Reign of TP-error

I’ve been a little silent on the home front lately. These are difficult times in the Wardegus compound. I have no one to blame but myself, this shame rests purely on me. I did it, and my mea culpa is this: I brought the wrong brand of toilet paper.

It was an honest mistake. On one of the rare occurrences where I go grocery shopping without HHP, I picked up a name brand that was on sale but not our preference. I ignorantly assumed that all TP was inherently the same but when I got home that afternoon I saw HHPs face fall. “Oh, it’s fine.” he said, clearly lying. Things between us had been so good for so long. Our communication was stellar. We had intimate conversations about our hopes, dreams and goals. His faith in me was this rock that I had had to hold on to during my own tumultuous times. To know that I had failed him in such a manner, was heartbreaking. For a fleeting moment, I was afraid we had taken too big of a tumble and we would never recover.

It wasn’t until the second week of my TP prison sentence did I really notice a change. Whenever HHP would pass me in the hallway between the bathroom and the living room his eyes darkened. He no longer joked and laughed as easily as he had before. Unlike the Charmin commercial, he no longer “enjoyed the go” and it was all my fault. I was trapped in Dante’s unnamed circle of double-ply hell. There was anger and resentment as well as burgeoning level of distrust. HHP no longer considered me his confidant. He didn’t know that I implicitly had his back at all times. Honestly, how could he? I didn’t have his back. I had let him down and unfortunately all we could was ride this white cotton wave until we hit a softer, more comfortable shore.

I was torn. I wanted to use less TP to serve as a penance for my mistake, but I knew that if I used more we could get through it faster and start to fix our relationship. I wanted to fill the toilet with a wad of toilet paper still attached to the roll and flush it down in one smooth motion but that would be cowardly and frankly, since I’m still unemployed expensive.

I admitted my mistake by week three. I too was suffering but I felt foolish and naive. I wanted to act like inferior toilet paper wasn’t a problem. I could handle the burn, hell give me a pile of newspapers or a pinecone, just as long as it’s not Scotts. As is his truly selfless nature, HHP refuted the dirty looks and the judgement that I thoughtlessly placed on me. He reassured me that we were stronger than toilet paper and that while our relationship is like the Bristol chart. Sometimes, we’re rock solid and unbreakable. Other times, we’re a little looser and free flowing.


I’ve been struggling lately. Being unemployed has really taken a toll on me. I’m meeting with a doctor this week to discuss mind-altering medication but I’ve been reading a lot about cognitive therapy. Wil Wheaton’s post made me cry.

“When you feel bad, when you are thinking and feeling that you’re worthless or anything like that, I want you to recognize it, and then make an effort to replace those bad feelings with good ones.”

I was completely incapable of doing this. I couldn’t think of a single good thing I’d done or accomplished. And then I cried some more.

HHP even posted the 7 Things article on TinyBuddha on his Facebook page. He didn’t want to draw attention to my problems (he’s good like that) but he wanted to remember to tell me about it.

“We can’t hate ourselves into a version of ourselves we can love.” ~Lori Deschene

I want to be the first person to do this. And I think I’m almost there. So I’m trying to be nicer to myself. Maybe kick myself a little less when I’m down. I even suggested a healthy dose of self-care (and vitamin D) by going to the beach today.  And that’s when I heard this.

I went to Cal, but I’m not smart enough for that.  

For me, this sentence is on par with this:

Hearing that, everything clicked. Like a light bulb. I’ve never said that. Never even thought that. That phrase is just not in my realm of possibility. I’ve never not been smart enough for anything. Sure, I’m physically unfit, and my willpower is pretty much non-existent, but I’ve never not been smart enough for anything. And as the little voice in Wil Wheaton’s head said “it’s okay to feel a little proud about this.” I listened to it.


