almost three months.  I had hoped that maybe food was the problem, and that when I started making homemade dog food, I had finally solved the seizure problem.  Nope.  I'm groggy as crap after taking the melatonin, so I stumble out of bed and trip over the lap top board I'd stuck on the floor.  After about 15 minutes, I go back, clean up poop, mop the floor, then chase Audrey around the kitchen.  She's always a little hyper after a seizure, and for some reason doesn't really want me cleaning up her face and butt.  Around and around the kitchen table we go like I'm playing some sort of doggy Olympic game. 

Finally, everything cleaned up, it's back to bed I go.  Except now I can't quit thinking about all the stuff I need to do for work.  So my mind keeps going.  I try the alphabet song, but instead my mind wanders and I find myself trying to remember the pronunciation of all the letters in Spanish and wondering why I can't roll my r's.  I try counting, but for some reason, I slide into the old theme song for the Electric Company (1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12--over and over to the Electric Company tune.  Yes, it's a very complicated song).  Then I start to contemplate why people decided to start counting sheep when they wanted to fall asleep.  I mean really, sheep?  Sheep jumping over a fence?  Why not something like pizza or cake or fudge or (okay, so maybe I was feeling a little snacky).  For some reason, this contemplation brought me to Nursery Rhymes and the realization that I couldn't remember more than a few lines of most of them  (I know it's "There was an old lady who lived in a shoe/she had so many children, she didn't know what to do, but for the life of me I couldn't remember any more).  Next, I tried the basic Ohm mediation noise, but started realizing I no longer remember what the scientific ohms are for (electricity maybe?  Was there some sort of subconscious connection I was making to the Electric Company theme song?).  At some point, I think around 2:30, I finally fell back to sleep.  I just wish I could remember what it was I was thinking that made me fall back to sleep--obviously not counting sheep.  Maybe counting lamb pasanda and garlic naan?

3:30 am
Audrey has another seizure.  I gave in and had that snack I must have been thinking about the last time I tried to go back to sleep.  Was I hungry?  No.  But nothing says "I'm waiting for my dog to come out of her seizure" like chips and french onion dip at 3:30 in the morning.  See above for the repeat of cleaning, chasing Audrey around the table, cleaning Audrey, and back to bed.  This time, though, I was so tired that I fell right back to sleep.  Must have been the snack.

4:30 am
Jack, after all the excitement, decides that he needs to go out.  It's really a rather quiet way he has of waking me up, but oh so effective and annoying.  So, at 4:30 am, I wake up to a gigantic dog head right next to my face, panting very loudly (note to self: both dogs also need some serious breath mints).  So, up I go again.  I let Jack out of the bedroom, and he starts walking in the opposite direction of the back door.  Groggily, I look at him.  What the heck.  I did not get up to let him out of the bedroom.  I don't care whether he has to go or not, he's going outside.  I don't know why I decided this--probably because I was not really awake.  I let Jack out and sit on the back porch to wait.  I'm pretty sure he does absolutely nothing except sniff around.  In the meantime, Fargo, our outdoor cat, has decided it's wonderful that I'm up at this time because I can now pay attention to him.  Did I mention it's 4:30 in the morning?  Did I mention that Fargo has this odd habit of drooling when he's happy?  Ten minutes later and much soggier, I get Jack back inside and hit the bed once again.

6:30 am
I've now been mainlining coffee for about half an hour.  I'm almost ready for work, don't have to leave for another half hour, and am looking forward to just chilling for a bit and mainlining more coffee.  Then Audrey has another seizure.  I know I should be more concerned, since she normally only has maybe 1 or 2 a month, but my brain is just not functioning at full capacity.  It's not even functioning at its normal half capacity.  Again, we repeat the cleaning, chasing, cleaning.  I think, by now, Audrey smells akin to a sewage treatment facility, but the best I can do is scrub her off a bit with a rag and spray doggy cologne.

8 am
I go to start up my computer in my office, which I haven't used since last May.  The virus software starts sending out error reports.  Every 10 seconds a new error report.  I can't do anything.  I click to open my browser, error report.  I click to open an email, error report.  I try not sending them, I try sending them, I try debugging.  Always the problem-solver, I finally just decide to uninstall the thing.  After all, it's the last big student registration day before classes start.  And I need to work on my own classes when I don't have students.  And, essentially, there is nothing for me to do without a computer.  I get the software almost uninstalled, and the whole thing freezes up.  Sigh, time to call IT.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, my co-worker, Marla, is also without a computer since her internet access is down.  We spend the next two and a half hours waiting for our computers.  I drink 3 more caffeinated sodas and go the bathroom about the same amount of times.  Yay for me!  Productivity.  My only insightful thought was how great it would be if someone would make caffeinated milk.

