Category Archives: a-musing conversations

Kids need to learn more complex sentences.

I had a video playing on my computer.

FRANK: What are you watching?
SARAHK: Oh. I’m watching a video of [wRitErsbLock]‘s nephew saying his first sentence. I thought it was gonna be something cool, but it’s just “I wanna see.”
FRANK: Well, it’s his first sentence. What did you expect he would say?
SARAHK: “Well, I do declare…”
FRANK: “I do believe I am talking now. I have mastered the English language.”
SARAHK: Yeah, something cool like that.


SARAHK: I like working at home, because I can call people idiots, and they can’t hear me.
FRANK: That sounds like something you’d like.

Aw, crud

We were watching CSI: NY last night, and one of the perps was born in 1976. I was like, “Oh! Dude’s 31!” Because see, I was born in 1976, and I’m 31. And then Montana said something rather sobering. “Mac, he’s 32!”

I looked at Frank, wide-eyed. He looked at me with raised eyebrows.

ME: He’s 32?? That means I’m going to be 32!!
HIM: Yeah! I didn’t realize that until now!
ME: I’m old.

Of course he agreed with me. Punk kid.

mooch desuhhhved sex

Occasionally, we two crazy kids will have us a good old roll in the sack and then… well… we talk British. Or Oirish. We cahn’t tell the defferehnse, really. I think we switch back and forth a little. The funny thing is, I find the accent soooo sexy, so it’d probably do us better to drop into our fake accents before we actually hit the sack.

I felt like I deserved a lettle bet of sax cuunsedering ai’ve behn a lettle bet preoccupied with paying taxes so you lazy lot can live off our contribution to what was once a capitalist society and what grows to be more socialist (and ridiculous) every day. Some days I think it’s hardly worth making money off a blog, because at the end of the day, we only get half of what we make. Still, part of that half that the government gets (I’d say maybe 10%) goes to defending this great nation, and I fully support that. In fact, let’s get all the moochers who just don’t feel like working (I don’t consider the disabled and the elderly to be moochers, obviously, but maybe I need to make myself clear), toss them in a bog, and let the whole half go to raising military salaries and whatnot. Then I wouldn’t complain on tax day.

Alas, that’s not going to happen without a fair tax and a constitutional amendment (way harder in real life than it is in my dreams), so we suck it up and pay for plasma screens for the lazy. Whatevs. It is what it is, because it always is what it is. Have I ever mentioned the passion with which I hate that stupid phrase? I’m sure I have, because every time I hear it, I roll my eyes so furiously that I really think they will disconnect permanently from the optic nerve holding them inside my head, because really I just want to scream, “When is it NOT what it IS, people?” Stupid phrase. Whoever made it up is forever on my list.

At least I got sex out of the whole deal. Before:

Me: It’s bedtime. If you hurry, we can DO IT.
He: [All I really heard was something like a tornado around the house. I think he put away dinner, took the dog out to pee, turned off all the lights, and came upstairs within thirty seconds of my declaration. Men are easy.]

After [we'd been in full-on British mode for several minutes now]:

He: Things seem to be looking up right now…
Me: Of course things ahhh looking up. Ye jest hahd sex.

He was talking about the house sale, prospect of work, and whatnot. But in the back of his mind, I know he meant sex.

As for taxes, I’m still working on 2006. I have finally finished the corporate return for NTM. Had to prepare an extra form, and TurboTax couldn’t file it online just because of this extra form, but it’s ok. I had overpaid with the extension for NTM (that does not make me happy, but I only overpaid by $66), and I already did the personal return about a year ago, so now I just drop the info from NTM into the personal return and be done with 2006. 2007 will be easy. NTM was winding down, blog stuff is easily obtained from Paypal, and holy Spartacus, y’all, I’m pretty sure we are going to get money back considering our moving costs, COBRA payments, and all that we had to pay in 2007. Again, I don’t get all giddy about giving the government an interest-free loan for the amount we will get back, but I’ll be so happy to be done with it for another year that I just don’t give a crap. And 2008 will be so much more simple.

I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Hence the sex.

I hope your tax returns resulted in such fun times too, pippa. Tracey, I said pippa! Please forgive.

One more thing. Those people who write the tax code and the instructions for the tax forms? Crack smokers, every one of them. CAN I get an amen, y’all.

super Mario talk

I’m collecting star bits for Frank while he plays Super Mario Galaxy. They have those ? boxes that you jump and hit several times, and if you hit it fast enough in sequence, the box explodes and showers star bits down.

