Syrup Shampoo

Yesterday I jumped in the shower but forgot to grab the new shampoo - I'd left it in the kitchen with the other Trader Joe's stuff.

David came into the bathroom to wash his hands, so I asked him if he could bring me the shampoo off the kitchen table.

He came right back and handed me this:

"No He Didn't!"

Last week blew chunks. Big giant chunks of blue whale. It wasn't the worst week, but it was far from the best.

First - boys, just a warning, I'm going to talk about lady parts. One of my ovaries may have exploded like a super nova. When I die, they'll find parts of it all over my insides. The coroner will say, "Wow, that must have been painful." Yes, yes it was. I'm no stranger to Middleschmertz, but this was more like middleschmOHMYGODMAKEITSTOP.

No idea what's going on, but I have to wonder if all the activity from the prior week - spending hours out & about on snowshoes and x-country skis - may have jostled things around enough so that once the ovulation started, parts that were already tired or tender became super upset with all the swelling and bursting that goes on with shoving an egg out into the world.

Because, you know, those little ovaries are only tethered by ligaments and if the owner of those ligaments is ridiculously out of shape, well, I'm just sayin. Probably not a good thing. At any rate, by Tuesday night I was on vicodin praying to the pharmaceutical gods for sweet relief.

That's as bad as it got - every day afterward was a little better until the pain was almost totally gone by Thursday night. Then the cops came.

We were enjoying 30 Rock when the doorbell rang. Because it was after 9pm, I wasn't about to answer it. We get frequent solicitors and I was annoyed that one would come by so late AND that we'd have to interrupt important television viewing. Then it rang again.

Irritated, I got up and answered the door asking, "Can I HELP you? It's after 9pm!" Oh, Hello RCMP... fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. With no trace of humor in her voice she asked if it was our dogs barking and causing a disturbance.

I explained that No, they're our neighbor's/landlord's dogs and she lives downstairs and why, was there anything wrong? She said a neighbor called about the noise.

We'd heard them barking but they weren't bothering us, so who's the spineless douchebag who can't come over and ask us to quiet them down?

She wouldn't tell me who called, but one of her partners - THREE of them came out to investigate DOGS - went directly across the street to the lady I like to call Mrs. Kravitz. They didn't chat with any other neighbors, just Gladys.

After telling Ms. RCMP that they weren't our dogs she asked to see my driver's license. I didn't realize you had to have a license to rent a flat. I got it, handed it to her, and she proceeded to write down all my info in her smart little notebook. She never asked for the dog owner's name or phone number. Just mine.

I did apologize to her for snapping when I opened the door, explaining about the solicitors. She didn't respond.

When they left, I came back inside and was SUPER tweaked about #1, the douchebag who called them in the first place and #2, that the RCMPs now have all MY information, information they have no business having. THEY AREN'T OUR DOGS. WOULDN'T YOU PREFER TO HAVE THE INFORMATION OF THE ACTUAL DOG OWNER?

David didn't understand why I was so annoyed. He meant well, but he made the egregious error of saying "Calm down..."

He's had no negative experiences with law enforcement. He thinks it's all fine & reasonable to have cops come to the door and ask you about dogs that aren't yours and copy down YOUR driver's license info into a cute little notebook.

I was on the verge of calming down until he said "calm down." Funny how that happens. When I relayed this riveting story to my good friend Mary, she said "No he didn't..." Yes, yes he did. And then I was seriously pissed.

I think boys, when confronted with an emotional female, immediately try to quell the uprising because they just don't know what else to do. I think it's terrifying for them to see a woman getting agitated.

But, long story longer, we worked it out and all is fine. I'm just glad that I'm no longer doubled-over in pain or trying to get an RCMP to act like a human instead of a Hortons-eating robot.

A Quiz - It's Fun!

Below are two options to see an eye doctor - choose the one that seems easiest for all involved:

a. A doctor close to your office - just a few blocks away.

b. Have your spouse drive you to the train station where you can take your usual train to work - the early train, the one that comes before the sun rises - so you can take a different train later on a different system to another part of town where you'll need to have your spouse come and pick you up after the appointment, which will require driving in rush hour traffic on streets clogged with construction equipment, with three lanes merging down to one and no easy way into/out of the area where the doctor is located

If you chose a., you're crazy and probably a total bore. If you chose b., you're my husband and isn't this fun!?

Happy Birthday, Smack Jackson

I know how you all love reading about me and all the riveting things that happen to me and my brilliant ideas about the world - I know it's the best part of your day to stop here and get your Nootsmaak fix. You don't have to thank me... although you could. I wouldn't stop you.

But today we're going to take a brief - BRIEF - break from the gift that is me and wish my hubby a happy birthday. He wasn't ecstatic about turning 40, but maybe after a little while he'll realize it's a meaningless number. Except when it's time to renew the health insurance.

Smack is a Midwestern boy and I'm glad he found me. It's difficult to find quality mates in San Francisco. My single girlfriends will back me up on that. Lots of self-absorption and "you're so lucky to know me" going on. And I should know since you're soooo lucky to know me.

Bear in mind, I'm not dissing all potential partners, just some. Or most - your mileage may vary. By the time Smack hinted that he might want to be more than friends, I'd given up on dating in SF. Taken myself off the market. I'm a terrible dater.

When Mr. Man sent me that email (we're both geeks) about maybe going out sometime, I sort-of became Kristen Wiig's Excited Sue character.