2 pm
I've finally had my computer back since 10:30.  I'm making great progress on that last class.  Syllabi is done and I'm just revamping the handouts and setting up the web class for them to access everything.  Then I get a double whammy.  1) The caffeine no longer seems to be working at all.  I just feel loopy.  2) The McDonald's I grabbed for a quick lunch literally feels like it is stabbing me in the gut.  But on the plus side, so far Jeremy doesn't think Audrey's had any more seizures, and I am almost finished with my last class.  That is, until I took on an overload class, which is a different one than any others that I was currently set to teach this fall.  Which gives me a day or two to get that whole class set up.  And I'm no longer thinking in any way that could be termed logical.

5:20 pm
I get home from work.  I have about 40 minutes before I have to get up for Lion's Club tonight, and all I can think is naptime!!!  I walk in the door.  Jeremy's sitting in the kitchen, looking completely wiped out.  Audrey had another seizure.  Jeremy had to call the vet and fly over (luckily, they stayed open late for him) to pick up a valium prescription for Audrey and make her a vet appointment for tomorrow.  Audrey is walking around like a drunken sailor, weaving around.  She has no coordination, but wants to try and eat everything, including my toes.  She had her seizure in the middle of the bed, so no nap on the bed since it now needs to be cleaned up and have new bedding put on it.  I feel fried.  I decide I'm just gonna go nap on the couch.  I totter off to the living room, lay down on the couch, and discover Audrey had had another seizure there.  I'm laying on wet cushions and there's a piece of poo stuck to my leg.  I have hit whiny mode.  I just look at Jeremy and whine "there's a piece of poo stuck to me."  He just looks at me and says "Just leave the couch alone--we'll go make the bed up instead."  I just stare at him, sorta dazed, "but I've got poo on me."  Is it disgusting?  Yes.  Should I be running to the kitchen to clean myself up.  Yes.  Am I?  No.  Instead, I'm just standing there, repeating the fact that I've got poo stuck to me.  Never mind the fact that, hey, there is a point I can reach where I will walk away and leave poo on my couch. 

6 pm
I think Jeremy ushered me into the kitchen.  It was at that point we both decided we probably should just skip Lion's Club.  Somehow, we half-assedly made the bed.  I was out of pepto tabs, so I had taken some tums for my stomach, but they hadn't kicked in.  Instead, I just laid there thinking "my stomach hurts" for about 20 minutes.  Finally, I decided to get up.  I seem to have absolutely no energy, but a complete inability to sleep.  I need to let the dogs out and feed all the animals.  I need to do something about the Hindenburg sized pile of dirty laundry.  I figure the plants can just die for all I care.  Stupid things think they need water.  I need to finish up the latest batch of dog food, get it put in containers, and scrub out my giant slow cooker.  I should be working on my classes.  Instead, I grabbed a beer and started blogging.  I think my tummy feels better.  Maybe beer should be marketed for upset stomachs.

Fleas, Doggy Allergies, and Dried Beans

Okay, so it's been a while.  I've been off on a new project :P  Jeremy says I'm obsessive compulsive when I latch onto something.  I don't know what he's talking about.  We have a little problem.  Okay, it's grown into a big problem.  And it's all my fault.  You see, once it gets cold, there aren't any fleas around.  Since there aren't any fleas, I forget to put flea meds on the animals, and, in fact, don't buy anymore.  Now it's warmed up, and we've got fleas, 1 itchy dog, 2 itchy cats, and 1 very, very itchy dog who I think is allergic to either the flea bites or something else.  Poor Audrey can't stop itching, which means we are having a lot of trouble sleeping at night, which means somebody in the house is getting very grumpy and blaming me for the flea problem (I won't say any names, but he's the only other person besides me who can speak English in the house).

In my defense, I did put them back on flea meds this spring, and when I took Audrey into the vet in May, she didn't have any fleas, but she had started itching.  I figured the flea meds that I had purchased at Wal-Mart were working fine, and the vet just suggested giving her a couple Claratin and fish oil pills a day because it was probably an allergy.  That seemed to improve her itching--for a little while.  Then, this month, things went, well, umm, bad (that might be an understatement).  Fleas everywhere, itching everywhere, not happy husband everywhere. . .   So I decided to get proactive.