SARAHK: I like it when you do it fast, because that gives me something to do at the end.
FRANK: That’s what she said.

Badum… ching!

SARAHK: Too bad they’re just star bits instead of star bytes.
FRANK: No, then there would be eight times as many, and that would just be way too much.
SARAHK: Yeah, I can do the math, silly.

SARAHK: I don’t like the toy levels. I think it’s the music.
FRANK: But that’s the original Mario music!
SARAHK: Yeah, I think it reminds me how much I sucked at the original Mario.


FRANK J.: Can you put some music on or something? I get crazy when it’s quiet.
SARAHK: No, you’re always crazy. You just get *less* crazy when it’s *not* quiet.

this morning

FRANK: Sweetie, I love you.
SARAHK: I love you, too.
FRANK: You know why I love you?
SARAHK: Because it’s Valentine’s Day.
FRANK [laughing]: Yeah.
SARAHK: I knew that would be your answer, because you’re a dork.
FRANK: YOU are. You’re picking up the dork radio frequency.
SARAHK: Yeah, it’s so strong coming off of you I can’t help but pick it up.

Happy Valentine’s Day to my sweetie.

educating the public, one boss at a time

So New Boss started Friday. He’s very nice, I think he’ll be a great boss (I make the judgment from the total of three short conversations we’ve had). But I did have to educate him just a little, in a very nice way. A much nicer way than I might have wanted. I was reasonable and just pointed out that his presuppositions about my dog are… presuppositions.

The whole department went to lunch, and I was sitting right in the middle of the table. All the guys to the left of me, all the girls to the right. I could hardly hear the girl conversation, and the guys were talking TV and politics, so I was talking to the guys. And the political talk was a nice segue to my story about Rowdi and the Democrat dog. While I was telling the story, they asked what kind of dog I have.

SARAHK: Oh, she’s a shepherd/pit bull mix.
ALL THE GUYS: Wowwwwwwwwww.
SARAHK: Yes. Very high energy dog. Very sweet.
NEW BOSS: Wow. [smiling] Just don’t bring her into the office.

Ok, I was so struck by this comment, not because he was judging Rowdi’s behavior without meeting her, but because he felt the need to tell me not to bring my dog into the office. Is it common practice to bring dogs into the office?

SARAHK: [funny look on my face] Um, I would never bring a dog into the office. [laughter]
NB: Wow, that’s a dangerous mix to have! But I’m sure she makes a great guard dog.
SARAHK: We don’t let her be a guard dog. She’s stable. And it could be a dangerous mix if we were irresponsible, but it’s the same with any large, high-energy dog. But we give her exercise, we discipline her, and we don’t let her get away with trying to be in charge. We’re responsible owners, so she’s a good dog.
NB: Oh, that’s good.

I was so proud of myself. I didn’t even get angry, I kept my voice reasonable, and I didn’t call him a dog racist. Yay for me!

Then the entire table made fun of me because we take Rowdi to daycare if we’re both gone all day. I tried to explain that we’re not one of those people, but they weren’t buying it. Oh well. I’m used to being laughed at.


Frank has just put Minerva into a decorative trunk and is trying to add Omen.

SARAHK: NO! Put her down. Oh! And get Minerva out of there! BAD!
FRANK J.: Minerva likes it in there.
SARAHK: Get her out.
FRANK J.: No. You can’t tell me what to do.
SARAHK [narrowing my eyes]: I’ll spit in your peanuts again. So there. Get her out.

Why yes, peeps, I *did* spit in his peanuts. Why, you ask? For my own sanity.

See, he spilled some of his honey roasted peanuts all over the couch and floor earlier. He started picking them up while I focused on not letting the dog eat the peanuts. After a while, I realized that he was putting the peanuts back into the can.

SARAHK: Why are you wasting a whole can of peanuts?
FRANK J.: I’m not. I’m picking them up and putting them back in!
SARAHK: No, you’re ruining what was left in the can!
FRANK J.: No I’m not.
SARAHK: Yes you are. Now you can’t eat any of them!
FRANK J.: Yes I can. I’m going to eat them.

I actually felt one of my eyeballs start to detach from the optic nerve at this point.

SARAHK: You are NOT going to eat them!
FRANK J. [picking peanuts up off the floor, NOT wiping them off, and popping them into his mouth]: Uh huh. See? I’m eating them.
SARAHK: You are so gross! Stop it! [Getting up and trying but failing to take the can of peanuts from him]
FRANK J.: No. There’s nothing wrong with them.
SARAHK: Throw them away. Now.
FRANK J.: No! I’m not going to waste them!
SARAHK: You already did waste them! You picked them up off the floor, which is FULL of dog hair, and just threw them in with the clean peanuts! You canNOT eat those!
FRANK J.: I’m eating them. And you can’t stop me.

