I Wonder How Long It Will Take Him To Notice

It's no secret that Mr. Schmitty and I take pleasure in busting each other's chops. Our marriage thrives on laughter and what could be more entertaining than poking fun at your significant other? Thus, every once in a while, when things get a bit stressful and a bit too serious around here, I find the need to amuse myself.

I have a bit of a twisted, child-like sense of humor. It doesn't take much for me to double over in sheer cackling delight.

In other words, I can be completely immature.

For instance, when I needed a little pick me up, all it took was the hubby's cell phone and I was happy again. And I will never forget the fun I had with this one!

Finding pleasure at Mr. Schmitty's expense can be a total euphoric experience.

It's a regular Romper Room around here at times, I tell you. Well, Romper Room with a dash of slapstick comedy teetering on the inappropriate.

Okay, so some of it is COMPLETELY tasteless but we get each other, so it works.

Lately, I've been in the mood for some tomfoolery. I've developed a twitch in my left eye and that usually indicates I'm a bit tense.

Now, before I divulge how I spent my day, let me give you some back story.

Mr. Schmitty has an Xbox Live addiction, most in particular, he needs his Call of Duty fix on a regular basis or he'll quite possibly implode.

He can become quite immersed in character during game play. You should see him sitting in the recliner, which he moves right in front of our flatscreen, wearing his helicopter pilot-looking headset with mic. His gamertag has the word Bulldog in it, you know, so he sounds tough.

Heh.

So, there he'll sit, he and his bad self, playing into the wee hours of the morning without so much as a yawn to slow him down. Something, I might add, that drives me nuts because when he and I spend "quality couple time" together, I'm usually prying the remote from his sleep induced grip of steel and wiping the drool off of my shoulder.

But I should understand; Xbox is the shit, yo.

Not wanting to be the wife that interferes with her husbands hobbies, I went online today to renew his yearly gold membership.

While I was online, I noticed his avatar:

It is actually a very good likeness of him.

Then I noticed something else. And the evil thoughts began to manipulate the computer mouse. I had no control.

Really.

The final results produced this new and improved version of Mr. Schmitty:I'm hoping to be present to see the look on his face when he finally realizes his "persona" looks a bit like Dwayne Schneider on psychedelics.

I'm thinking he might want to change his gamertag to something a little more hip. Maybe something with RicoSauve in it.

I'm sure the "buddies" he plays with will have fun helping him choose an appropriate moniker!

The Incident

Mr. Schmitty and I are lucky enough to have really, REALLY great friends. Our best friends, specifically, well, we'd be lost without them.

Now, to backtrack a bit, the relationship we have with this couple has a history. And before any of you start grinning, get your minds outta the gutter....we don't "SWING" that way.

Mr. Schmitty and Mr. F. have been best friends since they were young children. Their families were close and they pretty much grew up together.

I met Mr. Schmitty the summer before Senior year of high school. I met Mr. F. the same summer, however, on a different occasion. We talked, they talked, we found out we all knew each other, small world, blah, blah, blah.

I then dated Mr. F. for about a year and a half. We attended the Senior Prom together. Mr. Schmitty, who was not only Mr. F's best friend, but had become mine, went to the Senior Prom with MY best girl friend in high school.

We liked to keep each other close.

So, long story short......Mr. F. and I broke up, he dated his now wife, I started dating Mr. Schmitty (but not for quite a few years later), we got married, they got married, we all hung out, Mrs. F. and I became best friends, they had kids, we had kids, they became my son's Godparents, my kid's love their kids, their kid's love mine, blah, blah, blah.

Now? We spend a lot of time together. We are like a big family.

Sometimes though, no matter how close you are to your family, you keep certain things quiet, right? I mean there are plenty of things you wouldn't want whispered about, at say, Thanksgiving dinner.

Get my drift?

I share a lot about the antics of the Schmitty Clan on this blog. Plenty of those things are embarrassing. My motto is, if you can't laugh at yourself, or make fun of your family, what's the point?

I do, however, keep a few topics locked up. You know the saying, "Zip it, lock it, and put it in your pocket." I mean my MOTHER reads my blog. There are shenanigans that go on, that I really don't want her reading about. And I'm sure she'd rather not burn her eyes with the details of particular situations in mine and Mr. Schmitty's life.

Be that as it may, there are times when I get together with my best friend, and after the wine begins to pour and pour and pour, there comes a moment that I begin to say too much. I begin to over share.

I believe the terminology is TMI.

Before you know it, the two of us are laughing hysterically like we are twelve years old and I kind of wish I had stopped at that last glass of White Zinfandel. Maybe then I could have kept my trap shut (no pun intended).

I tell her to keep it to herself. I KNOW she won't. I KNOW that she's going to tell her hubby. It's not that I don't trust her or that she's betraying me. It's just that it's too darned funny not to!

