Why Jesus is Jesus and James is not.

Me:  If I was Jesus, I think I would be mad at people who gave up facebook for Lent. Well, maybe not mad.  Maybe sad. Aren't you supposed to give up beef or something?
James: I'm not sure.  I think it's food of some sort.
Me:  Yeah.  If people gave up facebook instead of food for Lent and I was Jesus, I'd be all, "come on, man!  Are you serious?" and I'd probably be weeping and stuff...
James:  Not me.  If I were Jesus, I'd be so pissed off at everyone. I'd delete everyone's facebook and smite them.  With explosions.

James: That's probably another reason that I wouldn't make a very good Jesus.
Me:  Yeah, 'cause you'd just be mad all of the time about Lent and blowing stuff up.
James: Yeah, and there would be owls everywhere.
Me: What?
James: Yeah, every tree filled with hundreds of owls, all  "who cooks for you? hoo!hoo!HOO! HOO! WHOCOOKSFORYOOOOOOOOOOU!" *
Me: You can't have hundreds of owls in every tree.  They'll start dying.
James: Um...no.  Not if they're magic Jesus owls.
Me: Magic Jesus owls? Are you serious?
James: Uh-huh.  I'd make them in my own image.
Me: So if you're Jesus, you're just going to fill the world with a bunch of owls that look like you...?
James: Yep.  And blow up people's facebook accounts.
Me: You're right.  You'd make a terrible Jesus.

* It should be noted that we had this conversation while driving, and when James started talking about all of the owls in the trees and making his crazy owl noises, he got all bug eyed and crazy and started shouting "HOO!HOO!HOO!" and almost veered off the road and killed a little old lady pushing her cart of groceries across the street....with her baby granddaughter....and her puppy. Because James is a bad, bad man and also unnaturally obsessed with owls.

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Mamas, don't let yer doggies grow up and watch t.v. Seriously. It's not ok. You'll rue the day or something.

Me: James - did you leave the t.v. on?
James: No, why?
Me: The dogs are watching "Animal Planet" again.
James: The dogs aren't watching t.v.
Me: I'm telling you...I can hear them heckling "The Dog Whisperer." They're watching t.v. You need to talk to them.
James: I'm not going to talk to the dogs about watching t.v. You're imagining things.
Me: Uh-huh...

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How to be Married

A lesson in relationship stuff that's way smarter than stuff Oprah or Dr. Phil says because I'm a self-proclaimed expert in marriage.


By Jessica Benassi, self proclaimed expert on marriage


First - Get married before you get married. Some people call this “being divorced.” Getting married before you get married is a lot like dodgeball practice.

Sure, your co-captain launches dodgeballs at your gut the whole time, causing you to double over in agony and wonder why it seems like nobody’s following the rules.

He might even launch the ball at your head, knocking your glasses off and making it so that the tall, super bitchy blonde standing next to him is kind of out of focus and doesn’t look like a dodgeball threat.

This is ok…it’s just practice and it doesn’t actually count like a real dodgeball game . (If you’re Catholic, sometimes it’s harder to prove that dodgeball practice doesn’t count, but that’s only because most Catholic people like soccer and dodgeball probably confuses them a little bit.)
Usually you can find a fair and honest referee that will agree that your original game was just practice. Actually, sometimes the referees suck, but the important thing is that everybody agrees that at the end of the day, it was just a practice game and also, everybody should get to keep the sweatbands and tube socks that they brought to practice and not be a dick and try to take everybody else’s sweatbands and tube socks.

One thing that can get tricky is when team members decide to enlist a mascot for practice games. This is pretty stupid, because practice games don’t need a mascot and when it’s time to play real dodgeball, everybody thinks that the mascot should represent their team. The only way to solve the mascot dilemma is to put the mascot in a circle and have both co-captains from the practice game call to the mascot and let the mascot choose her own team. Also, it’s important to shove bologna in your bra and in your socks, otherwise you run the risk of the mascot choosing the wrong team and that would be stupid because you’re the one that picked the mascot in the first place.