So I walked over to the can of peanuts and spit right in it.

SARAHK: There. Case closed.
FRANK J.: You’re so mean! I’m hungry! You ruined my peanuts!
SARAHK: No, YOU ruined your peanuts. You have another giant can in the kitchen. Eat those. They haven’t been on the floor, which is full of hair and dust mites and all sorts of disgusting things.
FRANK J.: No, I’m not going to eat the ones in the kitchen. Those are for the trip. I’m not going to waste them.
SARAHK: It’s not wasting them if you’re hungry and you eat them. It’s eating them.
FRANK J.: No, because then I’ll run out on the trip.
SARAHK: Well, we might be able to find a Wal-Mart somewhere along the way and buy you another four dollar can of peanuts.

Just now, I told him that I was blogging about the peanuts.

FRANK J.: That was mean. I can’t believe you ruined my peanuts.
SARAHK: I did not ruin your peanuts.
FRANK J.: You didn’t even try to stop me from putting them back in the can. So when I started, I was watching you to see if you were going to stop me, and you didn’t so I was like, okay.
SARAHK: I was busy keeping the dog from eating the peanuts. All I had to say to her was “Shhhhtt!” and she understood. So the dog understands better than you do that it’s not okay to eat peanuts off the floor.
FRANK J.: Oh, sure. You care more about the dog than you do about me.
SARAHK: Well, she listens to me sometimes.

Ay. I don’t ask for much. I just ask that my husband not eat off the floor.

maybe they are wind panels

So we were at the Space Center last Friday for the World Space Expo, and Frank and I were walking by the model of the International Space Station.
wind panels

FRANK J.: What are those things hanging down from the Space Station?
SARAHK: I don’t know. Maybe they’re solar panels.
SARAHK: No, those are solar panels up above, I think. I don’t know, maybe they’re wind panels.
FRANK J.: Wind panels. Okay, what would be the purpose of wind panels in space?
SARAHK: Um… I don’t know. To help move it along.
FRANK J.: Is there wind in space?
SARAHK: Um… maybe. Maybe it can catch a draft from the Space Shuttle when it flies by.
FRANK J.: Is that likely?
SARAHK: I don’t know.
FRANK J.: What’s in space?
SARAHK: A vacuum.
FRANK J.: Uh-huh…
SARAHK: And there’s no wind in a vacuum?
FRANK J.: Very good!
SARAHK: Well, you don’t know that. Have you ever been in one and tested that?
FRANK J.: What do you need for wind?
SARAHK: Stuff… and air…

Then the conversation moved to how Mythbusters should do a show on that scene from Armageddon where the ISS blows up, and there’s a big outward explosion. And Frank became the cutie head:

FRANK J.: Yeah, how would they do that experiment?
SARAHK: Uh. They can create a vacuum and explode a model inside the vacuum.
FRANK J.: Oh yeah, they have the equipment for that.

So. What are those things hanging down? Best I can tell from looking at the interactive model on NASA’s website, they’re radiator panels.

in addition to what?

FRANK J.: Hang on, I want to rewind and watch that again.
SARAHK: Can you also get me a fork?
FRANK J.: In addition to what?
SARAHK: In addition to… rewinding?

I’ll turn anything into getting him to do stuff for me. :-) I love him.

i need more Nerds

SARAHK: I need more Nerds.
(Frank gets up and goes to the kitchen.)
SARAHK: Don’t you think we need more Nerds?
FRANK J.: Do you know how to ask nicely?
SARAHK: Would you please get me some Nerds, sweetie?
FRANK J.: I’m not gonna ever want you pregnant if this is the way you are normally.

He loves me the best!

pretzel dropper

We were sitting outside in a courtyard at the KSC. The Pieras and Frank were eating french fries, and I was eating a Clif Nectar bar (dark chocolate raspberry, oh yes mmmm), gluten-free beef jerky, and gluten-free pretzels. I actually thought I would be eating fries with the others, because the Saturn V center’s snack bar has a dedicated fryer for their fries (at least they did last time we went), but Orbit (at the visitors’ center) fries breaded chicken in the same fryer. Boo. But I had brought large amounts of provisions just in case, so it didn’t matter. This is the life of an undiagnosed celiac.

