seldomifever: (antigiles)
Yesterday at the grocery store I was filled with the strongest urge to take care of my husband. Like, make his lunch and dinner and take care of his dry cleaning and keep the house clean, just to show him how much I love and appreciate him. Good grief. What's with that? I think it's time to wean myself off early sixties television shows. They aren't safe.

I wrote yesterday. Hooray! I haven't been able to scrape two words together in forever and then, lo, there it be. Was going with a drabble, because I'm about 6 prompts behind, but now I'm wondering if I shouldn't just run with it. Whittling down words to get to 100 seems so counterproductive at this point, but we'll see. Imma try again today and see what happens.

Last night a woman I haven't spoken with in about 25 years friended me on Facebook. She was one of the weird kids. In 5th grade her mother pulled me aside her birthday party and thanked me for being her daughter's friend. Two years earlier another mother had said the same exact thing to me at her daughter's b-day party. And both times it made me feel all icky inside. They were nice kids. Nobody had to thank me for being nice to them just because they happened to be social pariahs. Made it hard for me to want to stay friends with them. I did, but I no longer enjoyed it. The moral of this story? Parents, butt the fuck out.
seldomifever: (facepalm)
I'm tihed. Super crappy night's sleep. Slept much better when husband was out of town, probably because there wasn't three of us in the bed. I'm torn between wanting to insist littlest never come in in the middle of the night again, and knowing that soon he will stop coming altogether, and when he does, it will be forever. I'll miss the snuggles, but I won't miss having him wedged half under me all night.

Husband's in manic work mode. I hate manic work mode. Makes it impossible to converse with him on any meaningful level. His mind is elsewhere. And then when I say, "I can't talk to you now, you're not even listening", he insists he is. Hey, man, I've been talking to people for 40 years. I can tell when they're uh-huhing me. And it's not like I'm blathering about fannish nonsense or anything - I'm talking about serious issues that are happening with *his* children. Sigh. He's a great guy in a million ways, but his workaholic side leaves little to be desired.

Heh. I always think of that judge chastising Woody Allen in his custody case for not knowing the names of his children's teachers or the kids' shoe sizes. How many non-primary-care fathers do? Husband is way involved with our children and I'm not sure he's ever known that kind of stuff. Well, he does know some of the teachers' names, but, really, he's got such a shitty memory - very few stick.

Today, I've got to get the kids out the door and then pop over to PT and then meet an old friend for lunch. I refuse to dwell on anything that's not going to make me blissfully happy. Right.
seldomifever: (landscape)
Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, three eps featuring fart jokes so far this season? My, my, my. How do your clever writers do it? Colin Morgan continues to be wunderbar, though, so I forgive you. Also, in last night's ep, Tony had that throaty congested tone that he'd so often sported in 4th season Buffy. A cold? Allergies? What is it, hon? Makes him sound too darn cute, though. Frog meets studly muffin for the win!

After jujitsu, we are going to make with the driving and head upstate to pick pumpkins and enjoy the fabulous fall foliage. Husband's now scouting out close upstate areas in which to buy a second home. Lord, have mercy. This is never going to end. My shrink's decided it's more about the hunting than the owning - husband's atavistic urges driving the SUV into the wilds beyond our fair city's limits - but I'm not so sure. Feels more like a compulsive need to torture me. Husband says, "Not everything's about you." What? My psyche begs to differ.
seldomifever: (behind)
My husband turns 40 today. What are we doing to mark this momentous occasion? Nada, zip, bupkis. I am sick as a dawg once again with a head cold from hell. Poor hubby.

Watched Buffy vs Dracula today on Netflix. *sigh* I love Giles in this ep. Also love, love Buffy's hair. Kinda hate the rest of the season, though.
seldomifever: (b/g)
Reason #8,710,367,492 why I adore my husband: Got in my car today to take the kids to school and had a full tank of gas waiting for me. Sweet!
seldomifever: (giles sleep)
A few years ago, I was helping my father take the cover off the 15 ft round pool they used to have tucked in the corner of their backyard by the side of their garage. Many hands make light work, but since my dad lost the use of his left arm, he really needed the help more than ever. Just as we were ready to start pulling off the cover, he said to me, "Ah, no. I have to get a tetanus shot." I was all "Huh, wha?" 'til he explained, "I just stepped on a nail, and it's been a while since my last shot." I realized what he was saying. "Oh, my God, are you ok? Let me see." Dad said, "No, let's finish this first." So we took off the cover and then he came over to my side of the pool, so I could take a look at his foot. A 4" long, 1/4" wide gutter nail had poked straight through the bottom of his sneaker, into the ball of his foot, and right out the top of his sneaker. I looked at him and said, "You mean this giant thing went through your foot while we were working and your only reaction was, 'Oh, no, I need a shot?' I would have been screaming. Didn't it hurt?" He told me it was very painful, but that there was no reason to carry on about it.