Step 1: New Flea Meds and Homemade Dog Food
I bought new flea meds for all the animals.  I bought flea spray for the home to spray on fabric.  I gave the dogs a bath with flea shampoo, put the new flea meds on, and sprayed every cloth surface in the house.  All the animals seemed a lot better.  Problem fixed.  Or not.  Within a few days, Audrey is itching again.  I decide it must just be allergies.  So I do research on dog allergies and decide I should start making my own dog food, since many dog allergies are food related.  I found a recipe that was really easy, I went to Wal-Mart and stock up on dried beans, long grain rice, eggs, and other doggy food supplies.  I am positive I've got the problem "licked" now.

Then I make my first batch of dog food in my crock pot and realize, measuring it out, that each batch is only going to last about 2 days.  Great, I'll be soaking beans and cooking dog food every other day.  Jeremy and I will be eating frozen pizza all the time because I'm too busy making dog food (okay, so it's not that complicated or time consuming, and I'm just looking for an excuse not to cook anything).  A couple days later, all the animals start itching again, and Jeremy is picking fleas off the cat's head, holding them up to me to demonstrate how effective my first round battle was.

Step 2: Wal-Mart and New New Flea Meds
Back to Wal-Mart.  I hate Wal-Mart.  It takes me 15 mintues to get everything I need, then 25 minutes to actually get out of the store. Only 2 lines out of like 20 are open, and both are overflowing. None of the express check out lines are open, so I sigh and head to the self-check out, which is also overflowing, but I figure it will be quicker.  Or not.  The stupid self-check out kept having fits--either it claimed I didn't put an item in the bag in that stupid, female, electronic voice, or it suddenly wanted a supervisor's override code, or . . . Pretty much every checkout was having its own set of fits (maybe female electronic woman was having pms?), so every time I needed the supervisor, she was busy trying to fix someone else's checkout.  I tried to amuse myself for the first 5 minutes, but in the self-check out, there's not a whole lot to do.  Basically, I stared into space, tried to remember song lyrics to stupid songs, calculated Pi. . .Then I got bored and just started punching random numbers into the supervisor code.  None of them worked; I didn't expect them to, but at least I was doing something.

Finally, after about an hour in Wal-Mart, I head home.  I'm armed with 2 different types of spray on flea meds, a flea powder (by this time I've exhausted every brand of flea drops at Wal-Mart), and a hydrocortisone spray for Audrey (in addition to all my beans and rice), who, by this point, has a lovely, furless hot spot near her butt.  Animals are all sprayed, which makes them very happy, and the itching calms down.  For a couple days.  Then the fleas are back, happy as can be, doing little acrobatic acts through the animals' fur, and everyone else in the house is miserable again.

Step 3: New New New Flea Meds and A Gigantic Slow Cooker
Luckily, I still had flea powder and another flea spray, so I give those a shot.  I pretty much have given up and decided none of these products are actually going to work.  I wash all the animal bedding, I wash all our bedding, and I hop online to PetSmart.  Time to give up and just order the expensive stuff.  Then I head to Overstock.  If I'm going to be making dog food, I definitely need a bigger crockpot (Okay, not really, but I can't resist new kitchen toys).  Maybe  I went a little overboard, but the thing is awesome.  It holds like 18 quarts, has settings for slow cooking, for roasting, for steaming.  It's gigantic!  Just think of all the dog food I can make at once!  I wonder if I can fit a whole turkey in there!   Jeremy says it looks like I'm preparing for a church dinner or something. (He's just lucky--I also saw a soft serve ice cream maker and a buffet style server that looked cool!)  In the meantime, I have to sit back and wait for all my new stuffs to come, which is not making the dogs itch any less. So, on to . .

Step 4: Apple Cider Vinegar, Essential Oils, and Nematodes
More research.  Lots and lots of research.  I started with home remedies for fleas.  I came across some that seemed pretty simple. Today I have to go to the store, buy some lemons, peel them, steep them in boiling water, then let them sit in the water overnight.  This is supposed to make a spray that, when sprayed on the animals, will repel the fleas.  Will it work? Probably not, but for the price of a couple of lemons, at least they will smell better.  Then there was mixing certain essential oils with water to make a spray (which, cannot be sprayed on cats, nor can you give cats unpasteurized apple cider vinegar, or garlic, all of which are supposed to work).