Anyway, I couldn’t hold on to my pretzels. I would pull several out at a time and then drop at least one before my handful was in my belly. After the umpteenth drop…

FRANK J.: Quit dropping pretzels. You know, you’re dropping so many pretzels that I’m gonna start calling you Pretzel Dropper.
SARAHK: And I’m gonna call you Gluten-Eater, you… Gluten-Eater.
WrITeRSBlOCK [to SHERLOCK]: I’m gonna call you The Love of My Life.
SARAHK: That is so corny. [to FRANK] I’m gonna call them Stupid.


crazy dreams

FRANK: Man, I had some crazy dreams last night. There were these people, and they were terrorizing us, and they messed up our carpet.
SARAHK: Were they called… pets?



I was looking at the Idaho Statesman this morning, and there was a picture of a hockey player on the front (electronic) page. I gasped.

SARAHK: Wait. Does Idaho have a hockey team?
FRANK J.: Yeah, they’ve got their…
SARAHK: The Steelheads?
FRANK J.: Yeah, the Steelheads. They’ve been there for a while.
SARAHK: Are they in Boise?
FRANK J.: Yep.
SARAHK: How could you have withheld this most important information from me?
FRANK J.: I don’t know, I didn’t think you cared about non-NHL hockey.
SARAHK [gasping again]: I’ll watch any hockey!

Then I read the article.

SARAHK [gasping yet again]: They’re a Dallas Stars feeder team?!
FRANK J.: Oh really?
SARAHK: How could you have not told me this?
FRANK J.: Well, how could you not have *known*?
SARAHK: Well, I knew they had one in Iowa but I didn’t know they also had one in Idaho!
FRANK J.: You see what I did? I said you should have known. I turned it around on you. You see how I did that?
SARAHK: You shut up.
FRANK J.: We’ll have to go to one of their games or something.
SARAHK: Uh, yeah. More than one.

all your food are belong to my belly

Omen is such a pig! And a thieving pig at that!

Lemme just tell y’all a little about her eating habits. Well, she was eating all. day. long. Like six times a day, at least. And not six small meals like people eat to lose weight. The cat food was disappearing so rapidly that I was suspecting Rowdi. Oh, and lemme tell you how she eats. She reaches into the bowl with her paw, scoops a few pieces out onto the floor, and eats off the floor. When we were keeping her in the guest room? If her bowl got low, she would lie on her side, leaning against the wall, tip the bowl over onto its side, scoop the food over to where she was (getting up and moving six inches was just too much work, apparently), and eat the food. And repeat.

Last weekend, we moved the kitty food to the garage. And Omen is completely opposed to the concept of a cat door. Probably because the first time she stuck her face up to it and considered walking through it, Sydney came up on the other side of the door (she was in the garage), hissed, and slammed the door into Omen’s face a few times. Raaaiiiiir!

So now Omen goes to the door and criiiiiies to be let out. For litter, food, water. And as of tomorrow, we have to start giving Omen food just a couple of times a day so she doesn’t gain a pound a week (she gained two pounds the first two weeks she was here). Since Omen can’t jump any higher than eighteen inches (she can climb but has a real problem with the jumping), we’re putting the food for Sydney and Minerva on top of the crow’s nest where Omen can’t get to it.

I almost forgot the point of my post. The conniving, thieving stray who tricked us into adopting her. Frank started laughing just now. I mean, really cracking up. He does this often, like when he’s watching videos on the interwebz. So I didn’t pay attention. But he was cackling, so I looked over, and he was pointing at his TV tray. Suddenly, from behind the box of Nut Thins, I saw a paw and some bad, thieving kitty claws reach out and stab the last piece of garlic bread. Omen was on the ottoman, standing up with her front paws on Frank’s TV tray, stealing our bread. I, of course, am Javert.

SARAHK: Omen, NO! [To Frank:] Why didn’t you stop her?
FRANK J. [still laughing]: Because it was so funny!

I guess I’ll be the bad cop when we have kids.

they are incomprehensible pictures with occasional grunts and words

I do not understand the comic book thing. Seriously. You have to turn each picture on about four different angles before you actually get what it is trying to depict. And the dialogue is mostly grunts and lame jabs at each other.

Remember, Frank only started reading comic books because he wanted to figure out what in the world Aquaman could possibly do in day-to-day life. And then he got drawn in. To Aquaman. And other superheroes (who can’t talk to fish but have real superpowers) followed. And now when he tells me what his comic books expense is for the two week period (they come out every week, but he has them ship every two weeks to save on shipping), I just stare at him. Goggle is more like it. Sometimes I make snarky comments. Tonight I just stared, lips pursed in that “I’m trying really hard not to laugh at you” expression.

