It’s Definitely Snuggie Weather. Definitely.

You ever see something small that really shouldn't matter; something that should not require a second thought let alone a first one but you can't let it go? This happens to me constantly but the other day I think I was justified in my internal investigation of a situation I witnessed.

It has been brutally hot in this part of the country as of late, and yes, I know people have it worse somewhere in the world, but the bottom line is I am fat and don't like to sweat. The wife needed a few things, and I had to buy some chemical warfare supplies for a wasp nest situated right above our front door.  So, I stopped at Wal-Mart on my way home from work.

You were my hero.  You didn’t even have to dress like this guy when you killed those wasps. Like a boss.

I have a love/hate relationship with that store, I am not fond of capitalism in general and I hate that small businesses can't survive when a Wal-Mart opens near them. But it is a necessary evil because I cannot be bothered to go to multiple stores when I need Cheetos, sweatpants, guns and an oil change. I do love the people though, people put their social status on display and it is glorious, you haven't lived until you've squeezed past a very large woman on a motorized chair to get to the pudding cup, and the moment of realization when you are honest with yourself and decide that you are not disgusted by her but instead very jealous. Why am I still using legs to move myself about? Seems like such a waste.

Is it your goal to include your disgusting love of Cheetos in every post?

After making my purchases I headed out into the blistering heat; in front of me was a gentleman in his early twenties in shorts and a tee-shirt. He was dressed for the heat and he was carrying his lone purchase.  His prize so sacred that he didn't even bother having it bagged up. He triumphantly carried his brand new Snuggie out of the door and into the parking lot. If you are so sheltered that you do not know what a Snuggie is you must Google it and if you don't know what Google is, then I have nothing for you because I don't remember how we used to find stuff out before Google anymore.

I don’t have a lot to say on the subject as I wasn’t there, but here is a picture of my husband when he got his Snuggie.  Yes, the picture is blurry, and his face is hidden.  I assure you; however, that behind that box is the smile of a man-child.

What makes a man buy a Snuggie in 100 degree weather? This guy was sitting at home, most likely in front of a fan on its highest setting desperately trying to be cool and made a decision to drive to Wal-Mart. Maybe he decided to go to Wal-Mart to enjoy some free air conditioning.  That makes sense to me; I did something similar when the power went out all over the city where we used to live. I would go to retail stores that had power just because it was much more comfortable than a powerless home in the middle of the summer. So, this man, we will call him Travis simply because I don't know a Travis and wish I did, is walking around the store and there on the shelf is the one item that would be perfect for such a day, not just a blanket, but a blanket with sleeves. I imagine his swiftness in grabbing it and immediately running to the register with it like a crazed shopper on black Friday.

I’m probably the only person who doesn’t see anything wrong with this purchase.  Though, I am the one who, while temperatures were well above 100°F yesterday, watched Kitchen Nightmares on the couch with her trusted comforter and sweat pants. 

While I struggle to think of logical scenarios that can explain his behavior Travis sits in his home wearing his Snuggie like a sweaty wizard; content.  If I ever see someone driving a motorized chair while wearing a Snuggie my brain may implode.

I searched long and hard for an image of a person on a motorized wheelchair wearing a Snuggie.  You know, so I could collect the insurance money after his head explodes.  I found some really terrifying things. 

Dear Internet, Why are you so scary?

Tractors > Obama but Probably = Fried Snickers

God bless America and their love of fried foods. This last weekend was the county fair and it was truly a religious experience. We live in a small county full of small towns and even though I have met some very intelligent people living here, it is unfortunately full of a lot of small minded people. The formula for the fair is: simple people + beer + tractors = x and in this case x equals awesome.

Yay! We get to talk about the fair!  Let me start by saying, I am a city girl.  For 24 years of my life, I lived in a city. And by city, I mean heavily populated areas. Not some BS town posing as a city.  2 years ago we moved to the middle of nowhere.  A charming place where the entire population of the "city" is about 75% of the population of the high school I attended.   It’s almost painful living a half an hour away from the nearest Starbucks and Target, and at least an hour from a decent mall.  That being said, I’ve discovered a new appreciation for mud and tractors. 

Fair Checklist:

Funnel cake – check

Beer – check.

Mud – check

Tractors – DOUBLE CHECK

New take on life:

Target – meh. 

Okay, that was too far.  I’m sorry, Target.  But seriously, y’all: TRACTORS.  Who knew?

I experienced an awakening this weekend, my life will never be the same. I should have felt shame as I ordered the deep fried snickers bar but I did not, I only felt excitement and a mild fear. I bit into the candy bar covered in fried pancake batter and as my arteries closed my third eye opened, it was like Harry Potter and the goblet of fire when he faces off against Voldemort and out of the wand comes all of his deceased loved ones. My father and mother were there to encourage me through this wonderful adventure; it was akin to losing my virginity all over again. I just realized that last sentence made it seem as if my parents were present at the loss of my virginity, I would like to state for the record that wasn't the case.

