I’ve often wondered what men think about during sex or do they even think at all? Somehow I think the latter is probably closer to the truth or at least it is for my husband. That man could be dying and still want to get a little while absolutely nothing flows through his brain. Don’t get me wrong though, I have no problem with his lack of thought during sex. As long as he does his part, I’m happy.
Now, me…I am a woman and I can guarantee you that there are a million different things going through my mind even during a little lovemaking. In fact, sex is a great time for me to think about home improvements. No, really. Many decorating changes to our house have come about because of good sex. What am I supposed to be thinking? Ooh…aah…ooh?
What about you?
A part of my childhood has died with the death of actor George Lindsey. Lindsey is most famously known as Goober Pyle from The Andy Griffith Show and also as cousin to Gomer Pyle. For those of you not familiar with The Andy Griffith Show, it was from a time when there was still innocence in television, not the violence and sex seen today. The show was filmed in black and white during the 1960’s and portrayed the fictional town of Mayberry, North Carolina. It was also the starting point for director and producer Ron Howard, who played Andy’s young son Opie.
Of all the characters on the show, Goober Pyle was my favorite. Goober was the comic relief and always made me laugh. By the time The Andy Griffith Show went off the air I was only three years-old, but I grew up watching reruns. Even though we lived in a small town we were fortunate enough to have cable and I believe we got about 20 channels. This seems hard to believe considering the selection of channels available today. We found plenty of shows to watch though and didn’t miss the zillion other channels that would someday come. I was even one of the lucky ones and had my own black and white television in my bedroom.
I had a wonderful childhood and the best parents that anyone could ask for, but that doesn’t mean that I still didn’t daydream about living the perfect life in Mayberry where everyone was always happy and everyone got along. For those of you wanting to daydream about a slower, happier, and much safer time, The Andy Griffith show is available in instant streaming from Netflix and most local channels will carry it at one time or another. Sometimes if fun to just get lost in the simplicity of it all. Hey Goober, may you rest in peace with your Goober beanie and pencil pocket protector.
Reference: Toffler, E. (Photographer). (2012). George Lindsey, aka Goober Pyle, dies. [Web Photo]. Retrieved from http://www.abc3340.com/story/18157968/george-lindsey-aka-goober-pyle-dies
Have you ever called someone on accident from your cell phone and not realized it? Of course you have, who hasn’t? According to the Urban Dictionary the term butt dial is “to phone a friend accidentally using ones buttocks. Usually this is a result of sitting on the phone” (Urban, 2012). I don’t know how many times someone has called me back because of an accidental call on my part. The majority of the time it is fine, but sometimes the call can have disastrous consequences. Usually this happens when the receiving party hears something they shouldn’t. Just imagine carelessly butt dialing your boss and talking about what a jackass he is? This might have some serious repercussions. Better yet, butt dial your wife while fooling around with someone else. That one would probably get you thrown out of the house.
Now, the offending cell phone doesn’t always have to be in your pants for a butt dial to happen, sometimes it can just be casually lying on the bed. This was the case in one of the most embarrassing butt dials of my life. The hubby and I were in bed watching a movie, just enjoying the evening. One thing led to another and before we knew it, it was nookie time. Unbeknownst to either of us though, Robert’s cell phone was in bed with us. We managed to butt dial the last person he called several times. Unfortunately that person was Grandma.
On the other end of the call, things weren’t so fun for Grandma who is near blind and had no clue who was calling her. The calls were scaring her half to death because she was under the impression that whoever was calling was in the process of murdering someone. Imagine the fright that poor woman must have been feeling! She called for help and of course my Mother-in-law came running over. She calmed Grandma down and convinced her not to call the cops after she realized who the calls had been coming from because of caller id. She didn’t know what was going on either and called us to make sure we were OK. Of course, Robert told her that we never called and it must have been some prank call that didn’t show up on the id.
It wasn’t until the next day that we realized what had happened. Yep, we butt dialed Grandma right in the middle of a little nookie. My husband was mortified and refused to call Granny to explain what had happened, so I got left with the job. Explaining butt dialing and sex to an 85-year-old woman is one of the most humiliating things I have ever done and I can guarantee that it will never happen again. So, the moral of this story it to make sure that your cell phone is locked or off so accidental calls won’t happen. You wouldn’t want butt dialing to be responsible for giving someone a heart attack.