Hell, I'd tell Mr. Schmitty if roles were reversed.

The secret that I will not EVER reveal here. I don't care how much you beg and plead, has been dubbed "The Incident".

My friends suggested I write about it on my blog. I don't think they thought I would. Tee Hee.

"The Incident" is brought up in conversation constantly. No matter what is being discussed, one of us will eventually say, "Oh, I thought you were talking about The Incident!" or "Must we always go back to The Incident?"

I'm thinking of trademarking the name, you know, like Mike "The Situation" did.

So, unless I find new best friends, I believe I will be hearing about "The Incident" until I'm 80 years old, whether I want to or not.

As for you who are reading this, just take my advice, never turn your back. You just never know when "The Incident" will sneak up on YOU!

Honey, E.T. Would Have Called, But You Stole His Finger

My mother-in-law likes to reminisce about days gone by. She especially likes to talk about her children and I love hearing about Mr. Schmitty as a youngster.

One particular story involves a bit of a fetish.

As a child, my husband, well, he had a bit of an obsession, with his feet.

That obsession may have been the result of having to wear special shoes on his feet every night. Those shoes had a metal bar between them that would keep his feet from turning inward.

Poor guy. Can you imagine night after night, lying in bed, on your back, with your feet restrained?!

Um, wait...oh nevermind.

Anyway, my mother-in-law believes that because of this, Mr. Schmitty became very protective of his feet. He wanted no one and I mean NO ONE to see them.

Once, he was using the toilet, and like most children, he peed with the door to the bathroom left wide open. His aunt yelled from the other room that she could see his hiney. His answer? "But you can't see my feet!!!"

I also recall hearing that he bathed with his socks on.

Until recently, Mr. Schmitty wore his socks constantly. I teased him and told him that he was still slightly fixated on his feet issues. He would just roll his eyes and dismiss it as being ridiculous; his feet were just cold.

I had to draw the line sometimes. You know when...well, it's just not sexy seeing glowing white, over the calf socks making their way toward you in the darkness of your bedroom.

Ahem.

Lately, Mr. Schmitty has broken free of this compulsion to hide his tootsies. He proudly struts around barefoot, allowing all those in his path to gaze at his glorious feet.

I just don't get it, first the working out and getting all buff and now the sock-less feet. What's next? A speedo or worse yet, sunning himself naked in the yard?

Maybe it's a midlife crisis or something.

Whatever it is, I've come to realize, that though his mom believed those metal-barred shoes were the culprit, I believe differently. He hid his piggies because his feet are Uuuuuugleeee!

His toes are long and a bit hammered. And the toe next to his biggest toe? It reminds me of E.T.'s phone home finger; except, well, it doesn't light up. That would just be weird.


So, honey, don't feel subconscious about covering up. I completely understand, heck, I even encourage it.

Just Call Me Rocky (Raccoon or Balboa), I'll Answer To Both

As I told you last year (heh), I've been fighting a horrible cough. It's still with me, folks.

It just won't go away!!

I not sleeping well. I'm barking like a seal. The mere raising of my voice or a laugh will send me into a full blown coughing fit. And every time THAT happens, I just about pee my pants.

Damn it having to birth kids.

Friday I finally caved and decided to go see a doctor. Long story short, he said it probably started as a sinus infection and is now bronchitis. The good doctor sent me on my way with a prescription for a Zpack and Tussionex.

Now, because I'm vain, I did wear make up that day. So, when T. came home from school he told me I looked, "SO MUCH BETTER!"

I told him it was because of the make up and that I really wasn't better yet.

He said, "Well at least you don't have those BLACK eyes anymore!"

My kids, always full of compliments.

That night I took my meds like a good girl. I must say the Tussionex did an awesome job in knocking me out.

I woke the next morning feeling better rested than I had in quite a few days. I walked into the bathroom and as I passed the mirror, I stopped dead in my tracks.

"AAAAHHHHHH!" I screamed.

My face was swollen and my left eyelid was swollen almost shut.


I went downstairs and when Mr. Schmitty saw me all he could say was, "What the HELL?!"

Great! Apparently Tussionex can do this.

The rest of the day I was the brunt of many Rocky Balboa jokes. All I heard from Mr. Schmitty was, "Yo! Rocky!" and "ADRIENNNNE!".

The best was the "Cut me Mick, cut me!"

He was almost granted his wish on that one.

He Waltzed Right Into It

Mr. Schmitty and I got into bed the other night, exhausted. That's what happens when you stay up too late; one on the computer playing Bejeweled and the other playing war games on Xbox.

Anyway, I rolled over, in the dark, to give him a kiss goodnight. I was met with the most puckered up lips I have ever encountered.

"That was like kissing an asshole!" I snorted hysterically.