It’s our wedding anniversary; 5 years of marriage. I can lie and say that it’s been roses, love and unicorn tears but it hasn’t. It’s been difficult, sure. But it’s also been the most fun I’ve had on this planet.
I love you like a love song. And yeah, I keep hitting repeat. It’s not one of those instant classic love songs. It’s dated and when people other than us here it, they roll their eyes at how cheesy and predictable the lyrics are. Doesn’t matter, because when I hear that song, I’m immediately back in our college town falling in love with you all over again.
When I have too much to drink, I’ll sing this song for you at karaoke. It will be the staple that when our friends see me walking towards the stage, they rush to the bar to drown out my warbling voice. I’ll be off-key, forget the lyrics and possibly be cut off as the next person gets up and sings their alcohol assisted version of “I will survive”.
When my depression knocks me on my ass, you’re the only person I find tolerable. In reality, I think it’s because you’re close enough to me that I can be a complete cunt to and you won’t leave. You know that my miserable mood and attitude is because of a minor chemical imbalance and not permanent brain damage. Anyone else would have told me to nut up but, you’re there for me in ways that I can never repay.
You overlook my bad habits. You don’t mind when I leave the bathroom light on, you tease me when I lock the car doors to prevent animal attacks. You let me rage against unhelpful customer service people and reel me back in when I go t0o far. You’re the only person on the planet I’m ever completely open with. Which is how I know that you won’t judge me for the next paragraph.

You’re as close to me as my intestinal bacteria. You help me process complex things and break it all down into something that is easily digestible, you help me help myself. Your presence in my life makes living just that much easier. And sometimes, when I swallow something that isn’t the healthiest option, you help me just let it pass quickly. These are the moments when you know me better than I know myself. I’d be lost without you. You’re something that I can’t create on my own and I had to travel the world for awhile looking for just the right thing, and it was you. Now that I know you, I’ll never be without you. You’ve wormed your way into my life, my heart and my soul and my digestive tract.

You smile when I make terrible jokes, when I have terrible ideas and you hold me when a fireman is sawing into the hood of our car at 2 o’clock in the morning. You see through all of my bullshit and make me feel like I invented the wheel or was the first person to put porn on the Internet. You’re not perfect,  but neither am I. We’re imperfectly perfect together. I don’t need an anniversary to remind you that you make my life better. But since it is our anniversary, I want you to know that 5 years of marriage is only the start of our adventure together.

This picture reminds me that we’ll always have good food and genitals on our advenutures.

Warrior Dash

HHP and I are going through a bit of a rough spot. We’re talking a lot but we aren’t hearing what the other person says and we are both missing super big important non-verbal clues. It’s neither my fault or his fault. I think we were super focused on improving ourselves and now that we’re ready to pay more attention to being a couple it’s hard.  So when I conned him into signing up for the warrior dash I thought it would do us both some good.

Obviously, neither HHP and I are in prime physical condition so I knew it was going to be hard. He was unsure about the whole idea of the race; jumping over fire was intimidating and the idea of  “dying” were definite drawbacks. I was concerned about getting all Kirk Cameron left behind and not having enough confidence in myself to finish. I’m really quick to quit something because it’s hard and I know that I don’t push myself as much as I should.

So we get there, and it’s scary as fuck. There are tons of people running around some of them mud covered and even a few dressed as Link and Princess Zelda. We saw an incredibly patriotic Captain America who completed the course with a giant American Flag that didn’t get muddy at all. People dressed as Street Fighters, Spartans and even a few brides running the race.

The flames shot up at 2:30 and we were off. The first obstacle was a giant fucking hill. It was pretty similar to the hill to our house, except not paved and I couldn’t stop and pretend to check my cell phone to take a break on it.  I was caught up in the rush of the crowd and ran up it and then we came to the mud. I’m not talking about a little bit of mud, I’m saying like brownie batter, diarrhea, fire swamp from the princess bride  mud.  I fell a few times, my shoe came off once and HHP biffed it too. That part of the course exhausted me. I knew it was going to be muddy and hard but I had no idea that mud could seep into my shoes and make them 5 pounds heavier. HHP was great and he would pause and wait for me to catch up and didn’t even laugh when I face-planted into what I’m pretty sure was deer shit.