I don’t even know what to say here. On one hand, the fried snicker’s was great.  The small bite I was allowed to have, all while being stared at like I had murdered his best friend in front of him, was really good.  Also, he left off the part where after the snicker’s is deep fried, THEN it is covered in powdered sugar and chocolate sauce.  On the other hand, I’m really disturbed.  I now have this vision of your parents cheering us on while we have sex.  Thanks a lot, asshole.

A lot of negative things can be said about living in a small town and my elitist self probably would have said those things before we moved here, but when you live in one you begin to appreciate the positives.

Like the easy access to meth

The crazy rampant racism

The inbreeding

The lack of teeth

The fair this weekend helped me see the good.  My wife can tell you that there are a lot of ignorant people here and some that are flat out scary, but for the most part we are surrounded by friendly individuals. Yes there are people who believe adamantly that Obama is a Muslim.

And he personally will take away all of your guns while aborting babies with his own two hands and a rusty hanger.

And there are people who get very abrasive after their fifth pitcher of stag beer.

How can you blame them? The beer truck was RIGHT by the tractors. Tractors!

 And there are a few that see evolution as a slight against God.  

Well of course!  God wants us to stay stagnant and unchanging.

What I am saying is essentially there are a lot of Toby Keith fans, but once you get through all that you find the people like yourself. People who enjoy the safety and quiet of a small town but also believe in human kindness and courtesy.

Honestly, I’m surprised you saw all of that through your obsessing over the machine gun game.  Does it kill you that you never tried again?  That the big blue frog is still pinned to the wall, never to be won by you?  That little manila slip of paper is just waiting for you to gun down the red star?  Also, as a closet Toby Keith fan I am mildly offended. 

I am now a democrat with a liberal viewpoint that loves tractor pulls and banjo music and while my wife and I will eventually be city people again for now we are small towners and that is ok.

Yay, Tractors!

It’s not always funny, but you’ll live… Just don’t cry. Crying is for babies.

I want to have a baby.  I want to have a baby really badly.  I have a job that pays all of my benefits.  He finally has an excellent job with more than fantastic benefits.  We are married.  We don’t smoke or do drugs.  We don’t drink excessively.  We pay our bills on time and have worked very hard to minimize our debt.  We both love kids.  And most importantly, we don’t take ourselves too seriously.

My insides are broken.  Broken in a way that “it’s still possible to conceive.”  It’s almost worse than being broken all the way.  Then at least I wouldn’t have any hope to cling to.  And yes, adoption is an option.  But it isn’t the same.   I want a little person made entirely of me and him.  It’s still a possibility, but as we round on two years of trying and appointments and pills and specialists that possibility doesn't feel very big.

Yesterday a girl came in my office.  She was stoned out of her brain.  Stoned out of her brain, and pregnant.  I try very hard to not let my broken pieces get me down.  And I do a great job.  Most of the time.  Yesterday it took everything I had to not yell at her. To not scream, “I know your grandmother, what would she think? Does she know how selfish you are?”  I didn’t.  I didn’t chastise her on the care and nurturing that she should be doing.  That she should be so happy to do.  There is still a chance that baby will have a shot at a great life.  Maybe she will wake up, or maybe she will give it up.  Maybe someone will take that baby away from her so it can have a chance.

In December I had another girl visit my office.  She too was very pregnant, and she too was so high she probably doesn’t even remember being here. The girl was a little older than me, I know this now because of the newspaper. And the TV.  And the police statement that crossed my desk.  Her baby drowned because she was too cracked out to remember she put him in the bath tub.  He was two months old.  He didn’t even have a chance. 

The Casey Anthony trial just finished up this week, and I believe the jury did exactly as they should have.  They weren’t presented with enough evidence, or maybe just the right kind of evidence.  Maybe the media hung her out as guilty before she had a fair trial and we clung to the media interpretation.  Maybe it was an accident.  Maybe her journal entry and fresh new tattoo were misleading.  Maybe the duct tape wasn’t a murder weapon because it was done after Caylee was already dead.  Maybe the research on chloroform was just because she reads about crazy shit.  God knows if someone ever looked through my browser history they would think something was wrong with me.  There is a lot of maybes, and for that reason I can see why they said not guilty.  But to me, the girl who partied and started loving life just days after her baby disappeared and died, she is a monster.  Regardless of her guilt or lack thereof.  She is a monster for not giving her baby a chance.