This led to further research: if you can make a spray for dogs with fleas, what about a human insect repellent.  Yep, you can do that to with another combination of essential oils.  Armed with my "recipes," a list of other items (the apple cider vinegar, brewers yeast with garlic), I hit VitaSource.com.  For about $25, I picked up the essential oils and the brewers yeast.  I figure, again, it wasn't too big of an investment, so if I mix up all the oils in a spray, the best case scenario will be that everyone in the house will be free of fleas, lice, ticks, and mosquitoes.  The worst case scenario is that everyone in the house smells like a combination of cintronella, cinnamon, eucalyptis, orange, and lavender.  I did refrain from purchasing the electric flea traps, just because each one was $17 and also required that you buy the "flea pads" to put on them.  I also refrained from purchasing the live nematodes that you simply water into the ground and then let eat the fleas--although, I was very tempted (Jeremy just groaned at me when I sent him that link.  He groans at me a lot).  I should have been set, right?  But no, I could stop there. . .

Step 5: Dog Food Recipes
What if the dogs weren't getting adequate nutrition from the dog food I was making?  This led to hours and hours of research.  Research on how much to feed the dogs.  According to the first site I hit, I was malnourishing the dogs, which sent me into a panic.  It also claimed that I should be feeding Jack like 7 or 8 cups of food per day.  Even with my new slow cooker, I'd still be preparing dog food every other day!  So, adequately panicked that I was starving and depriving our dogs, the next 4 hours were spent on homemade dog food research, dog nutrition, dog food recipes. . . I couldn't stop! I now have a lovely, 50 page collection of dog food recipes and a list of the best ingredients for homemade dog food, along with a handy list of how much of their dog food needs to be meat, starch, and vegetable.

I finally realized I might have been doing a little overkill when I started adding up all the different comments people were making across the 1000 sites I hit.  Every single person had a different idea about what dogs need, and some of them were a bit, well, fanatical.  I have no idea why so many people are cooking and pureeing vegetables for their dogs.  The dogs do all have teeth, right?  And why are people feeding their dogs baby food?  I thought that was just supposed to be a celebrity fad diet, but I guess dogs are now in on the benefits too.  Then there's the people who feed their dogs nothing but raw food--I guess they haven't heard that they need to be pureeing the veggies.  I didn't even bother with that one.  I tried to feed the dogs the raw liver and bits from the turkey one year, and they just looked at me like what the hell is this?  I ended up having to cook them.  That and Audrey won't eat any raw vegetables except radishes.  The rest, she just sniffs disdainfully and walks away from.  There also was the site that said dogs need at least 40% of their meal to be meat.  It then  gave a sample recipe that included oats, brown rice, barley, carrots, broccoli, zucchini, and parsley, but no meat.  So pretty much, Jeremy boiled it down to me being obsessive compulsive again.  I spend hours pouring over this stuff, and he sums up my own conclusions without having looked at any of the "data."  I hate it when he does that.

I can tell you, though, that those people feeding their dogs lamb and rice all the time must have a lot of money--if I'm making lamb, it's gonna be for me.  Hmmm, maybe we could raise a sheep in the back yard!  Except I'd probably think it was cute, name it, and then Jeremy would be stuck with a pet sheep to add to our menagerie.  By the time I'm done researching, the new flea meds have finally arrived.  Every animal now gets a new set of flea meds, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this actually works!  Armed with my new set of ingredients, my new recipes, and my new "crock pot," which arrived yesterday, I set out make a new batch of dog food.  Depending on which site I go by, it will be enough to feed the dogs either a day or a week.  Finally, I'm done with all the animal stuff, I've done all the research I can--nothing left.  Until Jeremy brought up the fact it might be cheaper to buy dried beans and rice in bulk.  Hmmmm.

