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.

My Dog

I think my dog’s biological clock is ticking. It would be so much easier if she was puppy crazy or in heat. I could handle that. This, however isn’t something I had planned on dealing with. My dog wants a baby. Like a human baby, and I think she wants it from me.

It started shortly after we moved to SF. When we go on walks, my dogs have always been interested in smells on the ground, and people walking other dogs. Like recent east coast transplants, my dogs have an attitude and don’t really like other people and if they could talk most of their words would consist of swearing at people and judging the excessive use of outer wear when it is only 60 degrees out. Now toddlers, people with strollers and, god help me if we walk past one, a day care my dog goes out of her way to interact with anyone who still has soft spots in their skull. Pup will stop and sit at a corner if she sees a stroller half a block away. She waits patiently until the stroller comes up and if the stroller pusher doesn’t stop to acknowledge pup, I can physically see her adorable little puppy heart break. She is still indifferent to childfree folks, but she knows a rube  when she sees on and makes sure to turn the cute on to get guaranteed butt scratches but children don’t know the sweet spot, so there is no reason for her to like children.

She LOVES when a child points and says “doggie!” She’s been smacked in the face with tiny grubby kid hands at least 20 times in the past month and never seems to mind. This is the same dog that cowers in the corner if HHP gets the qtips out to clean her ears and almost wets herself if a shopping cart comes too close. She isn’t one for long walks in the park and on more than several occasions has laid down in the middle of the street if we walk too far from home. But she will be at full energy (and best behavior) when a kid is around. The same dog that steps on my bladder, pees on HHP and farts with reckless abandon will be the most gentle and self-aware bulldog on the planet when in the presence of someone who regularly craps their pants. Pup is methodical when facing kids. In all of our child-encounters, she is patient and has never accidentally knocked one of them down when she turns her attention to another kid. She’s never even made a kid cry, hell I’ve done that more times than I can remember. My original theory was that children are dirty and she wanted access to their sticky fingers and secret food stash but that was busted when I saw her completely ignore a kid’s half-eaten banana.

Image

Baby? Where?

I’ve spent enough time with my dogs to know what they are thinking. I’ve learned that when they look at you, look at their food and back at you “feed me” is the only thought passing through her mind. So when I get the same look at the playground. Dog looks at me, looks at see-saw, looks back at me. I see “I want one, make it happen.”  How do I explain to my dog that kids are a lot of work? What’s the Cesar Milan approach to explaining my deep-seeded emotional fear of raising a child who will turn out just like me? When did this blog post go from funny story to existential crisis?

My dog is wicked smart. She knows to breathe through  her nose instead of her mouth when she is doing something bad. She is eerily quiet, and is fully aware of when HHP and I are distracted enough to get in to the kitty litter or eat yet another TV remote. I’ll have to make sure that the next time the dog is in the bathroom she is just going through the trash and not my birth control  supply. This dog is surprised by her own farts and yet could very well be the criminal mastermind to make Wardegus more than a duo.

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.

Make Good Choices

My boss works from 7:30am- 3:30pm, when she leaves for the day she calls out “make good choices.” The story goes that she lived next to a couple that would put their daughter on the school bus every day and tell her to make good choices.

This stuck with my boss, and now it is sticking with me…

except, I’ve been making TERRIBLE choices lately. I’ve been hiding my head in the sand in regards to my job situation. I NEED to apply for jobs but I am really good at ignoring that swinging axe over my head.

This job situation has led to my financial situation, I should be looking to market myself better. (Frankly, I mad a bad choice just now by getting distracted by Food Network Humor)  I wanted to really think about myself and actively improve myself and i didn’t, I totally read the Twilight series (and I REALLY hate myself for reading those)

Well, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes regretting the terrible choices I’ve made and am going to resolve to make good choices. Now I just have to figure out where to start.