My dad and my husband are very similar in many ways, but when it comes to handling pain, they are not. My husband, who walks like a duck with his feet pointing out at 45 degree angles, has the unfortunate tendency to bang his little toe on everything around him. A couple of years ago, he returned from a four day business meeting in Puerto Rico, took off his shoes, and smashed his toe on the corner of the bed. He'd broken and dislocated it, and was forced to wear this crazy medical bootie and walk with help of a cane for over a week. A few months ago, he dislocated and broke it again when his foot caught on a bag of toys in the basement. And then last night, when we were nearly ready to start packing the car, his pinkie toe nicked the side of a piece of luggage. He threw himself to the floor on hands and knees, howling and arching his back like that Dr. Pepper guy did right before he morphed into an American werewolf in London. I came running in: "What? What is it?" He couldn't even speak. Strangley noises gurgled out as he rolled onto his back. "Is it your toe?" All he could do was grit his teeth and nod and twist on the floor, whimpering.

We spent hours at the emergency room, and only ended up with only a few hours of sleep. We dragged ourselves around all morning, trying to finish getting ready, but were continually delayed by torrential rain and thunderstorms. By the time the weather had settled down and everything was packed, I was much too tired to drive 278 miles up to the Cape by myself. I would have arrived after dark at that point anyway, and the thought of then still having to unpack, make all of the beds, and walk the dog seemed like too much, so I decided to push off the trip until tomorrow. I'll wake the kids up at 6ish and they can just roll out of bed and into the car and we can be on the road before my husband hobbles off to work once again in his best suit and Crocs. Poor bubby. We are wiped.

moot

Jul. 4th, 2008 06:44 am
seldomifever: (shut up)
It's summer, which means that my husband is thinking about buying a convertible of some sort. We won't. We never do, even though he's been fantasizing about getting one for the past 10 years. The truth is that most convertibles only have four seats, and it would be ridiculous to buy a car that we can't travel in as a family, but he's already taken that into consideration. Although an Audi or a BMW would be his first choices...hmm, no, I guess a Porsche or Mercedes would be first, first, with the Audi and BMW as his more realistic (and sportier) second choices...he's been looking into getting one of those new five passenger removable top Jeeps. I gotta say, I don't really care about status symbols too much. I like what I like, and if it happens to be high end, it is, but I never like something because it's expensive, you know? I'm guessing husband loves the idea of how he'll feel in one of these cars. Successful? Young? The irony is that we could never even drive with the top down, 'cause we all burn like crazy and would turn into a family of cooked lobsters after one trip. I can't even stand the moon roof open in our Chevy, because the sun is always in my eyes. Husband tells me we'd all just have to wear hats. And lots and lots of suntan lotion. Though somehow I doubt his fantasy involves tooling around in a fancy car with his wife and three kids, no matter how much he loves us.

Which brings me to something I was thinking about when I first woke up this morning.

Every time I come across one of these fanfics that has Giles, um, pleasuring himself, I have to laugh. (Ironically was thinking about it before I read your SoG contribution today [livejournal.com profile] ladyforash, which, btw, was excellent and does not fall into this category.) Giles is not going to be sitting around getting off on reading Fanny Hill or Madam Bovary, no matter how intellectual and sensitive he may appear. He's not going to be lighting candles or lying down on a bearskin rug in front of a fire, preparing his favorite scented oils in hopes of a few hours of uninterrupted wanking. Rather, he's gonna pop into his local convenience store, buy the latest copy of Barely Legal or Asian Babes or Jugs, depending on his particular mood or fetish, and then he's gonna go home and jerk off to the dirty pictures just like 99% of all guys on the planet. Men are simple. They are visual creatures, and they likes the naked ladies. Or men, I suppose. Either way, I doubt many would turn the simple act of masturbation into a romantic evening at home, including our wonderful Mr. Giles.
seldomifever: (b/g)
Our friends are coming today. I have to run around getting things ready for them. I think they'd appreciate fresh sheets and a well-vacuumed space, don't you? I also have to get kitty out of my daughter's room, cause that's where they will be sleeping. Means kitten'll have to spend most of his time in my room, which is not going to be easy, because he'll be jumping on our heads all night. My husband doesn't have a whole lotta patience for shinanigans these days, so I fear that if the kitten pounces on husband while he is sleeping, kitty will find himself being flung across the room. I just asked husband if he'd prefer to sleep in our son's room, away from the kitten tonight, and he snipped, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Ah, I love when he's miserable at work. Adds a whole new and unexpected level of excitement to our otherwise dull and dreary lives.