I’m not naïve; I know that things like this happen often.  I know that most reasonable people are sad when tragedies occur.  I’m not the only person who wants a baby of their own.  I know that things aren’t always sunshine and roses.  I also know that there are strong girls who recognize that they can’t take care of a baby, and brave enough to have their babies and then give them up.  I know all of this, but I can’t help but feel bad.  Tomorrow will be better.  Maybe I will even be funny tomorrow. 

Today, I’m sad.

 I am not going to say much here, it is hard on me but I know it is harder for her as a woman.  It is a difficult thing to deal with but difficulty seems to have been a theme in both of our lives and we have always made it through and usually come out on the other side improved.  

  If we do adopt I know that my wife and I will in no way feel cheated, the child may not have our DNA but he or she will still be the product of our love and will have a piece of both of us and where we may not have been given the chance of having a baby we will have been given the gift of giving a chance at a good life to one in desperate need.  Regardless of the outcome, our child will be able to read this blog in the future and besides learning how crazy his/her parents are he or she will also see that there can be no doubt as to how much we wanted them in our lives.

In the meantime we have her:

And she’s a pretty awesome fill in.  

Of Families, rules, dominoes and sucking up

Family was in town for the holiday weekend, people from 2 different sides of the family came to our small town to partake in July 4^th festivities.

It was kind of madness and kind of awesome all at once.

 I love my wife's family to death, in fact I don't tend to think of them as my wife's family, they are as much my own family as are the ones I grew up with. They are a loving bunch of people, extremely hospitable, fun natured and a blast to hang out with. 

::coughkissasscough::

The wife and I played dominoes with them this weekend and it was my first time ever. My wife explained the mechanics of the game and I looked off into space trying to remember the maximum warp speed of the enterprise totally listened and gave my complete attention. My turn came around and all I knew was that I had some dominos in front of me and a lot of people waiting for me to do something, I grabbed what I thought was a good looking domino, it had some dots on it that corresponded to a number and that number seemed to match other pieces on the table and I placed it on the table in triumph. The sigh that escaped my wife's lips told me it was not a triumph. 

Honestly, Matt.  It’s basically counting.  Really?  Really, you couldn’t figure it out?

It is not JUST counting, that is what I thought but then all of a sudden people started busting out pennies... and counting is hard sometimes!

Wife-”Weren't you paying attention”?

Me-(trying to think of an excuse and failing) “...no”

I don’t even know why I asked. I’ll back up and say It’s really not completely his fault.  My family has this awesome tendency to all want to help. And by help, I mean talk.  So, regardless of who starts talking or explaining rules, within moments you have 5 other people explaining the parts they felt you didn’t address fast enough.  It’s miraculous he even knew what game we were playing.

I love my wife for what she did after that, instead of sending me off to the other room and not allowing me to play at the big kid's table she quieted the table and chastised THEM for being too loud and disruptive while she was explaining the rules, I showed her my appreciation by listening very intently during the second run through and after the first round I got it and really started developing my own strategy. Putting my winning strategy to work was when I realized I must have not heard a few of the rules.

Excerpt from the Dominoes: Mexican Train rule book.

This should actually read: How to play any game with your wife.

Rule 8 - Do not for any reason play a domino that will interfere with your wife's next turn.

You can easily replace domino with card, monopoly piece, etc.

Rule 9 – Do not be happy when you win, you winning means your wife lost and therefore you did NOT win. 

It’s funny you know the rules now.  After the fact. It’s like you forget everything I’ve ever taught you. 

It's not my fault that my species is hard to train.

Rule 10 – It is polite and reasonable for your wife to help an opponent in need, it is however considered treason and akin to domestic terrorism if you help out her sweet grandmother instead of her.

This is true when said sweet grandmother is purposely trying to destroy your wife. 

Rule 11 – Even though you are playing separate from your wife you are on her team.

That’s just life, baby.  Do you not want to be on my team anymore? 

In all fairness though I had a great time playing with my wife and her family. Weekends like this help strengthen our marriage, there is something therapeutic about sitting at a table with parents, grandparents and aunts and uncles.

Sometimes I think you have selective amnesia, specifically blocking out the moments where you quietly whisper, “When are we leaving?” and let out the sigh that only I can hear letting me know that you are ready to go and I am wearing on your nerves. 

The sighs are only for when I catch you delightedly stirring the drama pot.

Seeing her grandparents who have been married for over 50 years makes me realize how lucky I am and how much I am looking forward to the next 50 years with my wife. In life just as in dominoes your spouse will sometimes be your opponent but no matter what you are always on the same team and will share victories together.

Dear Matt,

 I love you, but you are a big cheeseball sometimes. 

<3 Me

P.S.  We won’t make it 50 years unless you eat more vegetables and less cheetos.  Just thought I would put that out in the universe. 

P.P.S.  Potatoes don’t count.

Potatoes DO count and you will eat your words when Frito Lay decides to put ads on our blog, my love for cheetos will pay, I'm telling you!