When I get in stressful situations I get snippy and shut down. HHP kept me from quitting by telling me that he was proud of me and to not care that we were getting passed by people that started half an hour later than we did. We made it through the Swamp of Sadness and then we found ourselves with more obstacles. Climbing over walls, under barb wire fences, balance beams, and even more mud. It was exhausting. I was most terrified about climbing this giant wall and I couldn’t do it but HHP did. He started to struggle a little at the  top but I think I promised him “warrior dash anal” if he completed it. We could smell the fire when we came around one of the last turns. It was much smaller than I was planning and taking practice leaps over the speed bump near our house totally paid off. HHP sailed through it and I can’t wait for the sports photos to see my look of sheer terror.

We came up to the giant cargo net. You could hear the DJ spinning Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby got back” and I was pumped. I just wanted this thing to be over but in yet another awesome act of selflessness HHP asked me to wait until a woman at the top who was visibly terrified of the downward climb got started. We cheered her on and didn’t start our climb until she was securely on the ground. We slipped ass first down a giant mud hill (I have wicked  grass rash from that) and we crossed the finish line holding hands. Ok, really HHP was pulling me along.

It was the hardest thing I’ve done in recent memory, but even when I was covered in mud hating everything and everyone and repeatedly telling HHP that this was the worst idea I’ve ever had I would do it again in a heartbeat.  I got to spend a few hours with my husband, totally relying on him and his encouragement to keep me going. That doesn’t happen very often. In our relationship I’m usually the one pushing him and encouraging him so it was a really good change of pace. The whole walk back to the car we were giddy with excitement that we accomplished something that we really didn’t think we could do;  we felt closer to each other which was exactly what we wanted.

We didn’t end up getting around to Warrior Dash Anal last night. Honestly, by the time we got in the house, sex was the last thing on our minds. We took showers, HHP dressed my wounds since I couldn’t see them and we passed out.

Everything hurts today, we’re both dragging ass and all I want to do is not wear pants but I’m happier than I’ve been in a while. We’ll probably do it next year, heck I might even do the one in NY in August and Tennessee in September. But neither of those races matter because I’ve got this:


It’s what’s for dinner

I always knew this day would come. I have known for a while that a PYT (pretty young thing) would catch his eye. I had no idea that I would have introduced them, and encouraged him to push forward in their relationship. It started innocently enough, he and I were sitting around one night watching television and I asked if he had ever noticed her before or thought about trying something new. He casually replied, “Yeah, I mean I’ve thought about it, who hasn’t? But I wouldn’t know where to start. I’ve never done that sort of thing before.”

After a late night trip to the store that carries such supplies, we got down to business one Sunday night. It was scary at first, there was a bit of discoloration and the nerves were apparent, but we successfully made it through and I was so adventurous to suggest using it again the very next night. We didn’t get around to it the next night, but tonight we couldn’t contain ourselves. HHP was the first to mention it in the car on the way home. “What would you think if we uh, you know”

“Oh, oh. Oh.” Was all I could reply. I know that my suggestion from Sunday was still fresh in his mind. When we got home, he had already prepared everything. It wasn’t until the dogs started whining that I was able to fully comprehend what we were going to do. “Wait, we have to take care of the pups first.”

HHP had a few choice words for the mutts, but I told him to get started without me and I would handle them. I turned on my iPod to really set the mood as I left with the dogs. When I returned from the fastest walk the dogs have ever taken, HHP was willing, ready and waiting. Within minutes it was getting hot and heavy in the kitchen.  You could smell the soy sauce coming together with the onion powder. HHP manned his bamboo spatula like a master; debaters will speak of his skill for years. With limited experience in wok cooking, and only his second time at the helm HHP made a delicious chicken stir-fry for dinner.