"You've kissed an asshole alot?" He chuckled back.

"Everyday of my life, dear, everyday.of.my.life."

******************************************************

Mr. Schmitty took the chocolate ice cream from the freezer. I then watched him take a large serving spoon from the kitchen drawer. He popped the lid off of the container and scooped out a large mound of ice cream. He proceeded to eat it right off the spoon as he put the container back into the freezer.

"That's all you are going to have?" I asked the ice cream fiend.

"Yup!" He mumbled through his apparent blissful moment.

"I see you keep doing that lately. I can't believe that's all you are having," I said as I watched him enjoy the last of the melting goodness.

"I'm just having enough to curb my craving," he said as he placed the spoon in the sink.

He turned toward me and I lifted my shirt. I flashed my freshly unleashed girls at him.

"There! That should have curbed any cravings you might have!" I exclaimed as I turned and walked away.

The Funny That Keeps Me Going

"Grrrrrrr! Spongebob is a HOOOOORRRIBLE driver!!" R. yelled from the computer room.

I poked my head in to see her sitting at the television.

"SPONGEBOB!!! No wonder you can't get your license!!!" she continued.

I couldn't believe how angry she was getting at a cartoon show.

I walked downstairs and saw that she was not, as I thought, watching Nickelodeon.

"MOM! Spongebob is a reeeeealllly bad driver! He keeps bumping into things and he won't stop!" she practically screamed as she manipulated the Playstation controller.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that she was the one MAKING Spongebob crash.

*************************************************************

"Mom, isn't Freddy Kruger ugly without his mask on?" T. asked me.

"Freddy Kruger doesn't wear a mask," I responded, wondering where he heard about the bad guy from Nightmare on Elm Street.

"Yes, he does. You know, the hockey mask," he countered.

I rolled my eyes, I love that his older brother lets him play with him and his friends, but I sometimes hate the things he hears from them. I don't even let my kids watch Scooby-Doo late at night because they are such scaredy cats.

"No, that's Jason," I said, not really understanding why I was engaging in this conversation.

"Who is Jason?"

"Maybe you mean the all white mask, then that would be Mike Meyers."

"Oh, the white mask with the big, black eyes and mouth?"

"No, that's from Scream."

"Scream?"

"Never mind, this is getting too complicated."

*************************************************************

I was getting dressed after my shower and suddenly the bathroom door opened. As usual with my daughter, I can't even have fifteen minutes of peace.

I had my back to her and was putting on my underwear. Before I could react and ask her to give me some privacy she blurted out, "Mommy! Your butt is so crump-elie!!!"

Yea, well, just you wait until you get cellulite!

*************************************************************

And my love, the dork, strikes again. What you are seeing here is R.'s melted Popsicle that she was sucking on to sooth her strep throat. I wanted a picture of it because I thought it looked like a heart. I showed Mr. Schmitty and his response?

"Oh Look! It's Pop He(ART)!"

Ugh.

If It's Not One Thing...It's Your Mother (In-Law)

If there is one thing I know about my mother-in-law, it's that she is absolutely no good at playing telephone. You remember that game, right?

Well, I guarantee you that my mother-in-law has never, in her life, been able to repeat a story correctly.

Nevah. Evah.

Mr. Schmitty was working in the yard last week. I was sitting in the window with R., watching him trim the edge of the grass, with the weed whacker. Suddenly, he spun around and his hand went up to his eye.

I jumped up, swung open the door, and shouted, "Oh My God! Are you okay?" I could clearly see he was not.

He came inside and after a few minutes of blotting his tearing eye with a tissue and blowing his nose, he was able to open his eye. He opted out of going to the emergency room, as he wasn't in any pain. He was also able to see out of the eye, though his vision was slightly blurred. He and I were both afraid that going there and not getting the proper care could make the eye worse. He decided to call a specialist in the morning.

After speaking with a doctor friend of ours, Mr. Schmitty obtained a name of a trusted eye specialist. He called and mentioned our friends name and was told to come right in. It pays to know the right people!

Mr. Schmitty called me from his cell phone when the appointment was over. He apparently had gotten hit directly in the center of his right cornea. There was a pretty deep cut and there was still some bleeding. He needed to fill about four prescriptions, avoid any physical labor, wear sunglasses all day and a plastic eye patch all night, and he had to sit upright to sleep. The doctor wanted to see him in the morning.

"What are the chances that it will heal properly?" I asked.

"About 50/50. It could heal perfectly fine. It might not."

Wonderful. I wasn't liking those odds.

"Oh, and get this!" He said. He then proceeded to tell me that while he was sitting in the doctor's office his mother, of ALL people, happened to call the receptionist to make an appointment for my sister-in-law.