Sometimes people get babies and little kids and stuff as mascots and things get weird. I don’t have any advice to give about that…the only mascots I’ve ever had were canine except the one time when I had a baby, except he was an imaginary baby and now he’s all grown up and in the FBI and the CIA and is apparently too good to play dodgeball with his family, and also he’s ungrateful.

Once you’re done practicing and you have your tubesocks and your sweatbands and your mascot, you’re ready for real dodgeball. Real dodgeball can also be tricky, because sometimes your co-captain seems like he’s not on your team and when you’re not looking, he’s launching dodgeballs at your gut and you might get confused and start thinking that you’re practicing again. Take a deep breath. You practiced your dodgeball game way longer than any sane person should ever practice dodgeball and you know what to do.

Crouch down…catch the ball…launch it back, straight at his big fat husband head...except be careful not to mess up the wig, because those are expensive and also probably a limited edition.

In the morning, when he is conscious again, he will acknowledge you as the Supreme Dodgeball Champion of the House and surprise you with French toast in bed and DVD copies of every Joseph Fiennes movie ever made, because Joseph Fiennes is beautiful and also the patron saint of dodgeball and marriage.

You’re welcome.

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47% of everything Google says is 97% true which is why it's ok to use it as a substitute for a marriage counselor. Usually.

The other night when all of the plumbing in the freezing cold basement at our place broke, James and I got into a huge fight. Obviously. Everybody knows that a gigantic fight is the first step in fixing a plumbing problem. It went something along the lines of:

Me: No! Water!
James: Broken. Everything's broken.
Me: Fix water!
James: Can't. Broken.
Me: Water feet! Cold! YOU!
James: Quiet! Broken water!
Me: No. YOU quiet!
James: Smell bad!
Me: You smell bad!
James: Water smell bad! Stupid!

I think we went back and forth like that for something like 76 years until a plumber showed up. When I got home I started googling ways to save my marriage, because everybody knows that 47% of marriages fail because people don't use google after a fight, and also because google is the answer for everything.

Google said that James and I should roleplay so that we can understand each other better, but when I talked to him about it he was all resistant because he hates marriage, and also, he hates fun.

Me: Google says that we're supposed to dress up like the Real Housewives of Atlanta so we can save our marriage.
James: Save our marriage from what?
Me: From ourself...selves.
James: Ourselfselves?
Me: Whatever. Anyway, I bought you this wig. Put it on.
James: I'm not putting on that wig, and also, why are you still wearing the tampon shoes?
Me: I know. I can't take them off, though. They're so warm on my toes. Also, check out my weave.
James: You know we have mirrors here that you can use?
Me: I can't believe we're on the brink of divorce and you won't even wear this wig to save our marriage.
James: I'm pretty sure our marriage will be ok without me wearing that wig.
Me: I can't wait until you fall asleep so we can roleplay like Google told us to.

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That one time that I almost died and lost my memory and forgot that I had a blog...

So, I could give you guys a bunch of stupid excuses about why I haven't been here, whining about how, "Oh, I'm so busy...I have this new bar that I bought and I work all of the time and I'm all tired and stuff...blah blah blah..."

But you guys don't want to hear that and it's totally not even true, anyway. I love you guys so I think it's important that we're honest with each other...

The truth is, I had amnesia. And the reason that I had amnesia is because the economy completely sucks and I'm broke and my imaginary baby Awesome the First works for the FBI and I asked him if he could hook me up with a job, so he did and I became a super secret agent and I was in a helicopter chasing this fugitive from justice and we were over the ocean and the fugitive from justice was in a boat and I jumped out of the helicopter right when this giant octopus who was all entwined with this mega shark came flying out of the sea and I bounced off of the octopus' skull and passed right out. The Navy Seals came and rescued me and took me to this hospital in Switzerland, and I was ok except when I woke up I didn't remember anything - not even my own name. Plus, since I was a super secret agent, the Navy Seals and the FBI and the CIA and all of those guys weren't allowed to tell anyone anything about me, so they just left me there and everybody called me Lavender GallBladder and anyone who actually knew my real name couldn't find me...although I'm told that there was a pretty serious search effort put forth by my friends and family....you probably saw it on the news or America's Most Wanted or Mystery Science Theatre 3000 or something.