And he started rambling, trying to assure himself as much as me that there are reasons behind the extra expense this time. Ramble ramble ramble. Eventually I just interrupted.

SARAHK: I’m just letting you talk it all out, watching you try to justify it to yourself.
FRANK J.: And blahdeblahdeblah deblahdeblahdeblah…
SARAHK: I’m just glad you’re reading *something*.

(He doesn’t like reading anything that doesn’t involve pictures. So far, I haven’t had to buy him a picture Bible, but it’s only a matter of time.)

UPDATE: Frank *did* have a picture Bible when he was a kid. It was his favorite book. He used to read it during church, because church was boring.

he doesn’t hate me. he nothings me.

SARAHK: I’m sorry lunch was so late and that you hate me.
FRANK J.: Ohh. I don’t hate you much at all.

less beautiful

Ever since I got home from my hair appointment, Frank has — about once an hour — told me how beautiful I am. But tonight, after pawing through his broccoli salad…

FRANK J.: What? No pine nuts? [It's his favorite part of the salad, and the only way I get him to eat veggies consistently.]
SARAHK: Oh! Sorry, I forgot.
FRANK J.: [pouty face]
SARAHK: We have some, though. Go get them and I’ll put ‘em on your salad.
FRANK J.: Suddenly you’re less beautiful.

pine what?

As y’all know, we’re always punning around here. Frank always tries to stump me with goofy and/or punny questions. Such as…

FRANK J.: Know what goes behind pine nuts?
SARAHK: Uhhhhh….
FRANK J.: [grinning, because he's quite sure he's stumped me good.]
SARAHK: Pine butts?

I can always tell when I’ve gotten it right, because he starts laughing silently and trying to keep a straight face so I won’t know for sure if I’ve gotten it.

SARAHK: Did I get it?
FRANK J.: [sad look on his face] Yeah.

the Republicans called asking for money

See, usually they get Frank, who is much more diplomatic about it. “No, we don’t have the funds right now…. I’m sorry, we don’t have the funds right now… I said no, thank you.” Click.

But today they got me, because Frank had just walked out the door with Rowdi.

RP LADY: Hi, Mrs. J? Hi, this is such-n-such from the Republican [Party, National Committee, whatever she said]–
SARAHK: No. We’re not giving any money to the Republicans until they do something about the border. [I didn't even go into overspending, big government, the fact that the Republican party is hardly conservative these days, all that.]
RP LADY: I understand, ma’am, and I am hearing that a lot [oh really?], people are concerned about the border, and ma’am [calling me ma'am does not help you], we are blah blah blah blah blah blah. But we certainly don’t want the Democrats to take over the White House in 2008.
SARAHK: Oh, we’ll give to Fred Thompson, but we will not give to the Republican Party.
RP LADY: I hear what you’re saying, and I do appreciate that you support an individual candidate, but of course you know that we do support the nominee… Of course that hasn’t happened yet.
RP LADY: But here it is, more than halfway through the year, and the Democrats are out-funding and out-spending us…
SARAHK: Mmmhmm. You’re being outfunded because you’re not listening to your base.
RP LADY: And our goal is $75. Can we count on your support? [Have ya been listening to me?]
SARAHK: No. You cannot count on our support.
RP LADY: I understand, $75 is a lot of money, but we really really do need the support of good people like you, and I am glad you are supporting an individual candidate, and can we count on you for a more modest $50?
SARAHK: No. The Republican party will get no money from us until you start listening to us. Ok, thank you. Goodbye. [I have already said no a sufficient amount of times that I will hang up on her if she keeps talking.]
RP LADY: I understand that, and–

Click. I think they’re having a hard time. Poor deaf Republicans.

disorganizing my organization

Old Yeller has, for the past few months, been topless. Dirty little desk! OY’s top is in storage, and OY’s bottom is about to go there, too. But first I had to get all the random screws, nails, nuts, and bolts out of the top two drawers (those are my “useful junk” drawers) and some kinda organized. So I had all my little semi-neat piles, and when I got home with the snack-sized zippy bags today, I started to put everything into little bags and ready to go to the tool bench. I had been rolling along for a while and came across, on top of several semi-neat piles, a big pile of nails. Huh. I was *sure* I had put the nails into the little nail box. And I don’t remember having this many nails inside the desk.

SARAHK: Where did these nails come from? Huh.
FRANK J.: What?
SARAHK: Did you put all these nails on top of Old Yeller?
FRANK J.: *mumble-mumble*
FRANK J.: I did. Rowdi told me to do it.
SARAHK: So you just threw a big pile of nails on top of all the stuff I organized yesterday?
FRANK J.: Uh… It seemed like the thing to do.