I swear that woman has freaking radar!!! What are the chances that she would call while he was sitting there. A place he had never been to before! Are you kidding me?!

I really think she had a tracking device injected into each of her children when they were born. A GPS of sorts. Or something like the locator micro chip that the ASPCA placed in my new adopted kitten.

So, my husband, the big dummy that he is, talked to his mom and told her the whole story. NOT a good move this early on in the situation. You DO NOT tell my mother-in-law ANYTHING like this without knowing 110% that everything will be A-OK.

You JUST don't.

Almost immediately after I hung up the phone with Mr. Schmitty, it began to ring again. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was his brother.

Damn, my mother-in-law was already burning up the lines. It didn't take her long to get the word out.

"Hi B."

"Can you please give me the REAL story about my brother?" He asked not knowing whether to be serious or not. "I'll hear the facts and then I'll tell you what SHE said."

I filled him in and then said, "Okay, what did SHE say."

"She called, in a panic (surprise, surprise), and said that he may lose his eye, that he was going in for surgery TOMORROW, and that he'd probably lose his job."

Oh.For.The.Love.Of.Pete.

I love this woman, but seriously? She needs to start tape recording conversations.

Update: Mr. Schmitty saw the doctor today. He was able to read the entire eye chart and his sight is no longer blurred. The doctor said that he may get some scaring on the eye but he was lucky. He told my husband, "You definitely had someone watching over you."

What a relief!

Lady Liberty Rocks!

Today we celebrate our freedom. Our Independence Day. Our Liberty and Justice.

We have many symbols of our patriotism; the flag, the colors of red, white, and blue, the American Eagle, and the Statue of Liberty.

I have only visited the Statue once. Pretty pathetic, as I live in New Jersey. Mr. Schmitty and I, back when we were dating, took a day to explore Ellis Island and the Statue.

I couldn't wait to climb up to the top of her crown. I wanted to proudly march up those 354 steps. I wanted to peer out from almost 300 feet in the air. And I wanted to look down and exclaim how the other tourists looked like ants.

My future husband? Not so much.

I knew he was afraid of heights. I just didn't realize the depth of his phobia. That is until we began our assent up the spiral stairs.

I, being the special girlfriend I was, took every opportunity to bust his balls. I laughed and joked, at his expense, as I continued on my upward journey.

After climbing approximately 50 steps, I turned to look at my boyfriend's face. I was about to offer up another wisecrack when I noticed the color of his skin. He was as white as a ghost. He looked like he was about to throw up or pass out. He knuckles were gripping the handrail so tightly that I thought he may snap it in two.

I felt like a complete jackass.

The Statue is engineered to withstand heavy winds, however, now that I know the extent of his fear, I can only surmise that this is how the whole ordeal felt to him:



I hope one day to make it into the crown. I hope my children will accompany me.

As for their father? We'll leave him home on solid ground.

That's Right Baby, Never Get Outnumbered

Mr. Schmitty took R. for a bicycle ride tonight. My munchkin, though 5 1/2 years old, can still fit into the child seat on the back of his mountain bike.

As they rode through the neighborhood on this gorgeous evening, R. conversed with her daddy. Actually, she flapped her gums the entire time. I truly do not know how that girl breathes, as there are hardly seconds that she is quiet.

"Daddy, when I grow up and have kids, I will give them the same names as the kids in our family." She informed him. "I will name them W. and T."

"Don't you want any girls?" He asked.

"Nope, just two boys."

"Only two kids?" He questioned, "Don't you want three like our family?"

"Nah, three kids is too much work."

Man, did she ever hit that one on the head!

Vengeance Is Mine!

Our house has a tendency to get quite warm when we are entertaining. The main floor of our split-level home has an open floor plan with the living room, dining room, and kitchen all adjoining. Once I begin cooking, the place heats up very quickly. That being said, I make sure to keep the house pretty cool during the earlier part of the day, before guests arrive and the oven gets turned on.

Easter Sunday, as I was spot cleaning the bathrooms, I reminded Mr. Schmitty about the temperature issue. I'm not sure exactly WHY I needed to remind him, he does live here too, but considering the fact that he is male, I always find the need to cover my bases.

I then began to get myself ready for the festivities. I showered, dried my hair, and applied some make-up. I began to sweat. Heat radiated from the middle of my back and throughout my body. I suffer from PMDD and PCOS so I get hot flashes periodically, but THIS was definitely more than my wacky hormones.

I looked at the thermostat, it had been turned up a few degrees. "You've got to be kidding me," I thought and then I yelled, "WHO.TURNED.UP.THE.DAMNED.HEAT?!"

"I did, I'm cold!" replied Mr. Schmitty.

GRRRRRRRR!

"I specifically asked you NOT to. I have to cook and you know how hot this house gets when we have company!! I'm going to sweat my ass off!!"

blink. blink.