(I'm pretty sure that the octopus looked exactly like this, only about a gazillion times bigger, probably)

Anyway, Awesome the First went to his Commander in Chief and he was all,"Captain! We have to find my mom!" And the Chief Captain Commander was all, "No! You can't handle the truth!" And my son was like,"But Captain, she could be in serious peril!" And the Captain Chief Commander in Charge was all, "Get out of my office! You make me sick!" And my son was all, "I'm not leaving here without my mother!" and then he threw his gun and his badge on the desk and he stormed out of the office and the Charge Captain was all, "If you walk out of here now, son, dont come back!" and Awesome was all, "I'm not your son!" and he spit on the ground and then he came and rescued me because you can't break the bonds between a mother and her son...

Anyway, I'm ok now and I remember who I am and stuff and I'm on Super Secret Agent Hiatus for a while, because of all of the stuff that I just went through...but if you see me waiting tables anywhere, you probably shouldn't mention any of this because that would probably mean that I was back to work and all undercover and busting fugitives from justice and stuff and you guys don't want to be responsible for blowing my cover.

P.S. James was just reading over my shoulder and he was all, "Octopuses don't have skulls. They're invertebrates."
Me: "Yeah, well most sharks aren't the size of the statue of liberty either."
James: "Octopuses with skulls and giant sharks aren't real."
Me: "Ok, smart guy. Try telling that to the evil scientist that probably created them, then."
Jamies: "Didn't you major in biology?"
Me: "Um - yeah. Biology of non-evil scientist genetically manipulated sea creatures...stupid."
James: "You're a dildo."
Me: "You're just jealous because I'm a scientist and you're not."
James: "Shut up, dildo."

Anyway, the moral to the story is that James is an idiot and evil scientists are out in the world at this very moment genetically engineering squids and jellyfish and octopuses and filling them with skeletons and unicorn horns and stuff and we would all be wise to remember a little thing called the Buddy System when we go swimming.

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A&E should do an Intervention show about Bravo, because Rachel Zoe and the Atlanta Housewives are seriously ruining my life.

I'd like to say that I haven't posted in over a month because of all of the empire building I'm doing over here. Like, I can't post because I'm knee deep in construction projects and renovation projects and red tape and legal mumbo jumbo and 10,000 pounds of jewelry parts. I'd like to say that and really, I am buried in all of that stuff...but... I've had spare time.

I keep late hours, hours in which renovation isn't possible and lawyers don't want to talk to you.

I've had the computer in front of me multiple times, all ready to go.

I've had people ask me how my new baby is and I'm all, "Oh, he's great, he's in college now, going to be a neuroastrosurgeonautologist...read my blog, I'll probably post pictures tonight!"

...and then I get home and I'm all..."OMG, there's a Rachel Zoe marathon. She's totally going to shut it down. I have to watch this. Seriously. Lit.er.ally."

And James looks at me like I'm crazy person, which isn't really anything new and I don't even know why I even bother asking him why he's looking at me like that but I always do anyway so I'm like, "What?"

James: Why are you talking like a moron?
Me: OMG. I'm totally not. Seriously.
James: Seriously, you totally are. Knock it off. Also, didn't you just watch the Bravo channel for 3 days straight this week when you had the flu?
Me: OMG. It was bananas. Those shoes were O.O.C. Right? I died. I...lit.er.ally just...died.
James: No you didn't. You had the flu.
Me: What are you talking about?
James: You already saw this show...many, many times.
Me: I know. I die.
James: What are you talking about?
Me: What are YOU talking about?
James: I'm going out to the garage.