How he expects me to get it all cleaned up when he keeps adding to the mess I will never understand.

This must be how mothers of toddlers feel.


A few minutes ago, Frank was talking about the trailer for a new… something. Just now we had this conversation.

FRANK J.: Sweetie, do you wanna watch the trailer for that new shoot-em-up?
SARAHK [grimacy look on my face]: I don’t really like shoot-em-ups.
FRANK J. [so confused by this obvious change in my likes and dislikes]: What? You don’t like shoot-em-up action films?
SARAHK: Ohhhhhh! I thought you were talking about a new video game.
FRANK J.: Ohhhhh. That’s why you had that disinterested tone the whole time I was talking about it.
SARAHK: Yeah, I thought you were talking about a video game that I would not remotely be interested in.
FRANK J.: With Paul Giammatti?
SARAHK: Well, they’re always getting famous people to do the voices in those games.
FRANK J.: That’s true. But no. Shoot-em-up is a movie genre, not a video game genre.
SARAHK: You’re always talking about those boring action games and first-person shooters.
FRANK J.: Yeah, first-person shooters, but you never hear of video games called “shoot-em-up” games.
SARAHK: That’s how I think of them. Same difference.

UPDATE: The movie is actually called Shoot ‘Em Up. Oh yes. It looks good.

vanity! and stream of consciousness conversation.

FRANK J.: Would you take the puppy out?
SARAHK [scowling my "as if!" scowl]: No.
FRANK J.: But I always take her out.
SARAHK: Yep. Why can’t you take her out now?
FRANK J.: Because I’d have to change out of my paint clothes and into my other clothes.
SARAHK [baffled]: Um… why would you have to change out of your paint clothes?
FRANK J.: Because I’d look silly walking all the way down the street in my paint clothes.
SARAHK: Yeah, people might think you’ve been painting or something.
FRANK J.: I’d look stupid.
SARAHK: Oh. Well, I was going to say yes, I’ll take her out, but I’m not gonna take her out because you’re vain
FRANK J.: Also my legs hurt.
SARAHK: You didn’t mention your legs hurting. You just mentioned your vanity. Did you take your vitamin?
FRANK J.: Yes. And I look like a twelve-year old in these clothes.
SARAHK: You always look like a twelve-year old. :-P
FRANK J.: You shut up.
SARAHK: And I’m not even wearing a bra! And my shorts are too short! I’ll have to change clothes, too. And you don’t even have to change clothes, because it’s just your vanity.
FRANK J.: So go put on a bra.
SARAHK: Ok, I’ll take her out, but you have to make dinner tonight.
FRANK J.: I’ve been painting doors all day. [Yeah, I got him to do it instead of me, since I'm still packing and cleaning.]
SARAHK: And I’ve been packing and cleaning. Have you seen how clean and empty the guest room is?
FRANK J.: Yeah. I can actually walk in there! You act like I haven’t been doing anything all day.
SARAHK: I’m not acting like that. I’m just saying I have too. [Though only one of us got a massage, and it wasn't him.] Did you see all the boxes and bins I packed?
SARAHK: No? Right, then. I’ve been building a fort over there.
FRANK J.: Where?
SARAHK: Behind you.
FRANK J. [acts like he's glancing behind himself but doesn't actually turn his head]: I don’t see a fort. I can’t see it for the forest.
SARAHK: You said you liked the plants.
FRANK J.: What?
SARAHK: You can’t see the fort for the forest?
FRANK J.: I can’t see it for the trees in the forest.

I took the puppy out.

FRANK J.: Whatcha doin’, Sweet-Sweet?
SARAHK: Blogging about our stupid conversation earlier.
FRANK J.: Which one?
SARAHK: The one about your vanity.
FRANK J.: I’d look twelve in those clothes even if they didn’t have paint all over them.
SARAHK: Whatever.
FRANK J.: And you wouldn’t go out without a bra on.
SARAHK: Sure I would. I’d cross my arms over my chest, but I’d do it.
FRANK J.: See? You’re too vain, so you have to cross your arms.
SARAHK: Um, no. I’m too modest.
FRANK J.: You’re vain.
FRANK J.: You shut up.
SARAHK: YOU shut up.

