My Life Scripted

"Hey Bob, how you doin'?"

"So uhh..are we in New York now?" I said as I looked around for some laughter, but everyone was looking at their feet.

"Hahahha man you're funny...you're a funny guy. And the Yankees suck!!"

"I'm actually a Yankees fan so that kinda pisse...."

"Hey yeah whatever, so listen. Can you pull together that PowerPoint presentation by tomorrow instead of next week? I gotta present it and it's crunch time! You gotta play to get paid right?!!!" and if it couldn’t get any worse he raises his hand to fucking high-five me!

"Sure...ahhh...sure thing. I'll knock that.."

"You're a team player...you da man!!..," he interrupts as he walks away spotting his next victim.

Fighting the urge to run outside and spend an hour kicking kittens, I jump right in to work….

Later, I come home, happy to see the family, hug the lil’ bastards, hear how everyone’s day was rough cause Samantha wouldn’t color with a green crayon, and cause Teddy wouldn’t throw the kickball slow enough for him….and then I head to the kitchen. I grab a beer…open it…slug back a few sips…set it down….catch my breath for a second…then turn and see this:

Yeah..that’s right…my day scripted. I busted my ass all day Sunday, I get a comp-day, I decide to use it on Friday – my son’s birthday and what does the wifey do?!!! Oh…oh I’ll tell you for fuck’s sake. She signs me up at not just my son’s school, but my daughter’s school to “volunteer” to work parties and shit.

So, in my head I planned, sleep….wake-up, take the kids to school, sleep, wake-up, run, bike, shower, go to store, buy all their Snuggies, burn the Snuggies, talk to Jennifer Aniston for an hour on Skype, make a deal with PlayGirl for $1 million to model for them, sleep, pick kids up, play and have fun, buy son sushi for his birthday dinner, open presents, twit pic and comment back on all the people who said he’s adorable, put the kids to bed, walk around the house naked in front of the wifey, and go to bed with no sex.

But in wifey’s head – my day goes like this – wake up, tell wifey she’s beautiful, let her kick me in the shins, get kids dressed, feed kids, take kids to school, meet wife at parking lot near her work so she can kick me in the shins, volunteer at both kids’ schools, pick kids up from school, do laundry, make dinner, bathe kids, put kids to bed, rub wife’s back while telling her how all men suck, pick out wife’s clothes for the next day, sing a sonnet to the wifey as she drifts off to sleep, then go to bed.

The moral of the story…honestly I don’t know…I guess all I can say is…kick-ass lady-folk that read this…don’t make a fucking chalkboard list of shit for your hubby to do on his day off. And for shit-sake, don’t volunteer him for crap on his day off. Let the man breathe.

And if you ‘re reading this honey..I love you schnookums… P.S. umm…can uh…can we “do it” tonight?

 

Gettin' Our Spontaneity-On

So the wifey and I had “that talk” again. Yeah…that one. The one where I’m all:

“We need some spontaneity in our sex life…”

And she’s all, “sponta-kiss my ass idiot-boy.”

“come on…don’t be like that…I’m just saying, sometimes I feel like kids are ruling our lives these days and we never get a..”

“Hold on..JUST HOLD ON!!.......what Grayson?” long pause….then “yes, I fed your fish just before you came up stairs…now go to bed!!” she then looks at me, “I’m sorry… you were rambling about some kind of ‘aneity’ or something…”

“Hey, we’re both dealing with this….and it sucks at times, but if we don’t…”

“Jesus..hold on…yes Macy?!!!” the wifey yells as she throws yet another layer of blankets over her… “Yes…you can read one more book, then GO TO BED!!!!” she then contorts her face into a well-crafted smart-ass face and says, “I’m sorry…you were trying to make me feel bad for not being a hardcore porno slut, wearing nighties, thongs, and knee-highs to help you get your rocks off…..please continue…”

“I…I uhhh…baby you look really nice tonight and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate what you do for this family,” I say as I’m turning the channel from the MLB playoffs to Oxygen. “I can’t even remember the last time I went to bed without smelling your shirt and missing you like crazy.”

“Say the word ‘spontaneity’ again and I’ll fucking cut you….”

"Whoa!!!...let's not get crazy here, OK?...I just.."

"Did you really just call me crazy? Seriously...as I lay here on the couch, trying to relax for the first fucking time tonight....did you really...just...call..me...crazy? Cause if you did, I just want to be clear and understand correctly that you thought long and hard before selecting that word. I want to be sure, that in your tiny little brain, hidden deep within the beer, the Jennifer Anistons, the baseball, the football, the masturbating....that that's what you really thought was the smartest thing to say to me?"

"I uhhh.....yesterday we.....on Friday I was uhh.....Honey!!! I'd like to volunteer to make the kids' lunches and bathe them and put them to bed for an entire week....just for you!!!"

I sat there for what seemed like at least 30 minutes..but it was only 15 seconds before she said..."Oooohhh....I spontaneously just remembered we're out of peanut butter for the kids' lunches!!!"

It was raining that night when I had to run to the grocery store...and I have to give it to her...it was pretty spontaneous......

Sex & The Snuggie

I got a glimpse last night into what my winter will be like. Let me rephrase that…what my sex life will be like this winter.

My wife is sick right now. I fell badly for her because she’s clearly not feeling well. She tries to help around the house, but all I see through my insane, fucked-up way of thinking is her spreading germs all over the house.

Last night I’m hanging out, just finished putting the little bastards to sleep, when it happens. The wifey descends from upstairs and flops down on the other end of the couch wearing the big, blue, stupid, frock looking, Snuggie. Yeah the real Snuggie.

Now…she knows I hate the Snuggie. She knows the first time I saw an ad for the Snuggie I picked up the TV and threw it out the front window. She knows that the very site of the Snuggie makes me want to take a flamethrower to it. It’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. But what am I going to do? She’s sick, and achy, and clearly wanted to get warm.

Then I suddenly became paralyzed with a sudden formula:

Comfort + Warmth = Snuggie cock-blocking all winter long.

She’s never going to take this thing off again. It will forever be the oversized sheath covering wifey and keeping us from the wonderful world of whoopie-making. It will become one with her. Once the children are tucked nicely in bed, she will shroud this magnificent piece of marketing bullshit around her body making her impenetrable to any and all efforts me and my little fella make towards sexual bliss.

I know, I know..you’re thinking, “well climb in there with her you idiot.” No..for a few reasons...

1) I hate the fucking Snuggie and don’t even want it touching me.

2) Wifey is clausterphobic and would be miserable with her and me in the Snuggie

3) I hate the fucking Snuggie and don’t even want it touching me.

And there’s no such thing as a crotchless Snuggie. There’s no Velcro strap that can be removed and placed back once the deed is done. There’s no flaps up top like women’s breast-feeding bra flaps.

My anger for the Snuggie has now reached new dimensions.

You’re on notice Snuggie. I will fuck you up. You will die. I will watch you burn, Twitter about it, TwitPic the whole thing, blog about it, then burry your ass in the alley where I can drive over your remains every day. You’re dead to me and I’m coming for you…….