A Glimpse Into Marriage.

Do you see what I'm dealing with?  And this isn't even the half of it!  Future posts to surely follow.

The abyss my booty has fallen into 31,689 times and counting.

...because it's so much easier to put the toilet paper all the way over there than it is it to place it in the holder right next to the bowl...

Sorry, friends, but that's all I have time for today.  I'm exhausted after cleaning up after you-know-who!

Sushi: A Review.

When I first met Hubs, I was flabbergasted by how much we had in common.  Everything he said just made so much sense.  And so when one of our marathon phone conversations inevitably turned to the subject of sushi, I was a bit apprehensive.  I was not a fan of sushi.  What if Hubs loved it?  Could I actually have a future with a man who loved sushi?  I just didn't know.  Thankfully, though, he said those three little words that made my decision easy: "I hate sushi." 

Relief flooded my body.  Thank goodness I found a guy who hated sushi as much as I did!  Hallelujah!  Glory be to God in the Highest!  And all of those other hymns I sang in my church choir in high school. 

You see, my aversion to sushi began during my twenty-second year of being alive.  My friend and I decided to do dinner at Genuardi's.  She was getting sushi and suggested I do the same.  Not knowing any better, and being the daredevil that I am, I agreed to purchase a little package thingy of the California Roll, since she said there was nothing raw in it.  Shess showed me how to mix the wasabi with the soy sauce, and to dip my little piece of Japanese heaven into the mixture.  I put the little nugget in my mouth, and immediately wanted to spew chunks all over the freshly washed floor.  It wasn't the rice, avocado, or even the crab that made me want to vomit; it was the seaweed. 

Seaweed, friends, tastes exactly like...seaweed.  It's all that I thought it would be, only stronger. 

And from that day on, I was anti-sushi. 

I then started making fun of my friends who actually liked it, but honestly, I was jealous.  I called them trendies, but I coveted the way they were able to try all different kinds of sushi.  The little rolls looked so colorful and creative.  I wanted to taste that magic, but most importantly, I wanted to love that magic.

Alas, it just wasn't meant to be.

I'm still talking about sushi here, not Hubs and me.

But back to Hubs.

HE'S SUCH A TRAITOR!! 

Shortly after we fell in love and Hubs realized that he had me at hello, Hubs decided that he actually liked sushi.

No, wait.  "Like" isn't strong enough.  FREAKING LOVED sushi.  Worshipped and adored it.  Had dreams about it.  Planned and plotted ways of having it all day, every day.

And my little heart was torn in two, especially when Hubs started pressuring me into having sex (sorry, I've watched WAY too many after-school specials in my lifetime; "sex" just seemed natural in that sentence) sushi.  There were tears, mostly on his part.  We made deals: Hubs would watch The Bachelorette if I tried sushi.  I'm not sure if he ever caught on or not, but I feigned a stomach bug every Monday for the entire season. 

But tonight, sadly, I succumbed to the pressure.  We decided to eat at the local Chinese buffet (what can I say?  We're classy people).  Hubs asked me to promise him that I would try some sushi, and in my "I don't have to make dinner?  Hooray!" state, I agreed.

So...he decided to start me out with a Philadelphia Roll (Oh, and btw, don't try to turn this into American fare by naming the pieces after cool cities and states in the US, sushi sellers!  I am not buying!), probably because he figured my love of the City of Brotherly Love would win me over.  The contents of said roll were rice, seaweed, raw salmon, avocado, and cream cheese.

He made my little wasabi-soy sauce concoction for me, and then I did da dip you dip and put it in my mouth.

Once again, I'd like to remind you that I'm talking about sushi here, so get your minds out of the gutter.  Thank you.

On first bite, I only tasted the rice and did not mind it at all.  But then, suddenly, there was an explosion of flavors in my mouth.

And there was also almost an explosion OUT of my mouth. 

My entire life flashed before my eyes whilst chewing this.

WTF do people see in this "cuisine"?? 

The texture of the thing alone was enough to make me gag, but the icky raw fish?  SLIMY!!  The seaweed?  SEAWEEDY!

Later on, Hubs told me that I immediately put my hands to my mouth as if I had just eaten something extremely hot.  But no, that was just me trying to decide whether or not I should spit the damn crap out.

But I thought to myself: DB, you are an adult.  You haven't spit out your food since you were twenty-eight-and-a-half seven years old!  You are not about to resort to old habits.  So, once again, I channeled happy thoughts: everyone's favorite exploited tot, Suri Cruise.  The Care Bear cloud car.  Talking kittens who can sing and dance on YouTube.

And I swallowed it.  All of it.  The sushi.

And I made another vow to my husband: NEVER AGAIN WILL I EAT A PIECE OF SUSHI!!!

