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!

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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.

 

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He’s Not Funny

 

Just a quick one, because there’s some shit going on right now and it’s getting hectic around here and I’m trying to get things handled and figure out how I’m going to tell you about it without incurring the wrath of sharks in shiny suits.  Or getting too wordy—I know how y’all hate it when I get wordy.

(Finding Nemo) school of fish in formation imitate annoying "downer" fish, "Blah, blah, blah. Me, me, blah."

Me.  I know it, you don’t have to tell me.

 

I’ll probably split it into parts or something.  So that’s a thing to look forward to, right?

 

Fine, enough about that… I’ll be accused of teasing you if I keep on it.  The quickie!

 

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Hand Emojis

 

Once upon a time, in the earliest days of the Facebook page, Husband was so enamored of seeing his own words mocked immortalized on the internet that he would deliberately say ridiculous things to provoke a reaction, immediately followed by an eager, “Is that going on the page?”

 

These days, he’s gone a bit shy.

 

black-and-white "shy guy" from Super Mario Bros. games

Ten cool points if you got this reference.

 

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I Have So Many Questions

 

Until now this blog has been—whatever he might say—about him and the ridiculous things he says, does, thinks, or laughs at. 

 

I think it’s time to branch out.  Because I… I heard something.

 

Something that changed me.

 

 

Let me back up. 

 

Have you ever met someone who changed your life in a moment, probably without even realizing they did it?  Someone who has lived such a fundamentally different life from your own experiences that it makes you question everything (Do I really like corn flakes?  Puppies?  Sleep?  Do I really hate spiders?*) you thought you knew? 

 

I have, but this is not that story. 

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