So then I have to call Emily because she's a girl and married and rational and she knows exactly how difficult it is sometimes to be in a marriage where communication is such a problem.

Emily: I was going to call you!
Me: I know. I saw on facebook that you were sick. Are you ok?
Emily: Oh man, it was so bad, I thought I was going to die.
Me: Bananas. Was it vertigo? Rachel Zoe had vertigo.
Emily: no...it was...
Me: Did you die? Lit.er.ally? She literally just died. Except she wasn't dead.
Emily: Um...no. I had labyrinthitis.
Me: Shut UP! Was your stomach the bog of eternal stench? Was David Bowie floating all over the place in tight pants, trying to steal your baby brother?
Emily: Um...no...I was all dizzy and...
Me: Were you "Tardy for the Par-dee?"
Emily: What?
Me: Don't be tard-dee fer tha par-dee...whoa oh oh oh oh oh....don't be tard-ee for the par-dee....
Emily: Are you talking to me or are you talking to somebody else?
Me: Sorry. Remember how Kim can't sing and everybody was making fun of her last season? Well, this season there's this new housewife and she's a singer and she totally hooked Kim up with this dance song and they played it at this party and they totally shut.it.down.
Emily: Who's Kim?
Me: The Real Housewives of Atlanta? Hello?
Emily: Riiiight....hey, can I call you back later? I'm not feeling so great.
Me: Oh, cool, no problem. Top Chef is on anyway. Hey! Tell David Bowie I said "hey sexy!" and I love his hair.
Emily: Right.

Anyway, I started watching Top Chef and I was going to blog but then I thought I'd look up "labyrinthitis" because that is seriously, the best fake illness name EVER and Emily is hilarious for thinking it up and HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS!

Labyrinthitis is real.

Like, super real, makes you feel like crap and your eyes go all weird and you're dizzy and pukey and it's kind of like if you had vertigo and then a mathematician came along and squared it and then a better mathematician came along and squared it again. Seriously uncomfortable, freaky, weird, REAL illness.

Anyway, I called Emily back and I was all, "I'm SO sorry I made fun of your labyrinthitis, I thought you were talking about the movie and I got all distracted because David Bowie is SO hot." And it turns out she's only seen Labyrinth one time instead of the zillion times that I've seen it, and she actually HAD labyrinthitis so her first thought was "I think I'm going to puke because of my labyrinthitis" and my first thought was, "Emily is my greatest friend ever because she makes up illnesses based on David Bowie movies" so we weren't really even on the same page at all. Plus, she doesn't watch the Real Housewives of Atlanta and also, "Tardy for the Party" isn't really a very good song so I'm probably super lucky that she even answered the phone when I called her back.

The good news is, she did know that Rachel Zoe had vertigo and she agreed that it was bananas. She also agreed that the shoes were OOC and that when she is cured of her labyrinthitis, we should dress like David Bowie in Labyrinth and go out and shut.it.down.

Seriously.


Literally.

Or, as my friend Emily says, "literaseriously."

P.S. First, I can't post pictures of my kid because he's doing top secret government work and I have to protect his identity...and also, he inherited my giant head and it's hard to get a good picture. Second:



Bizarro.

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I would so ninja kick bridezilla's ass...seriously.

So, I'm channeling all of my wedding stress into really complex ninja fantasies, where anyone that aggravates me even the slightest bit gets a serious ninja beatdown from me...

At the office supply store, the lady that was standing in front of the paper that I really REALLY needed...the lady that wouldn't move because she had to stand there and talk on the phone...even though she obviously didn't need any paper...and I really did...and this was the 5th store that I'd been to...and I'm super stressed out...and I was all sweet and stuff and she was totally NOT...

...she got the most serious ninja beatdown of them all...

Me: "Excuse me, ma'am, might I just squeeze past you and get that batch of paper there?"
Evil Lady: "Meh...hmphh...no."
Me: "Ma'am, it would only take just a second and I'll be out of your way in a jiffy!" (check out how sweet I am)
Evil Lady: "Pffffffffft...meh." (I KNOW! Can you believe this chick?)
Me: "Ma'am, I suggest you step aside before I unleash the horror."
Evil Lady: "Heh...please....harumph."