Step 6: Bulk Beans
Since we sort of live in the middle of nowhere, I decided it might be easier to order bulk dried beans and rice online.  This morning, I sat down and started researching. I pretty much found two ways of purchasing dried beans, neither of which are economical or practical.  There's the "gourmet/organic" route that wants to charge $8/lb!  What, are they magic beans?  If I plant some of them, can I climb a beanstalk and find treasures?  I'd spend $8/lb for that!  The second option is even better.  Apparently, there are tons of these "survivalist" type sites out there.  On these sites, you basically have to order like a metric ton of beans at once for like $1000.  On the plus side, shipping is free, and you will have your very own semi delivery of beans!  (In case you are wondering, one site is having a sale.  For a reduced price of $900, you can buy all the dried and canned food that you would need to survive for an entire year.  Or, as the site's handy chart breaks down, it's enough food for 2 people for 6 months, for 3 people for 4 months, etc.  I'm very glad they broke that down for me because I never would have figured it out otherwise).  I'm a little scared to think just who out there is ordering metric tons of food, especially considering that 1) they apparently can't be trusted to do basic math, and 2) even though it is dried, it does have a shelf life.  How could even one family go through a metric ton of beans in a year?  Where exactly does one store a metric ton of beans?  What do they do once their metric ton of beans starts rotting?  Could a metric ton of rotting beans release enough gas to start a fire?  (In fact, what type of gas does a metric ton of beans release?)

I contemplated just what one would do with a metric ton of beans.  The best thought I came up with was that if they were all mixed types, I might be able to call it modern art.  Sadly, I realized this would also require a building to cover the beans from the sun, or the beans would lose their colors.  To cover the cost of the beans and the building and the electricity, I would definitely have to charge an admission fee--probably a pretty hefty one.  But that would only last like a year, and then they'd start to rot.  If I came up with a really fancy/smartass title for it, something like "American Economy" or "Housing Bubble Burst," I might still be able to charge admission to my rotting metric ton of beans.  But then again, I am kind of in the middle of nowhere.  I doubt I can pull people a half hour off the interstate with a giant billboard touting (or should that be tooting?) "The World's Biggest Pile of Rotting Beans."  I guess I'll just have to give up that dream.  I think I need to give up any more research for now also!

ChaosTheory

Jeremy just doesn't understand.  These things do happen to me.  All the time.  I think it's some sort of cosmic force that draws chaos to me.  In fact, science should study my life.  I'm a walking illustration of chaos theory.  Truly and obviously, these things could never be my fault.  They just happen--pure coincidence.  I admit, this past week was probably a bit more extreme than most.  Just a bit.

Wednesday:
Poor Audrey starts to have a seizure.  I herd Jack out into the hall.  Jack's getting older and has recently started having some bladder control issues in the afternoon if we forget to let him out around noon.  Jack immediately pees on the floor.  Audrey's in the kitchen on the floor now covered in pee.  I sigh, let Jack out, and wonder if we need to invest in Pine Sol and Mr. Clean.  Then I watch as the cat cocks her ears back, shakes her little stubby tail, and hurtles toward the front screen door where Mama sits meowing in at us (Mama is a calico cat who seems to have adopted us this past year, and let's just say Binny is none to pleased about the "intruder," even if she is always outside and Binny always inside.)  Thud!  Whap!  Binny slams into the door sending the wooden frame slamming.  Sigh.

Thursday:
Jeremy's sick and laying in bed reading.  I go on a cleaning spurt, which also includes unplugging the upstairs toilet.  I flush it to get some water in and watch as it slowly fills.  And keeps filling.  And overflows, and overflows, and overflows.  Somehow, my mind just shuts off.  For the life of me, I can't think how to get the toilet to stop overflowing and just stare as the water keeps coming, basically thinking "Uh oh."  Finally it stops.  I start grabbing old towels to sop up the zillion gallons of water pooling on the floor.  Just then, I hear Jeremy slamming out of the bedroom.

"What are you doing!"
"The toilet overflowed," I reply.  I can tell he's, well, to put it mildly, not very happy about something, so there's no way I'm going to tell him what actually happened.
"Why is it raining in the bedroom!"  Oops.  That's not good.  That's not a happy husband.  How do I get myself out of this one.
"I couldn't get it to stop," I meekly yell down the stairs.  All I hear is mumbling and the kitchen door slamming.  I decide that maybe I should stay away from him for a while.  Luckily, roughly 20 towels and half an hour later, I've finally got all the water mopped up off the floor and Jeremy has calmed down.

"Why didn't you stop it?" he asks incredulously.
"I couldn't remember how."
"You just open up the back of the toilet and push the little stopper down."  By this point, he's looking at me as if I'm the daftest person in the world.
"Oh," I respond simply.  That definitely makes sense.  I definitely new that.  "I forgot about that."  Jeremy responded something about wondering how I manage to function most days.  I tried to look cute and sweet so he couldn't stay mad about all the buckets and towels now scattered around the bedroom.

