Tag Archives: hubby

In Your Dreams

10 May

This part of my post should be read out loud in a voice and tone that sounds as though you are trying to keep the person behind you from hearing what you’re saying.


I want to keep everyone in the loop of what’s been going on in my life lately. Basically, it’s finals time and I’m freaking out.  So, I want to apologize for neglecting the blogs I follow.  I can’t wait to dive in once things calm down a little. 

Also, as my OCD-tendencies will not permit me to not post even though I’m extremely busy and should be doing something else as I type this, posts will be light in content for the next few days.  I apologize in advance for any personal turmoil this may cause you.

That being said, here’s a snippet of a conversation I had with Hubby yesterday:

Hubby:  What’s wrong with you?  You’ve been crabby all day.

Me:  Oh, nothing.  Just stressed about finals, I guess.

Hubby:  No, you’ve been pissy towards me, in particular.  What’s the deal?

Me:  Noth—

Hubby:  Don’t say nothing.

Me:  Fine.  I had a dream last night in which you were a huge a-hole. 

Hubby:  Geeeeezussss!  Not again.  You realize it was just a dream, right?

Me:  I know.  It’s just that you were extremely a-hole-ish. 

Hubby:  It didn’t really happen. 

Me:  Fine.  Forget it.

Hubby:  Knock it off.

Me:  (Crazy person silence)

Hubby:  (Loudly shakes the newspaper he’s been reading and then slams it down).  I’m sorry!  I’m sorry I was mean to you in your dream even though it didn’t really happen and it’s all in your head.  Happy?

Me:  Thanks, love.  I forgive you.

Hubby:  You know…I had a dream last night that you really wanted to give me a BJ.

Me:  There it is.


Apparently, You Can’t Be Both?

5 May

Hubby, Son and I went out for burgers the other night.  During dinner Hubby mentioned that he wanted to stop at the nearby mall and walk around.  This never happens.  He hates shopping.  I didn’t want to get overly excited so I coolly responded, “That’s cool.”

Son, with an eye roll so exaggerated I thought for sure his eyeballs were gone forever, responded with a whiny, “Nooooooooooooo.  Pleeeeeeeeeease.  I don’t want to go to the mall with you guys.  No offense.”

I knew right then the mall wasn’t going to happen because I would rather go home than walk around with a mopey, disgusted, whiney, pouty, eye-rolling teenager.  We’d all be miserable.  But, being the extremely inappropriate and weird person I am I countered with:

Me:      Ok.  We don’t have to go the mall if you answer one question.

Son:    (Knowing apprehension)  What question?

Me:      First, the rules.  You have to answer the question or we’re going to mall.

Hubby:   And the bookstore.

Me:      Nice.

Son:    Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahg.  What?

Me:      Are you a boob guy or an ass guy?

Son:    No way!  I’m not answering that.

Hubby:     Cool.  I really need new pants.

Me:      We could stop by Victoria’s Secret, too.  I need panties.  (I hate that word.)

Son:    FINE!  Geez.  You guys are soooooo weird. 

Me:      Soooooooooo…..

Son:    (With his sweatshirt over his face)  Ask me and I’ll either nod or shake my head.  I can’t look at you.

The next day the three of us were driving Drama around on some errands:

Hubby:  So, last night we asked your grandson if he’s a boob guy or an ass guy.

Drama:  Really?!  So, what is he?!

Son:  Why are you guys so weird?

Drama:  Oh, Grandson!  You’re an ass guy like your grandpa, right?!  You gotta be!  (With a remembering and thoughtful gaze out the window) Asses are like magic.  They hypnotize you.  When I was younger, every time grandpa saw a woman all I saw was a round beautiful butt.  No face.  Just butt.  If a girl had the perfect butt, she could drive grandpa crazy.  They’re beautiful. (Heavy, sad sigh) Now, I’m too old. 

The next several minutes were filled with Drama’s detailed descriptions of the most beautiful asses he’s ever seen, and the women they belonged to.  This was followed by an explanation of ass categories (big and juicy, small but round, flat but still nice, wide, etc.).   

The car was silent as we took it all in.  After a few moments of reflection:

Drama: So you see, Grandson.  You have to be an ass guy just like your grandpa. 