...and then I totally did....I unleashed the horror. I grabbed a pack of 30% post consumer recycled cardstock, real quick origami'd them into chinese throwing stars and whipped a swarm of them at her head...

...she was all "Aiiiiieeeeeeee!" and was yelling into her bluetooth head set thing for somebody to help her...but nobody can protect you from "The Horror" (that's my ninja name ~ it's pretty awesome)...then she tried to run but she tripped over her bright orange Crocs because everybody knows that Crocs suck for running...then I did a double back flip and landed on the top shelf where normally you're not even allowed to reach for stuff up there without assistance but I'm a ninja so that doesn't apply to me...anyway, I combined my ninja skills with some wrestler moves and I dropped down and body slammed her. Then I dug my elbows into her back (I do this to James all of the time and he freaks out so I know it hurts pretty bad) and I was all, "Who doesn't get their paper, now, HUH? Meh meh, right? RIGHT????"

...and then my phone rang and I snapped out of it and she wasn't even there anymore so I got my paper.

People are so lucky I'm not a real ninja...yet.

P.S. I was telling James about this and how my ninja name is "The Horror" and he was all, "your ninja name is the whore?" and I was like, "no, it's The Horror, like...I'm scary...I'm The Horror," and he was all, "What's so scary about a whore?" and I was like, "I'm not a WHORE, I'm The Horror, I'm a ninja and that's my ninja name, I'm The Horror, asshole!" and James was like, "Stop yelling about being a whore!" and I was all, "I'm not a whore!!!" and then we remembered we were in a restaurant and people were staring so we told them that we were planning our wedding and everyone kind of nodded knowingly and went back to eating their food because apparently everyone goes through this.

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Believes and Convictions*

I love/hate watching reality t.v. with James. The love comes because he actually enjoys and keeps up with some of the same (admittedly craptastic) shows that I do. We're both completely obsessed with "Rock of Love." We share a mutual disappointment in "Rock of Love - Charm School." We had really high hopes for the girls and Sharon Osbourne...unfortunately, that show just sucks. They just eliminated one of the Rock of Love trainwrecks and played taps. Taps.

Do you have any idea how bad a show has to be for me to say it sucks? Seriously...

The hate comes from him randomly deciding to mock other reality shows that I watch that he thinks are ridiculous. He's really stupid like that...you can't enjoy some reality shows and then label others as ridiculous....they're all ridiculous. You don't get to pick and choose what's "quality" reality t.v ~ there's no such thing. It's all crap and you're either all the way down here in the gutter with me and reality t.v. or you're up there on the sidewalk with your clean shoes. You don't get to have one foot in, one foot out. ( I really feel like the end of that rant deserved a "soldier!" at the end...it felt kind of drill sargent-boot campish, but in a "I'm schooling you while sitting on my butt watching t.v. and also bring me some ice cream" kind of way.)

Also, sometimes people never ask me how James and I manage to maintain such a strong and healthy relationship. I always never tell them it's due to our great communication skills and the respect that we have for each other:

James: Ooh! We should do that!
Me: Do what?
James: Start extorting money from celebrities!
Me: You're an idiot.
James: What are you doing?
Me: Staring at my nipples.
James: What?
Me: I think they look cross-eyed.
James: What's wrong with you?
Me: What's wrong with me? You just said we should extort money from celebrities!
James: Nipples can't be cross-eyed!
Me: Yes they can. They look all cross-eyed like pug eyeballs. We should both be concerned.
James: You're an idiot.


*Sometimes people mangle the english language and it's like fingernails down a chalkboard. Sometimes people mangle the english language and you think it's funny and you want to include it in your blog but there really isn't a whole lot to say about it because the sentence speaks volumes all by itself so you just take an excerpt and use it as the title for your blog post because you needed a title anyway.