I'd known him for a year or so - we were both involved with other people most of that time - but even when I first met him, I instantly respected him. That's rare.

He's a good person, through and through. And so damn funny. The shit he says kills me. And omigod, he has such a fine ass. I can't not mention that. Dreamy. And he loves cats. Loves them. He's the reason we have THREE of them. And I love the little lines around his eyes when he smiles. Gorgeous.

And it's not just me who thinks he's great - my family prefers him over me most of time. I don't think he realizes how great he is, and maybe that's another thing to like about him.

So, Happy Birthday - I love you and can't wait to see what the next 40 years has in store for you.

Romantic Weight Loss

Got a piece of spam yesterday I almost deleted - I'm so glad I took a moment to read the preview before losing it forever.

My new friends at ColonMed700 are offering me a wonderful Free Colon Cleanse Sample enabling me to Lose Weight With My Mate Today.

Isn't that terrific? We'll grow even closer while we race each other to the toilet with horrific abdominal cramps and explosive diarrhea. I ordered a 90-supply.

Husband = Pet

Or giant kid. If you see this post David, you know I'm right.

Guess who left the country and took his car keys and the key to our bike lock with him? Go ahead and guess - I'll wait.

Here's a hint - he doesn't have his car or our bikes with him in Merry Ol' England. If you guessed Your husband - you're right!

Let's see what you've won! A bike you can't ride and a car you can't move. Congratulations!

Living With a Boy

As anyone who's ever been to my house can attest, I'm no Nancy Neatnik, but I have *some* standards. And I'm sure not all boys are Slobby Messersons, but some of you boys need to take a class.

It's fine to shave your beardy growth and leave whiskers all over the bathroom sink and counter - just clean them up when you're done. We don't need to see just how much manly hair you had to remove to reveal your boyish complexion. We won't notice your boyish complexion if we're transfixed by the disgusting mess you left behind.

If you're done with the food stored in the container on the counter, go ahead and discard the crumbs and put the container in the sink. There's no need to leave the crumbs and empty wrapper inside the container on the counter. This is akin to putting an empty milk/juice carton back in the fridge. Not really sure what you're trying to tell us with this habit, but you can cut it out right now.

Now this next thing could be a remnant of tribal survival habits learned thousands of years ago, which could be cool historically, but probably not necessary today. We don't need to be able to track your whereabouts by crumbs left in your path, perhaps as a sort-of trail marker.

Poppy seed bagel eaten sometime in the morning, and later, a small pizza assembled in the toaster oven... ah, the ring of a soda can there... yes, the subject is on the move toward the southwest quadrant... Trust me - we know how to find you. It's OK to clean up the mess as you make it, wherever you make it.

If a discarded object is fit for recycling one day, why does it sometimes end up in the trash on other days? Has its molecular composition changed on those other days? This, too, is a mysterious, annoying habit, but why not err on the eco side and recycle it *always*?

And on that topic, if the bag of recycling is just a bit too full, there's no need to artfully balance an item on top of the pile, well above the top of the bag where it will fall right off when it's moved. It is possible to either compress the items in the bag to make room, or start a whole new bag after taking the full one out to the bin. This happens every day all over the world and seems to be a successful system of recycling management.

Back to the bathroom for a moment... If you know you're going to leave something of an odorous nature in there that no other human would want to encounter, please do the right thing and leave that in a secondary (distant) bathroom, if available. We'll all be happier - you won't have to apologize profusely and perhaps be embarrassed by your unfortunate super powers and we won't ever know what happened.

On that same topic, we can hear you. Just being one room away doesn't change the physics of sound waves. It might be admirable that you have so much resonance and power in that area, but we're OK with not knowing about it. I mean, after the first fourteen hundred times, it's just not as funny as the first thirteen hundred ninety nine times.

But maybe it's just me. Maybe I've changed. I hear that can happen. Who wouldn't love living with the habits of a fourteen-year-old boy? All that youthful exuberance right here at home. It should make me feel young, yes?

Furry Diffusion

Tonight David and I tried to have a perfectly good stupid argument but were continually interrupted by a meowing kitten rolling around at our feet.

She does not enjoy raised voices, or voices that aren't talking directly to her or about her.

We were forced to abandon our argument before we could get it started. We both had half-baked positions we were set on defending with hollow logic and circular blaming tactics, but couldn't stay focused on our lameness long enough to build up the necessary momentum.

Not even a minute into it we realized it wasn't going to happen and our focus shifted back to the only priority there is - serving The Kitten, always and forever.

Happy Day to Me

Stop Corporate! Huzzah!
The migraine meds work - huzzah!

Tonight at dinner we overheard a fascinating discussion between two women. Seems one woman's husband continues to self-sabotage his efforts when it comes to laundry. He has trouble keeping the socks sorted properly. Sounds like this man is in dire need of help. Immediately.

I asked David to please pop me a good one in the mouth if I EVER start talking to him about laundry with any shred of seriousness.

Thank you to Ms. Crafty for the crafty coaster - I love it! The cat is still in the bag... Ha!

Ice

Finally picked up the ring today... It's similar to the original design, but seems like someone else's ring. It's taking time to get used to it. It's a solid symbol of what's coming - like now it's more real or serious. Not sure how I feel about that... I've really enjoyed all these years I've been married to myself. I think I'm going to miss that.