He just stared at me and then continued on his way.

Okay, if that's the way he wants it. I'll just bide my time. I can wait, buddy.

About thirty minutes later Mr. Schmitty took his turn in the shower. I listened outside of the door for the curtain to be pulled over. I unlocked the door with my fingernail, crept into the bathroom, grabbed his towel, and all of his clothes. I placed a small washcloth on the sink. It was designed with a cartoon image of a dinosaur.

I then flushed the toilet and ran out, closing the door behind me.

"UUUUUUGGGGHHH!" I heard him cry as he got blasted with cold water.

I then placed his clothing in front of the window in the next room, making sure the shade was rolled all the way up. He'd just have to use that cute little dinosaur to cover the family jewels.

I then went into the laundry room, which is right next to the downstairs bathroom, and put on a load.

More moans and groans from the shower as he was once again assaulted with an icy spray. I thought of George Costanza and shrinkage. BWAAAAHHHAAAA!

Then I waited. I should have made popcorn.

I heard the water turn off. Then I heard mumbling and the sound of the hairdryer. He was drying his body!!! I couldn't contain myself.

"Are you warm enough NOW?" I inquired through fits of laughter. I believe I was cackling at this point.

After about ten minutes, the hairdryer turned off, I again heard mumbling. He must have realized I had taken all of his clothes. I heard the door open, he peeked out and called to T. to get his clothes.

"NOPE!" My favorite child in the world told him.

My husband then noticed the front window. He smirked at me and I just glared back. He darted his naked arse back into the laundry room. He emerged wearing a pair of underwear.

DAMMIT! Where did they come from?!

He then crawled on the floor to retrieve the rest of his clothing at the front of the house while I laughed at his expense.

Ahhhh....I feel so much better now.

Could Women Be Wrong? You Be The Judge.

"Mommy, can I please have a cup of apple juice?" R. asked me.

I was sitting at the dining room table, taking a much needed, 5 minute breather. I looked up into the adjoining kitchen where Mr. Schmitty, standing in front of the stove, was keeping an eye on dinner. He's a dear like that.

"Daddy is standing right next to the refrigerator, could you ask him?" I asked.

"Sure! Daddy? Could I please have a cup of apple juice?" She asked her father.

He answered, "Maybe mommy could get it, I'm busy making dinner."

I looked up from my coloring book, YES, I sometimes color to relax, and cast him a look with a raised eyebrow.

The roast was in the oven, with the digital thermometer stuck in it. The potatoes were simmering on the stove, as was the broccoli. He was standing, about a foot from the stove, arms crossed, staring.

"Um....BUSY?!"

"YES! I'm multi-tasking!"

"Ah, standing and chewing gum, are we?" I snickered.

"No! I am watching THREE timers!!"

"Oh well, in that case......"

Here's more proof that women are *SO wrong about a man's ability to multi-task:



*Please note the tone of sarcasm.

And This Is What I Have To Live With

After I dropped T. and R. off at school on Monday, I stopped by the grocery store to get something for dinner. Mr. Schmitty likes the orange Vitamin Water, so I wanted to buy him a few bottles. I reached up to the top shelf and grabbed a large bottle in each hand.

I suddenly felt something splash on me. The lid on the bottle in my right hand was cracked. I now had sticky orange drink all over my hands, in my hair, and on my jacket.

Great.

There happened to be an employee standing by, restocking shelves, so I handed her the broken container.

Upon returning home, I noticed that Mr. Schmitty had recently been there. I gave him a call to say that I was sorry I had missed him. I told him about getting doused with the drink, which had left strands of my hair sticky, hard, and stuck together.

He burst out laughing. I mean he really, REALLY went hysterical.

"Okay, hon, it's not THAT funny," I said.

"I did it!" He shouted into the phone between fits of laughter.

"Huh? You did what?" I asked, totally confused.

"The other night when I went to the grocery store, I dropped a bottle!" He was now sounding like he might hyperventilate.

"YOU broke that bottle? And you put it back?"

"Snort. Uh-Huh! SNORT!"

"You're an idiot."

So basically my husband set a booby trap for me at the grocery store. Only in my life could such a thing happen. This my friends, is a Schmitty Life!

Not His Forté

T. received a belated birthday gift today. It was the game Hyper Jump. To play, the computerized voice calls out a number or color, and you have to step on the appropriate target as fast as you can.

Like most toys, this required some minimal assembly; battery installation and attaching the air tubes and targets to the base. Simple enough.

T. ran into the living room with his new game, placed it on the floor, set up the game options, and hit go.

"Orange!" the voice called. T. immediately stepped on the orange target.

"Bleeeeeppppp! Orange!" sounded the base. Again he stomped on the orange target. Again we heard the same sequence. Over and over and over, again.