And then five minutes later, I changed my mind and tried an avocado roll.

And I hated that, too.

I hated this one, too.

Apparently, I'm Only Funny When I'm Drunk.

My brother-in-law is a new reader to Daydream Believer.  Welcome, Focker Jeff! I was a little peeved at my sis for telling him about the ole blog because Eek!  I feel like he just walked in on my naked or something. My most intimate thoughts are on this site! And I also had to recall if I had ever talked smack on him.  Thankfully, I was clean.  My sister said he was reading my blog at work and laughing so hard that he had to tell his boss what he was laughing about.  That's cool, and totally not surprising since this blog is awesome.  Everything was sunshine and roses between me, my bro-in-law, and my blog until the comment he made to my sister the other night.  Apparently, J-Dog thinks my posts are only funny when I'm "drunk".

Um, excuse me??  You don't drink and write!  I was completely and utterly sober for a few several the majority of these posts, Jeff!  How dare you think I'm drunkenly waxing poetic about important issues in life such as my love of Idaho vodka, reality television, and Channing Tatum's abs?!

I am hurt. 

Even more hurt, in fact, than the time that he tried to teach my young and impressionable baby nephew to call me Aunt Butch because I was going to an all-women's college. 

It's ok, Jeff.  I'll get over it, and I'll try my best to hone my skills as a functional alcoholic.  I'm basically there already anyway.

And while I have your attention, I would just like to say thank you for taking such good care of my sister, and for helping her to raise two amazing and adorable kids.

Oh, and P.S. I'm only kissing up because Christmas is coming!  My wish list is in the mail!

Friday! Friday! Friday!

Hola!  Happy Friday, folks!  This has been one long-ass week for me, so I certainly hope yours has been better and faster!  I'm guest blogging over at http://jumblemash.blogspot.com/ today, so go read and become a follower!

Have an awesome weekend!

We Made a Baby.

The other night, Hubs and I made a baby. 

No, I'm not pregnant. 

We made a baby on my iPhone.

This is how it started...

We were just lounging around on Saturday night, when I began to wonder something aloud: Would our children be good looking?

Vain, I know, but these are the things that pop into my head from time-to-time.  Now, I know what you're all saying: "That shallow whore!  All children are beautiful! Damn her to Hell and back!"

Ok, get off your moral high horses for a second and hear me out: Hubs and I will love our children, regardless of what they look like.  In fact, I venture to say that we will be so blinded by love for our kids that we won't even know what they really, truly look like and will therefore think they are the most beautiful creatures to ever grace the Earth.

Hubs and I are relatively attractive people on our own, but sometimes I wonder what our noses would look like if combined, or if our daughter will have his unibrow (sorry, Boo...it looks good on you; I promise...sleep with one eye open, though.  The tweezers are coming for you!).  Now, I know genetics don't exactly work like that, but hey, it's crossed my mind.  Honestly, I want our kids to be good people who are intelligent and awesome, but high school can be cruel, and I want to shelter my future children from as much of this as I possibly can.  Easier said than done, I know.  Also, as someone who was picked on for the way she looked when she was in middle school, I know just how crappy and ugly other kids can make you feel.  I don't really care what our kids will look like, but dammit, I will fight anyone who makes my children feel inferior!   

Anyway.  Now that I feel like I've semi-redeemed myself, here is the part where we made our baby.

Don't worry, kids.  You don't have to hide your eyes for this one; this is completely PG.

So I wondered this aloud and then Hubs got all moralistic on me and chastised me for even thinking of something this shallow.  And then I explained to him WHY I was thinking what I was thinking, and I saw the little light bulb go off in his head.

We sat in silence for a few minutes until he said, "Look to see if there's a baby maker app on your iPhone."

Once again, we have another situation that proves how awesome we are for each other, for as we were sitting in that silence, I was already a-searching for that iPhone app.

And I found one.  For ninety-nine cents.  Obviously, this app would be incredibly accurate and spot-on.

We couldn't really see the results, though, so Hubs bought a better app for his iPad.  After he combined our pictures, a baby very similar to this one appeared on the screen:

There are no words.

Lesson Learned: Pig Dogs Have Hearts, Too.

Last night was the finale of ABC's Bachelor Pad.  What the eff am I going to do with my Monday nights now?  Oh, right: fight over Monday Night Football and Dancing with the Stars (Team Florence Henderson, yo!) with Hubs. Silly me. 

Because I knew it was going to be the most dramatic rose ceremony ever, I grabbed my box of tissues and tucked myself in on our comfy couch.  Tears ensued.  Ok, not really.

The first half of the show was all about the three remaining couples: Elizabeth and Kovacs, Natalie and Dave, and Tenley and Kiptyn, or howevs you spell it.  BTW, what kind of name is that?  Is that his last name?  It makes me think of Kryptonite, and Tenley's name reminds me of Tetley Tea.  No wonder they're dating now.

