Playing Telephone (Pt II)

 

Welcome back!

 

Aren’t guessing games the BEST?

this shit ends now

 

I know sometimes it’s frustrating, getting into the rhythm of a story only to hit the To Be Continued wall, but I’ve been feeling the lack of interaction lately, so I enjoyed the comment action. 

 

And, if Husband is to be believed, this blog is all about me.

 

But the time has come to appease your curiosity and answer the days’ old question:

 

What the fuck was his excuse for his phone?

 

Answer, and the full conversation, after the jump.

 

Don’t stop now – keep reading!

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I Got No Roots

 

I have noted, on numerous occasions, my willingness to laugh at myself.  To point out my own errors, however rare they might be. 

 

I just… forgot to mention this one when it happened, because there was so much going on at the time.  So I’m telling you now. 

 

I promise, it has nothing to do with my desire to stave off discussions of whether I’ve unpacked all 37 boxes of kitchen stuff (they won’t fit, there’s no way) or putting off the answer to the question you’re all asking—which is totally coming, I just remembered this and wanted to put it out there and also I’m a champion procrastinator.

line-art of woman collapsed in garden; text reads, "I'd like to nominate myself for the Procrastinator of the Year award, but I'd rather fill out the application some other time."

 

Don’t stop now – keep reading!

Playing Telephone

 

We’ve got a weird combination of boring conversations:

 

ME:  Can we work on getting the media room more set up this weekend?
HIM:  Yeah, we can do that.  Maybe get some space for dog pillows?  Oh, and I can put the latch on the storage shed.
ME:  That would be nice.  Thank you.

 

… And dramatic ones:

 

ME:  … So basically I’ve been freaking out all day and I’m—
HIM:  Yeah, this is… I don’t even know what we’re going to do.
ME:  RIGHT?!?

 

Don’t stop now – keep reading!

Getting (back to my) Gimmick

 

Last week I gave you a Conversation between my cats and wrote about an encounter with a professional exterminator.

 

At least, I think that’s who he was.  It’s possible a passing lunatic came by to murder me but, seeing the truck outside, had a change of heart and murdered the exterminator instead.  Then he stole the uniform and sprayed orange juice around my house so I wouldn’t wonder what happened to the real exterminator. 

 

Unlikely?  Sure.  But it would explain the giant fucking spider Hamilton killed last night while I watched Orange is the New Black.

(Orange is the New Black) CO Luschek steps outside, looks around, goes back into prison. Text flashes: *NOPE!*

 

Anyway, between those two posts you might be wondering if I’ve forgotten the stated goal of this page: to bring you truthful, accurate reports of the things my husband says in the form of my actual conversations with him.  I promise you, it is not so!  Here, let me soothe you with a quick sampling of what it’s been like, living here with him.

 

Don’t stop now – keep reading!

I’d Rather Have a Springbok

 

We are here, you will recall, to discuss The Bug issue. 

looping gif, endless parade of giant beetles marches by

 

Well, not “discuss” in the traditional format, obviously; you are there and I am here and there’s a temporal disconnect as well.  More “discuss” in the book club sense; I’ll tell you a story, and then maybe we’ll have a discussion question at the end.  Won’t that be fun?

 

Shut up, it’s better than working.  And if you’re not reading on your employer’s time it’s not my fault.

 

Don’t stop now – keep reading!

We Are Fam Nao!

 

For me, the bloom is already off the rose on this (abso-fucking-lutely haunted) house.

 

Now that the hot water and air conditioning issues are solved we have: doors that don’t open, doors that don’t close, windows that don’t open, outlets that don’t work, and goddamned bugs showing up.

looping gif, endless parade of giant beetles marches by

Go on, count ’em.

 

I’ve woken up every morning to dead spiders in the middle of the hall and random rooms.  And the crickets!  They’re just… wandering around the middle of the house.  Crickets, for those unfamiliar with the species, are not known for their desire to be indoors.  And since we are not open the windows and get some fresh air people there’s no rational explanation for their sudden appearance in my dining room. 

 

And we’ll address all of that in a later post, because the guy is coming this week.  First, I need to tell you about the most bizarre thing about this house.

 

Don’t stop now – keep reading!

My Unexamined Life

 

Okay, this is the last moving-related post.  I swear.  And it’s barely a moving post, since I’m not going to talk about the boxes that are the bane of my existence or how I still haven’t found my shampoo.  It’s cool, I’ll just buy more.

 

It’s just… remember the brain crabs? 

 

The ones we killed off when I, you know, found a place to live and totally pulled off this move even after everything went pear-shaped at the last fucking minute?

 

Turns out they’re armor-plated and radioactive. 

Glowing, radioactive cartoon crab with laser cannons for eyes

And they’re mutating.

 

Don’t stop now – keep reading!