Last full day of school for the boys and last, last day for daughter, so I am most pleased. Just have to get my happy-to-visit-with-good-friends vibe going for the next 30 hours, send in end-of-the-year teacher gifts, and then finish getting ready for camp. I can do this.
seldomifever: (landscape)
Scary storm has woken me up this morning. Severe thunderstorms occasionally create small tornadoes that touch down here or there on Long Island. I am listening for the train sound everyone always claims accompanies a twister. This is nutty, but I can't seem to help myself. My basement is probably going to flood today, despite our best efforts to redirect the water flow. It is meant to be.

My poor husband has been taking a bit of abuse from me in my journal these days. He is an actual living saint, so it is wrong for me to speak ill of him. Everyone who ever meets him loves him to pieces and tells me how fortunate I am to have landed such a wonderful creature. Only they don't refer to him as a creature. Doesn't change the fact that he can be most cantankerous. They rarely see that side of him. And he pretty much has every right to be, I guess. I am an appalling housewife. I resist the sexism implied in the expectation of contentment in my role as homemaker. Fuck that noise. A monkey could scrub floors. Not that I have anything against monkeys. I could have just as easily said, um, chimpanzees or some other animal with, you know, "hands".

And Hillary wins!! Probably doesn't mean much, but hip hip!
seldomifever: (ripper/giles)
I am having a strange day. Keep falling asleep on and off. And when I wake up, it's taking me ages to shake off the stupor. Way too many sleepless nights this week. They're taking their toll.

Husband's in slight dick mode today. Nearly every weekend seems to start off this way. It's hard for him to switch gears from work to home and he has a tendency to take on this tone that really irks the shit outta me. He can't stand that our 12 year old sounds snippy and I'm like "Have you heard yourself lately, Bub?" Only I don't say Bub. I say things like "Could you cut the shit already, you cranky pain in the ass?" That always brings him 'round. Actually, it doesn't. It makes him pouty and sullen. Hate having to handle him like I do the kids. Just want him to be the second adult in the house already. Don't really have the time or patience for another baby on the weekends. It works so much better when I'm just supportive and adoring. He's a simple man. But I'm so not in the mood to coddle these days. By Saturday night and then Sunday, he's fine, but only after half of our weekend's been wasted. I'm not up for this today. I am much too tired.

Edit: It's officially Saturday night and hubby is now all warm and squishy. Sweet and helpful. Why must we go through this song and dance over and over?
seldomifever: (Default)
Check it out! Finally something worth bidding on. Except I won't. What on earth would I have to say? "Yer cute, der." Maybe I could do a little better, but not by much, I'm afraid. And what the heck would he have to say? Thanks for bidding thousands of dollars for this two minute chat? So far the Fisher-Heads have yet to entice this prodigal fanatic. But they're certainly getting closer. Latest auction receives three stars. Add a half a star if you would be able to be a bit more articulate than I.

Edit: Husband has refused to give me permission to bid on this. Tee hee. Told him if he really loved me, he'd bid for me. Then he offered to buy Paley Center tix and fly us out to CA. Ah, nice to dream. He'd never do anything spontaneous and extravagant and surprisey. Much too practical for that.

Edit2: I like to imagine I would enjoy surprise expenditures, but they would actually really bother me. Like when husband offers to buy me jewelry. Why waste thousands on a diamond anything? Unfathomable. Much rather take that money and play! Or buy a pool. Or a pool table. Or a cool new banana seat bike.
seldomifever: (nice)
Good grief. Beloved is driving me bonkers with the new house obsession. He's chattering at me all day, and I can't concentrate on writing AT ALL. He's a bit of a nudge, and can't stand when I'm not paying attention to him. Pesky ansky. But he's cute. I think I'll keep him.

I'm making very little progress on my story and the clock is a ticking. I'm on my fourth version of absolute garbage. I need a good brainstorming session to bounce me out of this rut. This is not that difficult. I am the master of the mountainous molehill. Need to snap out of this already. Must not implode.

I think I forgot to finish reading last month's Buffy comic, because I missed something crucial. My daughter's all "don't you remember..." Um, nope. I actually enjoyed this one, though, which is unusual, since I despise the comics. Joss is finally getting to the good stuff.

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