Friday
I'm filling up the plastic cat food cup so I can go feed Mama outside.  I reach into the tub of food, fill it up, go to pull it out, and immediately drop the whole cup in the pantry.  Cat food rains down all over everything.  Little tiny pieces of cat food all over the shelves, stuck in the bag of potatoes, covering the jars of canned preservers, inside the basket of light bulbs. . . I turn around, and Jeremy just looks at me, amazed.  And not the good sort of amazement.

"How do you do these things?"
"I don't know.  I just lost hold of it.  They just sort of happen."  It wouldn't have been so bad, but just that morning when I was running late for work, I instant messaged him from my computer downstairs, letting him know that I had "lost hold" of the blind again, which sent the thing flying up and rolling into a tight little tube at the top of the window.  Losing hold of the blind wouldn't be so bad, but I do it on a fairly regular basis.  And, since the windows are so tall, it means the person resetting it has to find a chair, climb up on it, take the blind down, and completely reroll it.  That person is usually Jeremy because I can't reroll anything right (he doesn't even bother having me try to coil extension cords or hoses anymore).  When I told him about the blind this morning, I had also said "I just lost hold of it," when explaining what had happened.

Saturday
I picked up the salt shaker to clean the kitchen counters.  I had just refilled all the salt shakers a few days before.  As I pick it up, the plug, which I obviously didn't get in tight, falls out, and salt pours all over the counter and floor.

"Oh crap!" I shout.
"What!  Jeremy turns around in his chair all worried that something bad had happened.  He looks at the salt and sighs.
"These things only happen to you.  No one else.  They're only Lisa things.  How do you do these things?"
"I don't know.  They just happen," I say as I begin to pile up the salt on the counter.  On the plus side, the toothpick finally came out.  The toothpick, which we had used  to unclug the holes in the shaker when the summer humidity started clogging them up, had been in the shaker since probably last July--after I lost hold of it.
Suddenly, he looks at me in a calculating way.  "You are not going to put that salt back in the shaker, are you?"
Okay, so he caught me.  I had been contemplating doing just that--I had just cleaned the counter, and we were out of salt.
"No.  Of course not," I replied, grabbing the garbage can and scooping the salt into it.  "But we are out of salt."

Sunday
Mama cat is extremely pregnant.  I tried to give her a lecture about "Tom," (the conflicted male cat who hissed at me, then meowed when I would go outside to feed Mama) when Tom first started hanging around in December.  She didn't listen.  Now Tom is gone, and Mama is wide as semi about to pop any day now.  Saturday, Mama was MIA when I went to feed her, which is very unusual because she has become very demanding about her food.

Sunday, around 4 am, I'm awakened to very loud little mews.  The very loud little mews are coming from our laundry room, which is adjacent to the bedroom.  How did Mama get in?  Well, the laundry room (which will eventually be the master bath) has no floor over about 1/2 of it, leaving a gigantic, gaping hole, through which you can see the ground about 4 feet below.  Apparently, Mama decided our laundry room was the safest place to have her new brood.  Not just in the laundry room, but behind my washer.  On the new section of unfinished, cypress floor that Jeremy had gotten installed.  Wonderful.

Trashy Valentine

Valentine's Day is rapidly approaching--that day of love, romance, mushiness, and all that other fun stuff.  This is Jeremy and my 13th Valentine's Day together.  Does he still have that wonderful engraved zippo from our first Valentine's Day together?  Of course not.  The Sarah McLachlan cd I forced on him another Valentine's Day?  Maybe somewhere buried under the rest of my Lilith Fair input.  Some may wonder just how you keep a relationship so fresh and alive for so many years.  It's really quite simple.  You just have to make sure you stay a little trashy.

Or maybe it's just the trash talk. 