After 15 minutes of resetting the game and having the exact thing happen, I asked T., "Did daddy put this together for you?"

"Uh-huh."

I looked at the box, not EVEN the instructions, and saw the problem. The targets were in the wrong order. I made a few adjustments and restarted the game.

BINGO! It worked perfectly. I just giggled.

Mr. Schmitty NEVER, EVER puts things together in our house. I won't let him.

It all started when we were first married. We lived at my in-laws in an apartment on the second floor of their house. They didn't charge us any rent so periodically we would buy them a nice gift as our way of saying thanks.

One summer day we purchased a new propane grill. Mr. Schmitty called me at work, early in the day, to tell me that he had gotten it. He said he would put it together and when I got home at 6 o'clock we could grill and have dinner with his parents.

I told him that sounded great. Heh. Little did I know.

When I got home from work, he was still in the yard with only two pieces put together. Mr. Schmitty had a drill in his hand and was preparing to drill a hole in one of the larger metal pieces.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I have to drill a hole for this screw to go in." He replied.

"NO! NO!" I yelled, "Everything is pre-drilled! That piece doesn't go there!"

Needless to say we at take-out that night. The next day I put the grill together. In about an hour.

He, for whatever reason, didn't actually read the owner's manuals. So, from that point forward, I have been the one to construct all furniture, toys, and baby items.

I've got enough stress in my life without worrying about wheels popping off strollers or bunk beds caving in.

Put Your Thinking Caps On To Win!

Mr. Schmitty bought me a new cell phone for Christmas! Ain't he just the bees knees?

It's the LG Dare and I absolutely L-O-V-E it! It has a touch screen and some really cool features.

While playing with my new toy, I realized that, though my contacts were transferred from my old cell, I needed to do some updating. Did you know you can place a thumbnail picture of each of those contacts on the phone? So cool!

I know, I'm a dork. I get extremely excited over gadgets.

[thinking I'll be getting a lot of remarks with that revelation]

I pulled up my iTunes library, on my computer, to get some ideas for incoming ringtones. If I set a different song for my most talked to contacts, it will allow me to know who is calling just by hearing the song. I like to screen my calls, what can I say? Meh.

I have a pretty large collection of songs with a very wide range of genres. I have everything from Britney Spears to Motely Crue, from Rascal Flatts to Enya, from Evanescence to Bruce Springsteen, from Eminem to Hinder to P!nk. I love ALL kinds of music.

I browsed my list of music and of course, began thinking of specific songs for certain people.

My MIL (aka the worrywart): Panic by The Backstreet Boys
My scatter-brained friend: Empty Spaces by Fuel
My family member who needs to be taken down a notch or two: Diva by Beyonce
My hell-raising friend: Lose Control by Missy Elliot or Just Another Psycho by Motley Crue
My SIL: Mary's Place by Bruce Springsteen (well, because...that's her name)
My nutty friend: Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne or Lithium by Evanescence
My teen-aged relatives: No Drama by Eden's Crush
My stoner friend from high school: You're Makin' Me High by Toni Braxton

You get the drift.

I just wish I knew a 'ho. I could come up with an iPod-load of songs for a slut:

Bad Girls or She Works Hard For The Money by Donna Summer, One Night Stand by Hinder, Don't Cha Wanna Ride by Joss Stone, Don't Do Me Like That by Tom Petty, Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado, Disease by Matchbox Twenty, Something In Your Mouth by Nickelback.

Okay, now I'm just getting crude.

After I placed Mr. Schmitty's photo on my phone, I asked him what I should make as his incoming ringtone. You know, so I can ignore the call answer it quickly.

Now, I could be sweet and have his ringtone be our wedding song; Nobody Loves Me Like You Do by Whitney Houston.

Can I get an, "AWWWWWW?"

But you know that my sarcastic sick demented humorous side just can't do it. I contemplated:

Livin' On A Prayer or Wanted Dead Or Alive by Bon Jovi for the days I really want to ring his neck. Or what about Dirrty by Christina Aguilera for those days I'm feeling frisky? Bow Chicka Wow Wow.

So, answer me this; What do you think I should make Mr. Schmitty's incoming ringtone? Leave your suggestion in the comments. On Tuesday, I will pick my five favorites. I will put them into a poll for my readers to vote on until 4:00 pm on New Year's Day.

The winner will receive a $25.00 iTunes Gift Card AND I will officially make your song Mr. Schmitty's ringtone!

I'm Going To Start Stapling Things To His Head

Do any of you have a husband that constantly loses his belongings? His car keys, cell phone, wallet? Well, I do.

It's a good thing the family jewels are attached to his body because we may never have had children.

Mr. Schmitty claims, when he is searching frantically for the above mentioned objects, that they are NOT lost. They are simply misplaced.