Found on the internet: "After all it is money and popularity that determines what many 'stars' say, not their believes and convictions. How sad!!!!!"

Also, I like run-on sentences as much as I like ellipses. I like to think of it as creative sentence structure...thinking outside the box...or something.

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In some weird way, I kind of see your point.

So, it would appear that my puppies post had a couple of people scratching their heads and maybe wondering about my sanity. I don't know...lack of sleep makes me crazy obsessive. Also, I heard a story once about just such a thing happening to puppies so you know...the concern is legitimate. Anyway...

I had to explain to James the other day why having a bra that doesn’t fit right is NOT cool. You would think that this would be pretty obvious but no…not so much. Before I go any further I should probably also explain that I’m not really the most well dressed person when I’m hanging out at home. 95% of the time I’m probably wearing some combination of too small/too big/paint splattered/coffee stained/dog chewed a hole in it clothing. It was the too small shirt/too big pants combo that led to this conversation:
James: Whoa…nice shirt!
Me: Yeah...it’s too small, I know. Also, I think my bra is too small…I have this weird little overhang thing going on…like…a speed bump or something.
James: Like your boobs are trying to escape from your bra?
Me: Sort of…it’s like…double boobage.
James: Like 4 boobs instead of 2?
Me: Yeah…I’m like that midget chick in that Arnold Schwarzenegger movie.
James: Total Recall?
Me: Yeah! Total Recall! I’m a total freak with my extra boobs.
James: First…it was 3 boobs, not 4…Second…the chick with the extra boob wasn’t the midget-the midget was someone else and Third…there is no way on earth that you’re ever going to convince me that having extra boobs that are trying to escape from your bra is not awesome.
Me: You’re the strangest sort of pervert I’ve ever met.

I still need new bras and I’m guessing that I’m probably not getting Victoria’s Secret gift certificates for Christmas.

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Because telling me earlier would have been too easy.

On the way to the dentist (James has to drive me. The grill phobia is severe and I require hand holding):

Me: Do you think they can just replace all of your teeth?
James: Maybe. I'm pretty sure you don't need to have all of your teeth replaced, though.
Me: But if they could just yank them all out and give me brand new ones...I mean, why not? My mouth is completely jacked anyway...
James: Your mouth is not "jacked" and I think they would probably only do a few teeth at a time. I think replacing all of your teeth at once might be pretty traumatic.
Me: Whatever. I'd rather have it all done at once than a little bit at a time anyway. OOH!! I'd have to drink everything through a straw! Think about how skinny I'd be!
James: You'd be like boobs on a stick.
Me: I would be like boobs on a stick! That's ok. I've actually been called that before...Oh no...wait...bad idea. My head...can you imagine how freaking huge my head would look if I lost a bunch of weight?
James: You'd probably end up looking like a blowpop with boobs.
Me: Yeah. No way can I get my whole grill replaced at once.

My dentist assured me that my teeth are not rotting out of my head and are in fact, pretty healthy teeth. I just needed a new filling. (I don't want anyone to take this the wrong way 'cause I actually really like everyone at my dentist's office but I'm pretty sure they're all a bunch of liars - They always tell me my teeth are fine but I know my grill is messed up - I dream that my teeth fall out all of the time and dreams don't lie.)

Anyway, I have some weird resistance to novocaine which means I require far more than the average person...which James really loves because he has a fun little needle phobia. Since I need him to hold my hand throughout the entire dental process, he gets to watch me get shot in the face not once but multiple times with a gigantic, freaky, World War I era-looking syringe.

The dentist really is just fun for the whole family.

Afterwards, I celebrated my shiny new porcelain filling by awkwardly trying to eat a big bowl of mashed potatoes, using only one side of my mouth. Later on in the evening, as I was thanking James for being such a sport about the big needle and taking me to the dentist he interrupted me and said, in his most concerned and serious voice, "You know you've had mashed potatoes all over your face for most of the day, right?"

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