Exhibit A
We're both sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and relaxing as a fire gently crackles.
"What's that?" Jeremy asks.
"What?"
"That.  Right there."
"What are you talking about.  I have no clue what "that" is."
"THAT!  Right there.  It looks like cat yak."  I still can't see what exactly he's pointing at.  When I follow his finger, all I see is floor.
"I don't see anything at all."  At this point, I'm pretty sure he's just not awake enough and is hallucinating, well, cat yak on the floor.
"It's right there!  About 4 inches from the brick," Jeremy says, pointing again to the brick surrounding the bottom of the fireplace.  I look.  There's not a thing out there.
"What in the world are you talking about?" I scan the floor, scan the surrounding area, and finally I see something, definitely not cat yak and not 4 inches from the brick.
"That?" I ask, pointing at the spot on the floor.
"Yes!  That!  Four inches from the brick.  You have absolutely no spacial awareness whatsoever," Jeremy grumbles.  Now, this might seem like an odd thing to start a pseudo argument, except for the fact that it's a rather long-running argument.  Do I actually have no spacial awareness?  Yes.  Am I ever going to truly admit that fact?  No. 

So, I reply, "It's not cat yak.  It's a dead plant leaf.  And it's not 4 inches from the brick; it's at least 6."  Now, you might think that having determined what and where something disgusting is on your floor would simply lead to that something disgusting being cleaned up.  Nope, not in our house.  (I won't even get into what Jeremy refers to as "The Bucket of Doom" upstairs in the hallway.  I will simply say, yes, it came out of an animal; yes, Jeremy did put a bucket over it rather than clean it up; and yes, I looked and decided the bucket should stay in place until. . .one of us hasn't eaten so recently).  Therefore, instead of simply picking up said dead leaf and throwing it away, we then got into a lengthy debate about just how far away the dead leaf actually was.  Obviously, I was right, but, of course, Jeremy wouldn't cave.  So, out comes the tape measure (which took roughly 15 minutes to locate).  With precise measurements completed, the leaf was roughly 5.5 inches from the brick, meaning I was right!  Ha.  Spacial awareness my . . . I was righter.  (Yes, righter is a word.  See clause 23b under rights attained after finishing a ph.d in English [that's the one that states I can make up whatever words I want because I spent way to much money on a degree revolving around words]).

I basked in my triumph.  The measurements couldn't be denied, and, for once, I was more spacially accurate than Jeremy.  We sat there, silently sipping our coffee, both pondering my amazingness (yes, I can create that word too).  Did either of us bother picking up the dead leaf?  Nope.

Exibit B
It really was quite accidental.  We found this neat, old gumball-type machine at an antique store.  It had a black, ornate, cast iron base building up to a deep blue, metal base topped by a glass globe.  Both Jeremy and I remembered always plugging money into those things as kids--peanuts, m&m's, gumballs, sweet tarts--all the yummy childhood delicacies pouring out after a carefully begged parental quarter was inserted and twisted into the machine.  Yep, the gumball machine came home with us.

I carefully cleaned the device, and somehow decided it must be filled with nuts .  Yummy salty goodness  pouring out just like when we were kids.  I carefully filled up the thing with about 8 containers of peanuts and mixed nuts, then proudly stood back and delighted in my dispenser.  For about a week, both of us delighted in our new peanut dispenser.  Then we forgot about it.  Then something happened that pretty much ensured it will never be used as a peanut dispenser again.

"Oh, that is just digusting!" Jeremy said as he leaned over the gumball/peanut machine.
"What? What's wrong?"  I asked
"Have you looked at this thing lately?" Jeremy asked.
"No.  Why?"
"Umm, just come and look at it."  I walked over and bent down, staring into the peanut-filled globe.  "Oh.  Oh, that's gross!"  I hurried away and sat down.  I will just confirm it here.  Jeremy and I are both wimps when it comes to cleaning up disgusting stuff.  If it is something disgusting we can safely ignore, with no fear of it spreading/contaminating something else, we really can let it just sit.  Which was exactly what happened with the newly worm-infested "peanut" dispenser.  Neither of us could bring ourselves to do anything with it.  So, it just sat for a week while we debated the easiest way to dispense of our new bug habitat.

Should we have taken care of it right away?  Of course!  But, since we didn't, we discovered the next week what a joy our "habitat" really could be.  That was when 100s of teeny, tiny little moths emerged, fluttering all around our kitchen.  One moth would have been no problem, but 100s of them were not so pleasant.  Top that off with one psychotic cat chasing after every moth she saw and 2 dogs who thought the cat might have found something interesting . . .  Let's just say, for anyone considering it, a moth terrarium really is not a good idea.

Ruminations
Hopefully, I've pinpointed just how your trashy side can spice up a relationship.  And, you don't even have to spend a lot to capture that purely enticing trashiness that only a man could love (I mean really, we're talking about a gender that, no matter what the age, still loves a good fart joke).