I love fake fruit flavor. That lime drink stuff you can get in a gallon sized jug? Orange, lime, grape. I love it. While I was pregnant, I lost my shit in the grocery store when I couldn’t find any premade fake lime drink. It occurred to me as I drove away sniveling that I could have bought some green kool-aid and made my own. Hindsight.

I can’t stand the high school’s baseball coach. I call him Grubster. He’s so sloppy it drives me crazy. I’d like to get a nice fluffy towel, a pressure washer, a sock full of nickels, a clean toilet brush, a can of Comet cleanser and two new pairs of underwear for men and kidnap him. I’d make him put the first pair of drawers on while I prewashed him with the pressure washer and then I’d scrub him with the Comet and toilet brush until he was pink and shiny and bleeding in random places. That would be followed with a pressure washer rinsing and then he could dry off and put the other pair of clean drawers on. Then I would hit him in the ear with the sock of nickels. There are other reasons that I find him loathsome (other than being a hot mess) but this is the one thing that I could easily fix.

Sweety had his knee whacked into on Wednesday. Left knee this time. The right was done around this time last year. There are other things that have really been bothering him for awhile and I’m going to try and get him to get it checked out while he’s off work with this. He thinks he needs to just suck shit up and hurt until he dies but I’m of a different mindset.

While waiting for Sweety to get out of surgery, I saw something on the television about these crash helmets for babies. At first I thought this was the stupidest idea ever. I’ve had 3 nights to lie awake and imagine a toddling Bean getting trampled on the hard floor by Oliver. Yes, people. This is the shit that goes on in my mind. Kid hitting the ground and busting her keppie open while Oliver hauls ass away from the scene of the crime. Please, tell me stories of how your kid learned to walk and suffered traumatic head injuries and lived just fine without a crash helmet. OR tell me stories of how your insane Dachshund knocked your baby rolling and you wish she’d have had a helmet on. Validate my fear…or not.

It’s Disturbing In My Head

We’re riding in the truck and looking at the sleeping Bean. I pipe up with…

I wonder what she’s going to sound like.

What do you mean?

Her voice. I wonder what kind of voice she’ll have. I hope it’s not annoying.

Oh, no. She’ll sound musical. Not all whiny and shit. God, no. Not whiny.

Hell, no! I’d have to give her a tracheotomy and a voice box buzzer thingy. I need to go to medical school!

At this point I put my hand up to my throat and robotically said, “Hello, daddy!”. Sweety spit his soda out and said that I won at being disturbing for the day.

Go, me.

We’re Sickos. Total Sickos.

I was busy brushing my teeth this weekend, when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sweety come into the bathroom with Bean. He’s telling me to hurry and look at them but it takes me a minute to turn around.

As you may (or may not) know, we like to give things voices around here. The dogs all have their own voices and talk to us regularly. Even Chi Chi. Due to her freeze-dried nature, her voice is rather raspy. Like she’s been smoking for 50 years. Having a voice naturally extends to Bean. We talk for her and sometimes even wobble her bottom jaw to enhance her “speaking” abilities.

Now people, we are some sick fuckers here. Most humor is highly inappropriate and totally tasteless. This was no exception.

I swing around to see Bean sitting in the crook of Sweety’s arm and she is grasping in her right hand an untwisted coathanger.

Hey, baby! What are you doing?!

I wanted to show you this.

What is that?

When I was inside of you there was a sister with me but I evicted her with this coathanger.

At that point, all I could do was turn around and carefully inspect the sink faucet because sometimes I run out of words and this was one of those times. Sweety is cackling his ass off because if one of us can render the other speechless then something has been accomplished.

I finally found some words.

Dude. The first time I really see my baby hold something? It’s a fucking twisted coathanger and she’s making a joke about aborting her roommate? Damn. Just…damn.

And then I couldn’t help it – I laughed.

I’m Not All Bad

I like shiny things. A lot. Probably more than I should. I get all sweaty when I’m in a jewelry store because I get so excited.

Many moons ago, I was scheming. Sweety and I usually get up on Sunday morning and go have breakfast or lunch somewhere. I was thinking that I’d like something shiny. Maybe a little ring. So I suggested to Sweety that we go to a sports bar/restaurant that I am not a huge fan of because it is right next door to a jewelry store.

While at the restaurant, I encouraged Sweety to drink beer. Lots of beer. Then we strolled over to the jewelry store. I’ve always wanted a tennis bracelet (shiny! all of that shiny!) and I tried one on that was the same style as the “duchess” bracelet except it was bigger. It was like wearing tiny suns on my wrist. I loved it. Sweety saw that I loved it and said that he would get it for me.

I immediately felt guilty because my plan was to get him tipsy and get something small and shiny. Not go crazy in there.

But we got it.

I wore it every day to work and the only time I took it off was when I showered. As much as I like pretty jewelry, I don’t wear it to show it off. Sweety didn’t even realize I was wearing it to work because I always wear a giant, ratty denim shirt to work because it’s so cold and the shirt covers my hands. He asked me about the bracelet and I had to roll up my cuff to show it to him.

The place we got it from gave you 30 days to return something for a full refund and my conscience was wearing on me. It seemed very, very wrong that I’d take advantage of a beer-soaked Sweety to gain something so frivolous. I took the bracelet back on day 29.

I learned that there is a limit to how manipulative I can be.