I have a theory that we must have a goblin living in our house, that mischievous bastard! And for some reason he's got a thorn in his ass for the Mr. because only HIS things disappear.

For instance, one day last week, the little peckerhead (the goblin, not Mr. Schmitty, of course) must have gotten a hold of the wallet. We searched high and low for it. In my husband's work truck, the minivan, and the front yard. We combed the whole house. Nada.

He researched the work truck, while I rechecked the minivan, front yard, and house. Nope. Nothing. Zilch.

I was beginning a slow boil. I really didn't want to spend all afternoon cancelling credit cards and atm cards. FREAKING CHRISTMAS IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER! I didn't want to wait for new plastic to get here!

I heard Mr. Schmitty in the kitchen. He had placed his gym bag on the counter.

"Did you look in there?" I asked, trying not to spit venom. He was digging into my free time. I mean c'mon, the kids were in SCHOOL!!

"Yes."

"Did you look through EVERYTHING? EVERY pocket? Did you take things out or just move them around?"

He looked annoyingly at me and said, "Of course I checked everything! It's not there."

"Okay, okay!" I said as I walked past the counter, "I belie.........OH MY GOD!!!"

"What?"

"OH MY FREAKING......OH MY GAAAAAAAAAAAWD!"

"WHAT?!"

I didn't say another word, I just reached in the opened, side pocket of the gym bag and pulled out his wallet. I had glanced down on my way past the counter and there it was, clear as day.

The neighbors must have thought we were having the best slammin' sex in the world because all I could do for the next five minutes was yell, "OH.MY.GOD!"

Insert Foot Into Mouth

Mr. Schmitty came across an error on our phone/digital cable/internet line bill today. We have a package deal for the three services from a certain company, I'll call Berizon. Heh.

For some reason, since July, we have been charged an extra $15.00 for a movie package we never ordered. I never picked up on it because quite frankly, I never scrutinize the bills that closely. I really just don't have the time.

I'm a utility companies favorite customer. Unless I see a tremendous difference in a month to month bill, I really don't look further than the "pay this amount" line.

Perhaps this is why we can't seem to get a grip on our budget. I'm an idiot when it comes to knowing what is a good price and what isn't. I'm trying to change that, the recent economy issues are giving me that wake up call.

So, Mr. Schmitty called Berizon and spoke with a good 'ole customer service rep. I could tell from his side of the conversation that this rep actually knew what she was doing.

Can I get an Amen?

I sat and listened to my husband speak to the girl on the phone. His voice just dripped with sugary sweetness. This is how I knew he was conversing with a female. Had he been speaking to a man, his voice would have taken on a deeper, more manly tone. I chuckled to myself.

He was put on hold for a few minutes while the rep checked on our bill.

"Wow, honey, aren't you all sweet and polite!" I teased, "You should talk to ME like that on the phone!"

He replied, "I'm being nice because she's being really helpful and she's not being a bitch."

[blink blink]

"Nice, babe."

"What?!"

[blink blink]

Sometimes it's just best to keep your mouth shut.

Like A Scene In A Romance Novel

My MIL and SIL sat for the Schmitty kids last night. They were sweet enough to watch them so Mr. Schmitty and I could go out for an anniversary dinner.

We decided on a Mexican restaurant a few towns away. Mr. Schmitty hates Mexican food, but knows I love it. Ah, the sacrifices that man will make for his bride of sixteen years. Thankfully they had steak on the menu.

After I ate my yummy enchiladas and a basket of chips and salsa, we looked at each other with expressions that said, "Now, what?!"

Hmmmmm......."Well, we need milk and bread!" I announced.

Can you even stand it? I just ooze romance from every pore!

Yea, kind of like a festering pimple. Heh.

We decided to swing by the mall and look for raincoats for the kids. It's always about those damn kids, isn't it?

So, WE.WALKED.THROUGH.THE.MALL.ON.A.FRIDAY.NIGHT!

Can you say, "Teenagers are annoying?" After spying the droves of huddled teens in the food court with their cell phones beeping, thumbs texting, voices screeching, hair flipping, cleavage bursting, jeans sagging, eyes oggling, and skirts seeming to shorten by the second, the hubs and I vowed to lock R. up for the rest of her life.

On the way home, after I picked up a Venti Sweetened Black Iced Tea Lemonade from Starbucks, I said to Mr. Schmitty, "A babysitter and we're already on our way home. We suck."

We chuckled and came to a red light.

I looked at Mr. Schmitty, "Chinese fire drill?!"

He started laughing. The light turned green, "Oh shucks, it's green." hmpf.

We passed an upscale furniture store and he asked, "Wanna go in and jump on the beds?"

"Well, it is our anniversary, think they'd mind if we tested out the mattresses?"

"Excuse me sir, does this bed squeak?"

We pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. The two of us wiping the tears of laughter from our cheeks.

I called over to him as we walked up the path to the door, "Hey laimo, happy anniversary!"

I planted a kiss on his lips. Suddenly in the distance, as if on cue, we heard, "Pop, Pop, Poppity-Pop!"

"Well, so much for the fireworks, all we can muster is a few lousy firecrackers!"

We laughed until our stomach muscles ached.

And this my friends, is the pathetic life of an old married couple on their 16th wedding anniversary.

Can you imagine what our 25th will be like? I'm just giddy and burning with anticipation!

NLMLYD!

Last night I was looking through a photo album and came across my honeymoon pictures. Mr. Schmitty and I spent a week in Jamaica during autumn of 1992.

It seems so long ago, yet, when I look at the pictures, the memories flood back and it only seems like yesterday.


Don't we look so young? We were both 25. Now, at 41, we are celebrating our 16th anniversary.

Through the years, we've had happy times and sad times. Rough patches and special moments. We've experienced births and deaths. High points and low. We've had unforgettable family moments and family moments we'd rather forget. We've argued and we've made up. And we've laughed and we've cried.

But most importantly, we've stayed the best of friends who love each other, more than words can say.

Happy Anniversary Babe!! Nobody Loves Me Like You Do!

And They Call This A Family Show

Recently we were spending an afternoon relaxing in our living room. The kids were watching recorded episodes of America's Got Talent, while Mr. Schmitty read the paper, and I read my copy of "Sleep Is For The Weak".

Periodically, the boys would get excited over an act. They would tell me to look up from my book and watch. R. just sat cuddled up next to me, quietly enjoying the performances.

At one point something intrigued her enough that she sprang up from my side. She squealed, "OOOOHHHH Mommy, what's she doing?"

I glanced at the television and saw this:



"I'm not sure honey, ask daddy."

I pretended to go back to my reading. As I glanced over the top of the book, I peered at my husband.

"Daddy, Daddy?! What's that lady doing?"

Mr. Schmitty, lost in his own world, snapped to attention and practically shouted at the poor child.

"Never mind, go read a book!"

Proof That I Am A Reincarnated Adolescent Boy

Two nights ago, W. asked what SEX was. Flat.out.asked. *cringe*

Last year when I had this close call, and then when my niece almost started the ball rolling, and then when I really thought the "talk" was inevitable, I swore Mr. Schmitty was going to have to have a sit down and soon.

Nothing ever transpired. It was swept under the rug because W. dropped the subject. But really, we chickened out.

He's starting middle school in three weeks. I don't think we can ignore a point blank question. I quickly sent a text to Mr. Schmitty, "The time has come."

He told me he would talk to W. in the morning. Good idea. Yea, YOU talk to him. In the morning.

I slept in the next morning, or at least I pretended to, and when I got up Mr. Schmitty pulled me aside. He informed me that he had talked to W.

"How did it go? Did he have any questions?" I was very curious to know how my baby had reacted.

"It went fine. He didn't have any questions, but I told him that if he should think of some, I was here to answer them. Mr. Schmitty seemed quite proud of his parenting.

I raised an eyebrow. "So, exactly what did you say?"

I'm not going to type verbatim the conversation, however, I will tell you this; My son will NEVER EVER HAVE SEX. Not when he is a hormonal teen. Not even if his guys turn blue. Not even when he gets married. He won't touch his wife, except maybe for a handshake. Even then he may need antibacterial lotion.

I know we have to warn our children about disease. I know unprotected sex can kill. However, when that's the only part of sex you relay to your son, well, let's just say he might as well join a Monastery today. Oh wait, that won't work.

My bad.

I asked Mr. Schmitty if he explained that sex is something grown-ups, who LOVE.EACH.OTHER, do. Did he explain that sex can make a baby? Or did he just make sure that our son would go screaming from the first girl who wants to hold his hand?

SHEESH. Men.

"I am going to the book store. YOU need a book."

Last night my best friend and I went to Barnes and Noble. We began seeking out sex education books. She looked in the Child Care section, while I searched the Children's section.

Eureka! I hit the mother lode. I grabbed more than a half dozen or so books and went to find my friend.

"LOOOOOK!"

"Wow, let's check them out and see what will work best."

We started flipping through the pages. No, too scientific. Next. No, this one is more about girls. Next.

"Hee Hee. Look this cartoon has a boner."

"Snort. This one is masturbating."

"I AM NOT showing that one to W. He'll go blind when he discovers that."

"BWWAAAHHHAAA!"

"Or get hairy palms."

I looked up at the camera in the ceiling.

"You do know that security is thinking we are complete juveniles. What are we twelve? OH MY GOD THIS SAYS SCROTUM!!"

"I think I just peed myself!"