Marvin was Hot... Sorta

I have written before about how I was guilted into marrying my beloved Marvin. Well yes, he sort of conned me into it, but I was into him... at one point in time. I mean technically I still am, if you call it that. We are married, and we hang out; I like him alright.


We were childhood friends, so it's not like I always liked him. I did enjoy throwing rocks at his head as he drove past my house on his bike calling me names that rhymed with "stink" and "crap" (*sigh* always the poet).


In highschool, Marvin went through this punk rock phase, and for the most part he still enjoys the music, but definitely doesn't live the punk rock life. I remember the moment I actually thought I had a crush on him, sadly he looked a lot like Gary Oldman in Sid and Nancy.


Today he's a closer match for George Costanza from Seinfeild - add some tattoos and a tad more hair. Oh and a bit of height too... You know what I mean?





It's funny how we always turn into our parents. No matter how far out there we go we always round back onto this conservative pallet. Whether it be now or when we're playing checkers 30 years from now outside the retirement center.


For some reason, I can't picture a 75 year old man sitting at a table in his leather jacket with that hand sewn Dead Kennedys patch, spike-studded choker, and bone through his nose saying "king me, Rocko!" while throwing back some jim or jack and spitting while flipping the bird. That's one hell of a sentence!


People change. Marvin's changed. I mean, just last night when he got home from work, he sat down and watched the news. The second his butt hit the sofa and his feet hit the coffee table, his mouth dropped open and he was snoring. The children were bouncing on him like a trampoline and Seven was chewing his socks... nothing.


I watched the slide show in my head of the rise and fall of the punk rocker: the days he tramped in the pit, the excessive use of safety pins, and the spray painted combat boots. Marv's all domestic now. It sort of played out like some National Geographic documentary.


I am glad he turned out the way he did. Because if he spit on the kids, it would be my turn to do some stomping.

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Cycle 259 day 2

As the days are numbered ONLY in terms of menstrual cycles, I can't help but acknowledge that I am getting older.... it sucks.

It's embarrassing getting old. I have watched a lot of Television, so I know what happens. I am pretty sure it will come out of nowhere, and I will be stricken old like being struck by lightning. It's going to be instantaneous, and more than likely I will be completely oblivious to it.

I will lose my hair, my memory, and most of all my fashion sense. That is if I had any to begin with, and I am thinking, "No, I did not." People will point, and if they don't, they will at least make mental notes about my driving, my posture, and/or my choice of lipstick color.

I already have a sickening foreboding. I decided to brace myself and prepare for it by taking preventative measures. I bought some firming/wrinkle cream. I hate that I did because all of the good stuff (well what I imagine is the good stuff) is incredibly expensive, so I opt for the generic. It smells funny, and after I put it on I can smell it all day.

All day the smell reminds me that I am getting old, and I often wonder if other people can smell it too. They probably can. The only reason it probably has a smell is so we older people can tell we put it on in the first place. I mean, I am grateful they do this with deodorant because I apply it out of habit, but it's not on my face.

Well. I can't tell it's firming anything, but I think Marvin is allergic (although he doesn't seem to mind the smell). I may be allergic too or maybe that is just the cream... working. Does the expensive stuff have a smell? Is your face suppose to swell and change colors? Let me know, so I can decide if it's worth forking over the extra cash.

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HOMEOWNERS!!! WOOT!!!

It's been a while since I had the chance to write you. It's been crazy around here, and on top of it all I may be having a nervous breakdown and/or suffering from menopause... I haven't quite decided yet. Probably both.

We moved; finally bought our own home instead of renting and over paying each month. The prices are amazing right now since most of the homes are foreclosed or in the pre-foreclosure phase. I do feel a little sorry for the homeowners who got duped into ARM loans, but it just goes to prove "if something sounds too good to be true... it probably is."

We had been renting for the past two years, and were quite happy doing so. Sadly due to a chain of events we were actually being evicted.

1. We have incredibly smart children.
2. Incredibly smart children like to experiment with science.
3. Mad Science.
4. I deal with a series of plumbing issues I think have to do with paper in the toilet and/or possibly the tub in the children's bathroom.
5. I call property manager to have someone sent over to investigate.
6. Property Manager/real estate agent sends husband instead of a professional.
7. Upon snaking the toilet in the children's bathroom, Manager's Hubby finds a science experiment gone horribly wrong.
8. Experiment has the head of Barbie, body of a squeaky dog, and Bioncle arms...
9. Real-estate-hubby is not impressed and uses a string of colorful words
10. thus exciting one three-legged dog (Seven likes to protect the ears of the innocent)
11. Which we were not suppose to have in the terms of our lease
12. Ta Da!!! Eviction Notice!

It's not all a bad thing really. We bought a house, bigger than what we were renting, for about $500 less a month. Holy Crap, right? The mad scientists can perform their experiments outside in our hugeASS backyard, and the doggy poop can sit a day or two before it's scooped (maybe less... if the scientist start getting wise ideas).

THE BEST PART OF MOVING THOUGH HAS TO BE... No Willoughby. Thank you, Thank you,and Thank you!!

There is a woman a couple of houses down that might be a relative. She has the same pinched face and flowery Mumu. Once I am settled and the last box is sent off to recycling, I might brave a meeting... no promises.
~NM

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