Coniac Publishing. (Photographer). (n.d.). Illustration of a man kissing a woman. [Print Photo]. Retrieved from http://www.freestockphotos.biz/stockphoto/8272
Urban Dictionary. (2012). Buttdial. Retrieved from http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=buttdial
My husband is one of those guys who can’t go to sleep without his wife at his side. I guess I provide comfort and make him feel sleepy. Usually I lay there till he falls asleep, then I get up and find something to do since I can’t sleep anyhow. A couple of weeks ago I started painting the family room at 2 am.
The last couple of days have been rather tough, lots of pain and very little relief. My knees and the joints of my fingers just throb and there isn’t much I can do to make the pain go away. I was so exhausted from being miserable last night that I fell asleep at 9 pm and slept straight through until 4 am. This rarely happens for me and I awoke refreshed, happy, and somewhat pain-free.
This wasn’t the case for the hubby. I walked out into the family room to see him sitting on the couch in misery. It seems that he didn’t get any sleep and spent the night tossing and turning thanks to me. Me? I slept for once, what could I have done? Apparently even though I was sound asleep I cried and moaned in pain all night. I guess this was a good thing for me, the pain eluded me through dreams, but tortured my husband. Sleep is overrated anyhow.
Richfield. (Photographer). (n.d.). Round, biconvex white tablets. [Web Photo]. Retrieved from http://www.freestockphotos.biz/stockphoto/5483
I consider myself a fairly religious person. I believe in God, say my prayers, and know the difference between right and wrong. Now, whether I always choose right is another matter, but at least I try. I have also tried to raise my children with these same beliefs and believe I have done a pretty decent job of it. That doesn’t mean that on occasion my children weren’t the spawn of the devil. In fact they were down-right evil sometimes.
Take for example one beautiful and sunny Saturday afternoon when Amber was about twelve and Ryan nine. I was out back cleaning the pool, weeding the garden, sweeping the deck, and all of the multitude of things that need to be done on the weekend. It was a beautiful day and I was taking full advantage of it. Amber and Ryan were playing with friends out front and even though they were old enough that I didn’t need to worry, I still checked on them. Not because I thought some horrible thing would happen to them, but mainly to make sure they weren’t doing something stupid like jumping off the roof. Yes, my lovely children used to do that.
It wasn’t long after I had been in the backyard that a couple of gentlemen in suits came round back to find me. They had very stern looks on their face and the first thought in my head was “Oh crap”.
“Ma’am, we really need to speak with you,” one of the gentlemen asked with fire in his eyes.
“Yes, is something wrong? Is someone hurt? Have my kids done something awful?” I asked fearfully.
The younger gentleman pulled out his bible, some literature, and said “Ma’am, we are Jehovah Witnesses and we are concerned about your eternal soul.”
“Really?” I replied. “Look, I am a Lutheran and certainly not perfect, but I don’t think I am exactly going to burn in the pits of Hell”.
I smiled, turned my back on them, and went in the house. I was perplexed. Many times church groups have come to my door but they had never been concerned that I was immediately going to burn. I was getting a little paranoid, maybe they knew something I didn’t. Crap…I decided that I better make sure to go to church on Sunday.
After awhile I looked outside the window to make sure it was safe and went to check on the kids. They were still laughing and playing, reinstating my faith in myself that I was an OK person. As I reached for the door knob I noticed there was a piece of paper taped to the door. I would have recognized Amber’s handwriting anywhere, It said in bold letters: Please go away, we worship the Devil!
No wonder those men thought I was the Devil himself. After I chuckled to myself I made sure that playtime was over for the kids.
Sometimes a smile and a laugh can take away a lot of pain. My daughter Amber gave me one of those moments this morning and it was really needed. Yesterday was my first visit to therapy for a consult. I was under the impression that following therapy would be basic Tai Chi in a nice, warm pool. Of course, this wasn’t the case. It’s never the case when it comes to me. If the weatherman said there was a one percent chance of rain, then raindrops would land on my head.
