- First of all, my name is Nikki and I am a restaurant addict. Even if I’m not hungry, I want to go to restaurants. I’m happy taking home so many doggie bags from the food I couldn’t eat at all the restaurants I insisted we go to, that our Styrofoam containers completely filled my fridge by the end of the week. I don’t WANT to go to restaurants. I NEED to go to restaurants. Boyfriend Extraordinaire is trying to get to the bottom of my love of restaurants, but we can’t get past my inability to stop grinning from ear to ear while sitting in a booth and having bottomless drinks brought to us. C’mon! What’s NOT to love about restaurants? Well, yeah, aside from the price.
Boyfriend Extraordinaire is worthy of his name. Let me count the ways. He fixed my hubcaps, which wouldn’t stay on my car and the dealership had no idea what to tell me. He fixed my garage door lock so that my home isn’t completely vulnerable with an unlockable garage door. He also fixed the lightswitch in my garage so that I don’t have to feel around in the pitch-black darkness for the floodlight that plugs in, because my flashlight broke. He bought me a new flashlight. The remote control that my dog ate had a missing chunk out of the circuit board, and B.E. not only found a soldering iron and solder in my myriad of a garage, but he soldered two wires to the circuit board and now my remote control works for the first time in three years. He bought me a treadmill. He bought me a wireless weather station so that I don’t have to spend the first moments after I wake up checking the Weather Channel and NOAA.gov for weather conditions, which I’m a tiny bit obsessed with. He made fun of me and told countless strangers in a loud, announcing fashion that I peed my pants (well, no, just my underwear, because when I finally got to the toilet, I got my shorts off at the last second but ended up sacrificing the undies) when we were out last week, after I drank four glasses of beverage and found myself in a public setting with no washrooms anywhere nearby. Hey, wait, that’s not nice! Scratch that! Okay, so he laughs at all my stupid jokes, like when I farted in bed and told him I was giving him butt-to-butt resuscitation. He cracks me up, too, in the embarrassing, uncontrollable way that makes me snort and choke and I have to beg for mercy. And above all else, he still yells out “Woo, woo!” when I change clothes in front of him. Truly, he’s extraordinary.
We watched television. We watched shows I didn’t know existed. I found a show called “Burn Notice” and I have one thing to ask. HOW the HELL did Bruce Campbell get to be so old?! OH! MY! FSM! He doesn’t look bad, but WHAT the FUCK? Is this some scary/funny trick by Sam Raimi? And why the hell did Jim Carrey become famous doing a bad impersonation of Bruce all these years, too? How did Bruce drop off my radar for so long that he looks like he could be his own dad? My head hurts.
Earplugs work well against noise like someone snoring a foot away, and an aggressive dog who barks at the garbage men, the lawn care guys, and any noise or movement that occurs in the house. Earplugs are great. But they can also guard your sensitive ears against the necessary blaring of your alarm clock, so be wary.
Planes make Schwee sick. Every time. Every flight. Cesspools!
My sunglasses broke – my favorite sunglasses – and shopping for sunglasses revealed something very bizarre about our society. We want the tiniest lenses for our eyeglasses so as not to be able to see clearly except for a pinprick straight ahead of us, without any peripheral vision or up and down. We seem to want to fall down stairs and hit our head on things. Fashion is stupid. YET! Yet, the trendy sunglasses look like Charles Nelson Reilly glasses. Last year it was Elton John, but it’s progressed to these unbelievable Harry Carry frames that need only some feathered hair, a tacky fur coat and Charlie perfume to make the ensemble complete. Why? Just why?
Work email should never ever be checked from home when you’re on vacation. I’ve said it before but I never take my own advice. I will in the future.
Now I’m back in my usual schedule and trying desperately to adjust back to ordinary life. It sucks. I want to hang with my Schwee, visit animals, walk through the woods, take pictures, and eat at restaurants everyday. Dammit, why isn’t this possible?!
4 comments:
For the same reason I can't: life hates us.
You do have an awesome Schwee, though. Fixing the garage door, buying you a weather radio, a treadmill, and a replacement flashlight? Very sweet, caring gifts. :)
Oh-oh-oh, you know what? Last summer he bought me a toolkit with every conceivable thing I could need in it, and I'm amazed how often I use it. I keep it in my car because my car goes where I do. When he bought the treadmill, he had to disassemble it a little to get it into the car, and there were all these ladies around ooohing and ahhhing about my toolkit and how clever I am to have one in my car. I beamed and said my Schwee gave me the tools. They oogled him. I have a Schwee who would give me tools to keep me safe, and then buy me a treadmill to keep me healthy. I have an awesome Schwee!
NEVER check email when you are on vacation. Awesome rule, and we all find it so hard to live by, because we're afraid we're going back to wotk and the whole place will be in chaos. (And usually is.)
And I hate the Ugly Duckling story, too. False promises and hope, but I bet (other than librarians and teachers), not that many people recall what a loser Hans was for writing that. Thanks for reminding us.
My hubby gave me a toolbox one Mother's Day, with even some tools in it! I was so happy! One of the best Mother's Day gifts I've ever gotten. It's still in our kitchen and it's our "upstairs" tools, for when we don't want to go to the basement for just a screwdriver or hammer.
You have a very good Schwee. He's a keeper.
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