An Open Letter to Some Guy

Dear Sir,

I appreciate your interest in me. Indeed, I am most flattered by the goo goo eyes and kissy faces you were making at me in the rearview mirror. It is not often that I attract the attention of a man of your unquestionable esteem and virility, as clearly evidenced by your choice of vehicles. A '98 Toyota Camry--with spoiler!--pretty much guarantees I'm a sure thing. And the way the sun glinted off your expired tags? Dreamy!

As special as your juvenile displays of lustful regard made me feel, I would hate to think I was just one among many potential paramours. You don't do this sort of thing all the time, by any chance, do you?

Of course not! What we shared was most assuredly momentous and rare; the basis, I'm sure, of an enduring illicit relationship. But while, in my obvious state of unbridled arousal, I may have appeared to be returning the sentiment by pursing my lips in wanton seduction, in actuality I was attempting to convey a much more pressing message:

"Look out, dumb ass! You're going to hit that car."

Alas, you did not heed my warning. And if there is one thing I cannot abide in my lovers, it is the inability to keep their car in its own lane while making lewd overtures to strange women in the cars behind them. Call me picky.

So, adieu, mi amour. Hope time buffs out the dents in your heart the way the body shop will undoubtedly buff out the dents in your car. And that other one.

Best save your goo goo eyes for the road from now on, eh?

Yours,
Avery

I'm Blogging...

From a phone...from the future!!!

(Man, this iPhone is amazing!)

If You Said...

Get your hubby a new iPhone for your anniversary, then, *ding, ding, ding*, you're a winner!

If you said get him his own iPhone, then, *awwwww*, you're not.

And if you said "F%*k his brains out, and photograph it with the new phone!" *cough eye in de sky cough*, well, congratulations! You win a consolation prize for being at least half right. He did seem a bit witless the next morning.

Rowr!

Yes, my hubby decided that he did not want a gift for our anniversary--besides the bow chicka bow wow--and instead began referring to my iPhone as "the family iPhone." And since my son has little patience for objects being used for their intended purposes, and our cat's texting skills are quite laughable, that pretty much narrows "the family" down to Ron and me.

This hasn't posed a problem yet, seeing as how my iPhone is still en route to the store where we purchased it. I was supposed to have it by today at the latest, but I'm not holding my breath for a miracle. Besides, isn't 08-08-08 some sort of mark of the beast or something?

No? Hmmm. Coulda sworn...

Anywho, I'm sure I'll have it soon, and I can avail you of all the cool features and such. Plus, I hear it's great for cleavage shots. I may have to overcome my inherent shyness and try it out. All in the name of research, of course.

In other news, in light of the fact that my husband will likely have to spend a considerable amount of time in Israel very shortly, he has lifted the moratorium he placed ages ago on home decorating in the Gray house (I can go a little nuts; let's just leave it at that) hence why I have not been around much lately.

Not that I don't love you all, but if you don't come with glossy pages depicting elegantly adorned rooms, preferably of the Old World European/Tuscan-inspired variety, you are dead to me.

Well, that's a little harsh. Maybe just in a persistent vegetative state.

Mmm...broccoli. Yummmm! When's lunch?

Until then, I have wallpaper to peel. Whee!!

It Must be iLove!

Our anniversary is fast approaching, and this is usually the time of year my husband takes his vacation. In the beginning of our marriage, I believed it was because he was so overcome with love that he couldn't stand to be apart from me on the day we commemorated our blessed union of souls.

Yeah, did I mention I was retarded then?

It quickly became apparent that he chose this time of year so he could kill two birds with one stone: celebrate our anniversary AND fish for steelhead when the fishing is good.

Ah, romance!

Typically, he takes two or three weeks off so he can spend one week with me, and the rest of the time enjoying a nice, relaxing, fish-free time out of doors. But this year, he's only getting a week off, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not going to rate well in the fish vs. wife battle.

If my husband would come out and ask me if I'd be upset if he takes the whole time to fish, I'd tell him I wouldn't be. He works hard all year long to support us, and I don't think it's too much to ask for some time to enjoy doing the things he likes. Of course, since he hasn't asked me, he's assuming that it will really upset me, and is therefore taking this time prior to the commencement of his vacation to butter me up. Not only is he willingly going with me to a wedding he would rather chew his own arm off than attend, he's now using the promise of technology to sooth what he assumes will soon be the savage beast.

He's getting me a new iPhone 3G.

Now, at first I assumed that it was just one of those I'm-giving-it-to-you-but-really-getting-it-for-myself type of presents that he seems so fond of, seeing as how my current cell phone, which I use very little, doesn't even have a camera on it, let alone the whole interweb, while he's always been something of a new technology hound. But the more I think about it, the more I'm really looking forward to having one, if only because I've never had the latest and greatest anything when it comes to matters cellular. By choice, admittedly, but then I've always thought of a phone as just a phone.

And I hate phones. I wish they would die!

But an iPhone? Well, that's different, isn't it? I mean, the "phone" capability is really only a small percentage of the gadget's abilities. It's really more of a small iPod/camera/browser/e-mail/GPS tool with a phone thrown in for good measure, but iiPodCameraBrowserE-mailGPSPhone is a terrible name!