It went on much the same after that.

bad timing

Frank and I took a load of stuff over to storage this afternoon. When we were pulling out, I was driving, so I said, “Hey, why don’t you use this bag and sack up the trash around your feet.” We’re very clean, you see. So Frank sacked up a ton of trash, took all the empty bottles and cans, and yay! I had room for my last black cherry soda. Then Frank said, “I’m going to take this roll of paper towels inside, too.” I said, “Yeah, we don’t need them in here.” Of course, you know that means I would shortly need one.

I dropped Frank off at home so he wouldn’t have to go on the ridiculous number of errands I had planned. I’m so considerate.

Later, I was taking the exit to go to one of the errand places, and at the same time, I was taking a drink of my coke (they’re all coke). Well, I was wearing my wrist brace, because my wrist has just decided to stay perpetually wonky — if I bend it at all, the pain is not fun. And the wrist brace kinda keeps me from having a firm grip on anything as big as a coke can (I have enough trouble with pencils). So I had the left hand steering me onto the exit ramp (the exits around here don’t get clogged, so I was pretty much the only person on the ramp, endangering no one with my one-handed driving), and in my right hand was the coke, and it just slipped right through my little fingertips on its way back to the cupholder. And the drink didn’t just bounce around a little and spill a bit of liquid… Oh no. The full can landed upside-down on top of the gear shift console and spewed out half its contents onto the area around the shifter.

After I helplessly watched the coke seep under the shifter console in massive quantity (I was stopped at the light by this time), I called Frank.

SARAHK: Hey sweetie. Today was a really bad day to take the roll of paper towels out of the car.
FRANK J.: Why’s that?
SARAHK: I just spilled half my cherry soda all over the gear shift and the space below it where the P/R/D/N/1/2P/R/N/D/1/2 are. And I looked around, and no paper towels with which to sop.
FRANK J. [laughing at me]: BAD sweetie. Is the car still running ok?
SARAHK: Yeah, it hasn’t shorted out or stopped driving so far.
FRANK J.: You’ll have to clean it up later… you know, with water so it’s not sticky.
SARAHK: Yeah, I know I need to use water.

The rest of my coke was, of course, flatter than a SarahK off gluten, but I did make it through the rest of my errands with little incident. Wild Oats was out of the Black Cherry soda, though. I sad.

big as a house

My husband is so dumb it would blow your mind, ladies. Some commercial was talking about pregnancy weight gain or something like that.

SARAHK: I’ll bet when I’m pregnant, I’ll gain a ton of weight.
FRANK J. [happily]: You’ll be big as a house!
FRANK J.: Did you just say that? I didn’t say it!

Does it amaze y’all that he won my heart? Sometimes, me too. Most of the time, no, but then he opens his mouth. :-)


My husband apparently missed that class in school. I mean, the man scored 1570 on his SATs, and he has absolutely no clue.

FRANK J. [imitating Barack Obama in a boyish hick voice]: I’m Barack Obama!
SARAHK: I think I can do a better Barack Obama than you. [I went off on a long imitation, just saying stupid things, interspersed with "I'm Barack Obama. I gave a speech once!"]
FRANK J. [in an even bigger hick accent]: I’um Buhrock Ohhbawma. We should take away nuuuclear weuhpons from Nawrth Kuhreeea and invade Antar-tica [he left out the "c"].
SARAHK: You’re making him southern. He’s from Chicago! [Actually, he grew up in Hawaii, but he's been in Chicago for a while now.]
FRANK J.: Nah, he’s from Tennessee.
SARAHK: No, that’s Harold Ford Jr. You’re getting your black politicians mixed up.
FRANK J.: Where’s he from then?
SARAHK: Illinois!
FRANK J.: That’s south, right?
SARAHK [laughing]: No! It’s up by the Great Lakes. Chicago’s on Lake Michigan.
FRANK J.: I hate geography.

proven wrong

I was sorting things into a bin to go to storage; season four of Smallville was on in the background.

SARAHK: I think that Lana says the word “honest” more than any other word. “Clark, be honest with me. Clark, why can’t you just be honest with me? Jason, I just want you to be honest with me.” You know, she never just says, “Tell me the truth.”
LANA: Jason, just tell me the truth!
FRANK [laughing]: She made you a liar.
SARAHK: That was funny. And so unlikely. The one time she ever says “tell me the truth.”