Son:  Wait.  So, basically, when you see a woman, you see  a buttface?

Drama:  You’re a boob guy, aren’t you?


22 Feb

I don’t know if you know this, but it turns out a lot of dudes are fans of the BJ. 

I know Hubby’s a fan.  If he could, I think he would walk around with one of those big foam fingers that say “BJs are #1”  while wearing a replica baseball jersey with “BJ” on the back.  And, I know for a fact that he would stand in a very long line for a BJ bobble head (I’m inventing this) to add to his collection. 

BJs!!! Woooo-Hooooo!

 Unfortunately, Hubby’s diehard (hehe) BJ obsession has resulted in a couple of very annoying habits.   Perhaps you can relate.

First, Hubby has taken to asking for a BJ at least once a day.  It started as a romantic, sexy, whisper in my ear request, and has evolved into an everyday, I don’t even realize I’m asking type of question.   For example:

Me:  Hi, Honey.  How was your day?

Hubby:  It was fine.  But, it would be a lot better if I could get a BJ.  *wink, wink* 

Me:  Honey, your mom is sitting right next to you. 

Hubby: (Turns to mom) Sorry, mom.  (Turns to me).  Soooooooooooooooo?

Yeah, that happened.

The other, more annoying habit is something I like to call the “head push”.  For example, Hubby and I are laying in bed watching a movie, and I reach over to grab the remote, and when my head is directly over Hubby’s chest he pushes my head toward his naughty bits.  Nice. 

Or, while he’s driving I reach down to switch the radio station when all of a sudden I feel his hand pushing down on my head.  Dangerous.

This one’s lovely.  We’re at Son’s school for parent/teacher conferences, in a packed gym, when I reach down to tie my shoe.  All of a sudden, I feel Hubby’s fingertips graze the top of my head.  Really?!

Needless to say, this habit has gotten a bit out of control. 

The other day we’re watching a movie with my brother and sister-in-law when Hubby reaches for his drink on the coffee table.  I couldn’t resist.  I jumped up, stood directly in front of him, grabbed his head in my hands, and gave him a face full of crotch.  I really ground his head in there.  There’s no way he could breathe.  I think he got rug burn on the tip of his nose.  I got a round of applause from my sister-in-law, and touché nod from my brother-in-law.

It was awesome. 

P.S.  Thanks to Hubby for the post idea.  If you wouldn’t have “head pushed” me this morning when I reached over to turn the alarm clock off , I wouldn’t have known what to post about today.  (No, this doesn’t mean you get a BJ tonight.)

I Love Rock ‘n Roll, Put Another Lime In the Juicebox Baby.

31 Jan

The following SNL skit from this weekend reminded of something:

I can totally school Hubby when it comes to song lyrics! I love to bring this up every chance I get because we’re insanely competitive.  Unfortunately, the list of things I can kick his ass in is pretty short.  It includes:

  1. Trivia Pursuit.
  2. B.J.’s.
  3. Not completely screwing up song lyrics.

Here are a few of  my favorite song lyrics according to Hubby:

Kool and the Gang “Celebration”  

Actual lyrics:  Celebrate good times, come on!

Hubby lyrics:     Celebration time, humm, hummm!

Katy Perry “Firework”  

Actual lyrics:  Cause baby you’re a firework.  Come on show ’em what your worth.  Make ’em go “Oh, oh, oh!”.  As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Hubby lyrics:  Baby you’re the fireworks.  Come on and show ’em walls a worth.  Make ’em go-g0-go.  As they shoot across my eye-y-y.

“Happy Birthday”

Actual lyrics: Happy Birthday to you.  Happy Birthday to you. Happy birthday dear DMTF.  Happy Birthday to you.

*Hubby lyrics:  Happy birfday, *hiccup* to you.  Haffy *burp* umph youuuuuu.  Haffy bermfdaaaaa I lob you soooo mush.  *kisses my eye* Haffy I’m really drunk.

So Hubby, you may have beaten me at that game of Mario Kart this weekend, but I think you would agree that I’m the master of song lyrics.  So, suck it!

*This one doesn’t really count because it was at my last birthday party and we were both a little tipsy, but you get the idea.