- Putting on Spanx
- Using Q-Tips
I don’t know about you bitches, but I have some more embarrasing shit to hide from Adrian than praying to the Gods of Fat while trying to strap my ass into Satan’s Pantyhose.
Ronald McDonald Died In My Car in November 2009
Adrian’s self esteem is inextricably tied to the cleanliness and operation of his beloved car. Each piece must be fully operational and sparkly or he finds himself in the darkest of despairs. His car is cleaned, inside and out, twice a month on average. If Adrian could have sex with his car, they would make beautiful, Zack Morris-y babies.
Until last Wednesday, my Jeep’s passenger’s side window was taped to the headliner with 13 half-sticky pieces of electrical tape, and just today I found a 4-foot box of books and chairs in the back that I cannot identify. My car has not been cleaned, inside or out, since December 2009. If I were to have sex with my car, I would end up on Discovery Health with 17 unidentifiable viral infections and one magical Indonesian STD.
I have no idea what a clean car would even resemble. If I throw an empty cup in the backseat, it’s as good as black-holed, because I’ll never see that bitch again. I don’t even think my Jeep is all that dirty until I know Adrian will be driving it. At that point, I have a panic attack akin to a 16-year-old boy learning that his mom checked his browser history. OH GOD NO DON’T TOUCH THAT NO NONONONO.
Ever get that sinking feeling when you know you’ve been busted? That’s me, every time Adrian drives my car with napkins on his hands.
It’s Unrelated To Dicks, I Think, But We’ll See What Therapy Says
Think of your favorite food–that one that will bring you unbridled joy and a few granted wishes for poor children.
For me, that’s pickles. I love pickles for all occasions. I have special Turkish pickles that are only available at one store in all of Dallas, I have everyday Vlasic, I have Spicy Pickles for beer times, and several other here-and-there varieties. Until recently, I was forced to eat them in the dark corners of my home like a feral child hides a kitten, trying to mask that distinct crunching noise from my husband.
Why? I have, at present, 5 different jars of pickles in my fridge. I had 9, but Adrian busted me when me moved and forcibly removed 4 jars from my custody on the grounds that they were poorly cared for.
He doesn’t know that pickles keep well out of the fridge right now, and that I’m re-stocking myself in our storage unit on the 9th floor. I will not be defeated.
That Was A Seizure You Saw, Dear.
For every single occasion, I have a dance. I have a dance for when I’m cold, I have a hungry dance, I have a tired dance, I have a shower dance, and I have a Fuck-You dance. I’m the saddest, whitest, most stereotypical Native American ever.
Thing is, until very recently, these dances were very, very private. I tried hard for many years to hide my naked shower rug Charleston (the bath dance) and my milk jug and cheese twirling number (the dairy dance). Yet, like so many marriages have been ruined, Adrian walked in and saw me air humping with my earbuds in and only underpants on with a couple of steak knives in my fists (the happy dance.) I stood, mostly nude in the hallway, pretty horrified that after 4 years, I was finally busted.
He didn’t stop laughing for a week. Dick.
What do you never want your spouse to see you do? Have you ever been busted doing something embarrassing?
—Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Dani: “Every single fiber of my being doesn’t want to find this funny, because it couldn’t be LESS PC. Seriously. HOWEVER… After spending 16 years as a Behavior Therapist for children with severe Autism, I have to say that THIS SHIT IS FUNNY. The long van blog was freaking hilarious because I can relate to just about every single thing, up to and (unfortunately) including the poop-catching. (I spent a summer trying to potty train a sneaky pooper. It was like freaking The Fugitive. Every time I turned my back for one second he left a pile of poop somewhere OTHER than the toilet. Good times, y’all… good fucking times.) You have to laugh because THIS IS LIFE.”