But she still said it in her “I’m going to condescend to you so you’ll feel like you’re five” kind of voice. As always. Man, I hope she’s really dead. I know she’s not, because that would just be too nice, but I do wish it so.

shoe deprived

Y’all, I am so shoe deprived right now. I don’t remember if I told you how I lost all of my favorite shoes… okay, “lost” is not the right word. One pair of shoes, my Crocs flip-flops, had to be thrown out, because I was flipping (alpha rolling) Rowdi, and when I did, she tried to be difficult (normally she goes down right away, because I’m the boss), and when she tried to get away (through my legs), I flipped her anyway, and she landed on my foot. My foot pushed forward under her weight, and the toe strap of one of the flip-flops busted. And I wore those suckers all the time. This did not make for a happy SarahK (that’s me).

Incident number two happened within days of the first incident. It did not involve the dog; it only involved my stupidity (and Frank’s failure to completely close a leftovers-container of SarahK’s Super-Awesome Creamy Chicken). I had opened the fridge and seen that the leftovers were not properly sealed and that this was just an accident waiting to happen. I would have preferred that the accident waited until my favorite gold-cloth-and-sequins platform shoes (they were not nearly as gaudy as they sound — they were lovely and $17) were not there. I pulled the container out of the refrigerator so I could re-seal it, but I fumbled the container, and SarahK’s Super-Awesome Creamy Chicken splattered all over the gold cloth of my shoes. I, of course, decided it was Frank’s fault and didn’t speak to him for a while.

FRANK J.: What’s wrong?
SARAHK: You ruined my shoes.
FRANK J.: I’m sorry. [He doesn't even bother to ask why, he just assumes I'm being crazy, as usual. I keep telling him I'm a woman, but he still doesn't get the bursts of crazy -- just takes his hits and apologizes for what he thinks is nothing.]
SARAHK: You should be. If you had properly put away the chicken, I’d still have my shoes.
FRANK J.: O… kay. I’ll buy you new shoes? [Poor men. We make no sense to them, but in our little heads, "you didn't properly put away the chicken" easily leads to "you ruined my shoes."]

So Frank and Rowdi owe me new shoes. I’ve been forced to not wear my signature brown clothes to church (all my favorite clothes are brown), because with the gold shoes out of the picture, I have only black and white dress shoes (and the white ones hurt my feet). Also, I’m wearing my regular Crocs when I go out and about (the “shuglies,” as my preacher’s wife calls them). They’re fine but a little too confining for my taste. I prefer the flip-flops.

I’m looking around for new shoes. So far, I’ve gone to a few stores and come out empty-handed. I hate shoe shopping more than I hate clothes shopping, and that is saying something. I don’t have wide feet, but when I accidentally get glutened and my feet start to hurt, I need wide shoes — and do you know how people look at you in the stores when you ask if they carry your shoe in “wide”? Like you’re a freak!

If I was looking for a replacement for my shuglies (which I’m not), I would consider some Bernie Mev shoes (like the Crocs, they are cute in that so, so ugly kind of way, and they look so comfy). As it is, I’ll probably just replace the flip-flops with the same exact shoes (red and black), though also I might get them in brown and light blue, since those are my main colors. I thought about ballerina shoes (equally ugly), but I haven’t seen any with enough padding to work with my wonky, temperamental feet.

The dress shoes are so much harder to replace. Black ones I never have problems with. But shoes to wear with brown are not as easy to come by (I found some gold-ish Jessica Simpson shoes that were cute enough, but I’m not sure my ankles want to be perpendicular to the ground all day).

Yeah, so basically, I’m looking online now. But the risk with buying shoes online is not knowing whether I need a 5 1/2 or a 6 (every shoe is different!). Yes, I do have tiny feet. They’re adorable; I love them.

wrong number

Frank answered the phone. It was a wrong number.

SARAHK: Who were they calling for?
FRANK J.: Allison.
SARAHK: That’s me.
SARAHK: It’s my phone sex name.
FRANK J.: Bad sweetie!

riding a horse

FRANK J.: Wait. Rewind it ["The Soup"].
FRANK J.: Just rewind it.
SARAHK: To what?
FRANK J.: To right before “Let’s take some E!”
FRANK J.: Just do it!

[He is standing behind the couch.]

SARAHK: Fine. [The music for "Let's take some E!" comes on.]
FRANK J.: [Starts doing this completely ridiculous dance, much like the famed Frank J. Happy Dance, except this looks like he's riding a horse... on acid.]
SARAHK: You are such a dork.
FRANK J.: For some reason this song seems like the perfect song for doing a horsey dance.

later while I’m blogging it…

SARAHK: Hey, what did you say earlier when you were doing your stupid dance? Oh yeah. You were acting like you were riding a horse. You said it was the perfect song for a horsey dance.
FRANK J.: Are you disputing that?
SARAHK: No, I’m just blogging it. I report, they decide.