They had a dance-off, a la Dancing with the Stars.  I don't think this was very fair, because isn't Tenley a freaking professional dancer??  Whatevs.  Anyway, she and Superman ended up winning, and because they won, they decided which couple they would take into the Final Four.  They chose Natalie and Dave, and my heart soared.  Finally!  Flat-faced, horribly catty (nothin' like the pot calling the kettle black!) Elizabeth was out of my life!  Hurrah!  She and Kovacs said goodbye, vowed to be each other's true love forever and ever, had one last cheap thrill in the back of the limo, and then called it a night.

And that's when ABC threw its loyal viewers for a twist.  Instead of having the two couples do some innane immunity challenge, they instead had an After the Final Rose-esque show, and brought everyone back in for another round of fun.  The coolest part?  Crazy Michelle telling Tenley how much she sucks.  It was sooooo awesome.

Elizabeth confessed that she and Kovacs were not dating, and that any girl who wanted to date a player should date him.  She also accused Kovacs of calling her crazy.  Um, yeah, Elizabeth, he did that on the second episode.  We all heard it, sister friend.

Gia and Wes also professed their undying love for each other.  They made a baby on stage whilst the cameras were on the other contestants.  How exciting.

And then all of the former contestants voted for the couple they thought was worthy of the $250,000.  I am so glad that we have starving children in this country, yet we have enough money to shell out to these reality show losers.  I digress.

In a surprising twist, most of the contestants voted for Natalie and Dave! 

And then, Chris B. Harrison and that annoying little twit of a co-host, Melissa, set up the scenario for the two finalists: Natalie and Dave had a choice to make.  They could either vote "Share", and split the money with the other finalist, or they could vote "Keep" and potentially win all of the money for themselves.  If, however, both contestants chose "Keep", the money would be split between all of the other contestants.  If only one person voted "Keep", then they won all of the money for themselves.  The pair played it smart and safe, as yours truly would have done, and decided to split the dough.  And just like that, Natalie endeared herself to me.

You see how easy it is to win my favor?  All you have to do is show you have some goodness in your cold heart, and we're friends forever. 

Thus concludes my review of the ABC hit reality television show, Bachelor Pad.  Hopefully, brain cells grow back and I'll make up for the ones I lost whilst watching this stupid series.

I've Decided to Take a Lover.

*Note: Before this incident, I had no idea that vodka is made from potatoes. I simply thought Russia and Sweden were magical places where vodka fell from the sky, and those smart natives just bottled it up to share a smile with the world .
The other day, I got home to find my husband already waiting for me.  I like when this happens because I miss him a lot during the day, and knowing he's going to be home before me makes my day go a bit better.  This day will always stand out in my mind, because it's the day I decided to share my heart with Hubs and another being. 

We decided to grill that night, and as the fire was roaring, Hubs told me he had a surprise for me.  After fuddling around for a few minutes, he presented me with my "surprise".  I wondered: was it another diamond?  Pearls, perhaps?  No, it was not, but it did further prove that he knows me all too well. 

He presented me with a rocks glass full of ice and a clear liquid.  "Try it," he implored.  So I did.  It was good.  Very good.  It tasted like my usual vodka tonic, only stronger.  "What is this?" I asked, intrigued.

"It's potato vodka!  Made right here in the USA!" he exclaimed. 

I'll admit, I was pretty disappointed, even a little grossed out.  Potato vodka?  Eew.  I like my potatoes deep fried, por favor, not in liquid form.  It did not take me long, however, to fall completely in love.

In fact, that moment coincided with me hitting the couch for a deep slumber about two drinks in.

This sucker kicked me in my booty in the best way possible!

 It only takes two drinks for me to reach my happy place and pass out?

 HOLLA!

 I'm hooked.

Not only does potato vodka get the job done, but it also does it with half the calories it usually takes me to consume in order to reach said happy place.

I figure I'll be a drunk skinny biotch in no time!

SWEET!

Apparently, my love for Spudka (that's it's official name...and isn't the bottle so patriotic??!  I'm such the all-American girl!) runs pretty deeply already: Hubs told me I woke up in the middle of the night and whispered, "Spudka" in his ear.  I guess it's pretty serious.

I'm really hoping this product reaches the big time, because I know I'd make a great poster girl for Spudka.  In fact, maybe if I'm lucky, one of those Idaho potato farmers will read this and call my drunk ass assistant up to see if I'm available for some photo shoots. 

Can't you just see me taking a gulp and saying something ultra-cheesy like, "Spudka: the first American vodka."

This is what I call an epic win, folks.

Epic.