So, yes, I'm excited about a phone. An Apple phone I could blog on, no less. But it does sorta lend itself to the time-honored question...

Just what the hell am I supposed to get him?!!

Because Four Fake Guitars Are Not Enough...

We now have six. Six fake plastic guitars for three rockin' games on two different gaming systems.

My husband's in heaven.

First it was Guitar Hero III for the Wii. That proved to be merely an appetizer to the veritable smörgåsbord that is Rock Band for the Xbox 360. (And by smörgåsbord, I mean the addition of a poorly designed drum set and rarely used microphone.)

But, this past weekend, my husband was lured once again by Guitar Hero's siren song. Only, this time, the sirens took the spindly rendered forms of Stephen Tyler and Joe Perry.

Tramps!

So, we now own Guitar Hero: Aerosmith for the Xbox, which necessitated the purchase of an additional Les Paul guitar controller for our typical epic rock battleage--bringing the count up to a whopping six.

Six fake guitars. Not a single real one.

How awesome are we?

Add to that the money we've recently sunk into transforming his office into a lush den of raucous rockitude, and you'll understand my dismay that my husband appears to have no desire to get past the Medium level on any of the games. Yet he is looking forward with great anticipation for the releases of Guitar Hero: World Tour and Rock Band 2 this fall.

Great. More fake instruments we don't play.

Is this just a guy thing? A mid-life crisis?

Maybe I should just get him a motorcycle and a hooker. They'd probably take up less room.

First Rule of Fight Club...

The hubby and I put up our pool for the summer a couple of weeks ago, and in that time, I have acquired the unenviable position of "Neighborhood's Coolest Mom".

Ugh.

Sunny or overcast, doesn't matter. I now have kids coming to my door in droves asking if they can come swimming with Ethan. I suppose I should be pleased that he has someone close to do fun things with. He's always been the odd kid out on our block, and because I may be a TAD on the overprotective side, it's probably my fault. Unlike many of the other neighborhood moms, I won't let him ride his bike, walk to a friend's house, or play in the street if I'm not there with him. He's only five, and even though this is a nice, family friendly neighborhood with fairly little traffic, this world is full of frickin' crazies.

Case in point: my neighbor across the street has just revealed that his new hobby is...


*wait for it*



CAGE FIGHTING.

Now, to really grasp why I find this utterly hilarious, you'd have to know him. He strongly reminds me of Michael Scott from "The Office"--bumbling idiotic blowhard with zero social skills and even less self-awareness. Even so, I kinda like the guy.

It's his wife who scares the bejeezus out of me.

If he'd told me SHE had taken up cage fighting, I wouldn't even have batted an eye. Her job as a principal of an alternative high school for lawless rapscallions and nefarious ne'er-do-wells suits her to perfection. She wears such a sour expression on her face, it wouldn't surprise me if even her vagina comes outfitted with a steel trap.

Actually, that would explain an awful lot.

So, imagine my surprise when Ethan asked if their kids could come swimming at our house, and he was told no because, as their daughter said, "Dad isn't sure about you guys."

Isn't sure...

ABOUT US?!!

Correct me if I'm wrong, but did I just get dissed by a brow-beaten cage fighting pantywaist?

Strange times, man. Strange times.

Who's Driving Anyway?!

Yesterday, Father's Day, we spent a good portion of the time on the road. Since it was to be my husband's special day, I did the driving, even though he is the worst passenger in the history of locomotion. Not that I could tell him that. No, as I've mentioned, it was his special day...

Was.

Thankfully, today is a new day, and I have a blog.

So, for your benefit, dear husband, here are all the responses I so graciously refrained from making yesterday. Feel free to refer back to this list anytime you require my response in the future, and my one-finger salute does not adequately convey my sentiments to your liking:

"The speed limit is 60 through here."
Thank you, talking highway sign. As if your HUGE numbers weren't clear enough, you offer the added benefit of verbal confirmation. That must come in handy for all those sight-impaired drivers on the road. Kudos to you for being so darned progressive!

"There's a cop. Slow down."
Sure thing, because slowing down from 40 in a 40 mph zone to, say, 32 doesn't look the least bit suspicious, and would in no way draw his attention. Well, except maybe for that long line of irate drivers behind me whom I have effectively impeded. When he pulls me over, I'll let you do the talking.

"Watch out for that guy on the bike."
Oh, thank goodness you were here. I was about to make him the latest addition to my ever-expanding "Cyclists of the Pacific Northwest" hood ornament collection. Had no idea there was anything wrong with that.

"Pass this guy, then get over in the other lane, and turn right...NOW! Aw, man, you missed it!"
Yes, I did. But what I didn't miss was that day in Physics class when my teacher explained the general theory that when two objects of considerable mass traveling at a certain velocity collide, they make a big BANG! I think it's called the Principle of Duh.

"Turn that way. Why are you turning this way?"
Well, my dear, when I asked you 60 seconds ago which way to turn and got no response, I decided to make an educated guess. Heck, the chances were 50/50 that you'd infer I'm a dumb ass anyway, and 100% that you won't be getting any of it for the rest of your natural born life.

Congratulations, jackass. You're a winner!