Me = Master Seductress

Tuesday night was HHP’s birthday. As most days that end in Y, I was feeling a little frisky and since it was his special day I dug through the illustrious bottom drawer of my dresser (dear friends and family it’s not a good idea to dig through that drawer next time you visit, FYI.) I found this awesome corset that I had purchased years ago to wear under my wedding dress.

It looked exactly like this except in white. I look exactly like this model except fat and pasty. ..

I’m super excited to don this little sexified number and I go to put it on I realize I’m a little bit smaller in both the top and bottom than the last time I wore it. Normally, I call in the assistance of HHP to help me with his fuck awesome Eagle Scout knots, but since it was his birthday and I wanted to surprise him I took care of it myself. Not gonna lie, I was super impressed that my bunny ear knots held everything in place.

Have I mentioned where HHP is during all of this? No? Let me get to that. We have a house guest this week from Germany. HHP got roped into hosting an impromptu dinner party with our houseguest and our upstairs neighbors/landlord. I had conveniently bowed out of this dinner because it started at 10pm at night, I had to work the next day and like I may have mentioned…I wanted to have crazy hot corset/birthday sex. To complicate the situation house guests normally stay in our spare room/dog room which means the dogs get moved into the living room. If you recall, Tuesday was oppressively hot in Boston so we moved the dogs into the bedroom with the air conditioner. Which is usually fine, but that night the dogs had a front row seat to and my attempt at sexiness.

I subtly start texting HHP at 10:45pm letting him know that if the dogs start barking “I’m not dressed appropriately 😉 to take them out and perhaps you should come into the bed room and take care of it.”

He didn’t get my text.

Because I’m the epitome of rational, I’m pissed. I’m hot, I’m tired, I’m trying to be seductive and I’m hungry. And when I’m pissed and all of these other ridiculous things I’m surprisingly not frisky. So HHP finds me asleep in shorts and a t-shirt that night.

On to the next evening! (This is where it gets good)

Plot points: I still want a romp in the hay, still unbearable hot but the dogs are in the non-air conditioned living room, houseguest is mollified with internet/beer/cigarettes and HHP is taking a shower before bed.

I cram my goodies into the corset again and as I lay on the bed eagerly awaiting HHP’s imminent return from the bathroom I run my hands up and down my body trying my best to look sexily.

This is the image I get when I google “lay in bed sexily” seriously, it is.

As I lay there, wondering why the hell HHP’s shower is taking so fucking long I notice there are 2 random pieces of boning in the corset protruding at the bottom. I also start to realize that there are those strange loops that help affix clothing to hangers at the bottom of the corset. At the bottom of the corset? Huh, that’s weird, why would they be there.

When HHP comes in from the bathroom, he’s shocked/awed/excited about my wardrobe decision. After he eyes the merchandise a little longer than I usually care for, I’m toying with the lace at the bottom of the corset and eagerly awaiting his next move when my mind wanders…

2 pieces of protruding boning + strange loops to affix clothing + lace all at the bottom of the corset = Jesus Christ, I am an idiot

I’m wearing the corset upside down.

I should be mortified. I should be doing everything in my power to ensure this corset comes off quickly and HHP will be none the wiser and we’ll never speak of this again, but I don’t.

I start giggling like an idiot and the giggling distracts HHP from his mission of get wife nekked now. I try, between my chortling, to inform HHP of my lingerie faux pas, but he can’t understand me. He starts to unfurl the “mission accomplished” banner when I jump out of bed to rip the upside down corset off only to tear up like a fat kid at TCBY when I take 10 minutes to put the corset on the proper way.

Because HHP is contractually obligated to me for the rest of his life, he never mentions my apparent need to de-corset and re-corset myself just when things were getting hot and heavy. He does, however, delight in the re-de-corseting that occurs shortly thereafter.