Infidelity

It's time to tell the truth.  Even if it hurts.

I've been cheating on my boyfriend.

And loving mostly every minute of it.

I'm always with my boyfriend in the car, at work and in the kitchen.  We really click when we're together, seeing how music tames the savage beast.

Over the past few weeks though, the beast is getting mixed messages and hardly any soothing at all.  You see, I hang out with my boyfriend because he woos me with the music I grew up with, a.k.a. My Parents Music.

When my boyfriend sings Suite - Judy Blue Eyes to me and backs it up with Mr. Brownstone we have a HUGE problem.  Don't get me wrong, I love both songs dearly.  DEARLY.  And differently, oh so very differently.

I went to my 20 year high school reunion in October.  I do NOT need a daily or even an hourly reminder that MY MUSIC is now 20+ years old.  And WHAT THE HELL boyfriend!!??  What happened to your Classic Rock genre?  Now you just say rock.

I've heard some rather questionable choices/voices come out of you, in particular you incessant need to play Chickenfoot.  Sammy Hagar grates on my LAST nerve.  If I hear ARRIBA ARRIBA One. More. Time. I'm going to go crazy!!

So I ran a few feet back the dial into my 80's easy listening comfort zone.  And those bass turds are playing Christmas music until the rest of the year.  It's ok, it's perfect for the office, I don't have to feel guilty about my radio choice and hide my shameful boyfriend love.  WOW - I'm amazed at how many cheesy Christmas tunes have been recorded.  I'm also thankful they play the old time standards, that keeps me from having to commit space on my mp3 player to my Time Life Christmas Classics CD.

I am most thankful to the sweet baby Jesus that I continue to work in this office, A L O N E.  Because this man and this song makes me believe I can sing every song that comes out of the radio.  I believe I am singing just as pretty as this:

but most likely, I'm pretty sure I sound like this:

Reader Me This, Batman

I'm catching up on my reading.  Here's a well-written LOL to share with you from FML.  


What you said yummcookie, I salute thee!  It may not be very nice (sorry Memaw), but it is pretty funny.  And good luck to you xfmylifexxx.  Too bad we don't get a location on this FML entry, but I do wonder if this happened in a fairly Southern place?

Today, my Asian parents and I went to burger king. When it came to the drinks, my dad said, "cock and no ass." I had to explain to the horrified cashier that he meant, "coke no ice." FML

#6626896 (78)

I agree, your life sucks (10797) - you totally deserved it (659)

On 12/06/2009 at 12:22am - misc - by xfmylifexxx (man) - United States (Maryland)

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EPIC WIN

#1 - On 12/06/2009 at 5:59am by yummcookie

Redneck OCD, I has it.

I recently bought one of these steam cleaners at Big Lots for $59.00.  And I feel like I've already cleaned enough with one gallon of distilled water to cover that cost in cleaning chemicals when applied by hand upon  the same areas.

This is the greatest cleaning tool I HAVE EVER USED!  I get pretty grossed out when I think about how dirty I left things that I thought were clean when I "washed" them with cleaning products.  Cleaning products that burned my hands Slap!  Up! Not to mention me coughing for air or losing the ability to taste!!  

I really, REALLY want to keep cleaning.  I can't stop, even as gross as the process is to get things clean.  I want to keep going and going and going!  The kitchen and bathroom floors get so clean they squeak.  I have so much serious love for this machine I want to kiss it on the lips.  I thought I saw the Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer look at  me a little on the bitchy side while I was steam-mopping the kitchen floor.  "Jealous much, KASM?"  Shark's indigo eyes batted up to the counter-top.

That's why I am diagnosing myself with Redneck OCD.  I keep catching myself saying, "Hey ya'll, WATCH THIS!" as I beg for an audience to witness me wash away the missed splatters on the wall behind the trashcan.  Living in a house full of males makes me happy that at least most of the trash makes it into the can at all.  I yield my weapon for what it is, my Direct Steam Power Wand of Awesomeness.

The only down side to my new toy is the fact that we live in an unincorporated area and have very hard well-water so you can only clean as much as your inventory of Distilled Water of Germ Killing Mass Destruction will allow. Also, you have to have plenty of cheap towels to wipe up the left over steam-water.  

Now I sit in my Fortress of Solitude and think.  I must decide if I am going to enjoy the rest of my afternoon relaxing after all of that work ... or will I work up enough courage to find myself driving to the pusher-man's house for another hit?

Kid speak

I don't usually give Junior his bath, the husband does.  Sometimes Junior gets in a mood and doesn't want to work with his dad and he asks me to do it.  Sometimes I say yes, most of the time I make the two of them suffer through it together.

It had been a while since I'd bathed him so it was fun having to remember his bathing habits.

After taking care of All.  Of.  That.  Hair. and getting the "may doughs" (tomatoes) out of his ears, we rinse him off and I wrap his hair up to dry.  "It's a genie hat!!"  Then I'll wrap him up in his towel and heave all of his 40 something pounds of boy out of the tub.  Squirmy.

Because it is impossible to do anything the easy and direct way when you're four, Junior insists on standing on his stool to be dried off.  Whatever, it's forward progress and even though I am annoyed, I'll allow it.

I playfully pat his brown little face, rub down the left arm and then the right.  A quick shimmy along his belly and back and it's time to work on the lower limbs.  Junior sticks out an arm to lean against the wall and I grab a foot to squeeze out his toes, up his calf and as I dry the top of his thigh he always yells out

"DON'T FORGET THE UNDERLEG!!"

Please view this anatomy chart:

I don't see the Underleg labeled, do you?