The day before my visit, I made sure to take a long bath and shave parts that haven’t seen a razor in quite a while. I even used the scraper on my feet and painted my toenails. Didn’t want to wear a swimming suit and frighten the therapist. I’m sure they have seen worse, but I do have some pride left. After going over paperwork with the front office, I was slowly whisked away by my therapist Susan. She was a very nice lady and explained that they treat a lot of patients with fibromyalgia, so I was in good hands.
Then the torture started. Susan needed to have me move in every direction possible to determine my range of motion and the level of pain. This only lasted for a little while, but seemed to go on forever. I can’t blame her for the pain, she was only doing her job, but oh my! I’m not doing that again for a while. Susan was very sweet when she was done putting me through agony, she brought me heat packs to lie on. Those packs almost made up for the misery.
This morning was like another round of torture thanks to therapy. Every muscle throbbed with pain. Now, mornings are tough for me anyhow and it takes a while for me to get going. This morning was unbelievable though. It took me three hours to get moving. I woke up at seven, took 800 mg of ibuprofen, then went back to bed, and just snuggled with my dog Foofers. He is old, so hopefully through his doggy dementia he had a little bit of empathy for my struggle. Probably not though, because he was busy snoring until I finally crawled out of bed at ten.
Amber called not long after and that I told her it took me three hours to get out of bed. She made some weird noise, huffed, and informed me I better get my butt to the emergency room. It seems she had the impression of me trying to sit up for three hours. That was definitely the laugh and smile that I needed to get my day going.
I always cringe when we go out to eat and get stuck sitting next to a family with small children. Not that I don’t like children, in fact I love kids. My grandbaby Harper is the most wonderful thing in the world, but I am not looking forward to taking her to a restaurant when she hits her terrible twos. This is mainly because of my experiences with her mother at that age. Amber was a beautiful little girl, but a terror to handle sometimes in public. Restaurant dining was to say the least, interesting.
Probably the worst experience we ever had was at the Sirloin Stockade in Salina, Kansas. The hubby and I were sitting with Amber, aka Satin in disguise, at a table in the middle of the restaurant. I actually thought she was being pretty decent til she picked up her spoon, filled it up with macaroni and cheese, then flung the entire spoonful of food directly into the middle of the table next to us. Needless to say, the inhabitants of that table did not look very happy. They smiled and said it was OK, but it was obvious from the look on their face that they wished that had never been stuck sitting next to a family with small children.
Now you see why I cringe? I keep waiting for payback and a spoonful of mac and cheese to come flying at me from some evil little kid.
(n.d.). A bowl of macaroni and cheese. [Print Photo]. Retrieved from http://www.freestockphotos.biz/stockphoto/12134
Ever have that awkward moment when you run into someone you should know, but you have no clue who they are? I can honestly say this has happened to me more times than I care to admit. I usually just smile, chat along with them, and pretend like I remember who they are. It’s really kind of embarrassing. Sometimes I open my mouth and something stupid comes out of it.
For anyone who grew up in Abilene, Kansas, the Central Kansas Free Fair is a big deal. Anyone who is anyone goes to the parade and fair. Even those of us who have moved away make a point to go home once a year and walk the fairgrounds. Like most kids in Abilene I grew up belonging to 4H and showing my rabbits, dogs, and projects at the fair. Going back is always fun and exciting, if not interesting.
A few years ago I went back for the yearly walk of the fairgrounds and to take the kids on the rides. I’m not sure they felt the same rush and excitement that I did at seeing who was there. It’s always fun to see who goes to fair and how much they have or have not changed. Not that I am one to talk, I certainly don’t look like I did when I was sixteen.
Walking around the carnival that night I kept seeing a dark-haired man with a mustache and goatee. He looked so familiar; I knew that he had to be from my past somehow. How on earth did I know him? Old boyfriend maybe? No, that wasn’t it, he had to be about ten years older than me. Maybe we were related. He did look a little like my cousin Paul. It was driving me absolutely insane. So, after stalking him and his girlfriend for several minutes, I finally worked up the courage to walk up to him.
“Hi, my name is Michele. You know, you look an awful lot like my cousin Paul”.
He just looked at me, shook his head, and said “Michele, you moron, I am your cousin Paul.”
Oops, OK, so I hadn’t seen Paul for a couple of years and he definitely didn’t have a mustache and goatee the last time I saw him. It’s been ten years since this happened and I still haven’t lived this one down.
(n.d.). A carnival at night time. [Print Photo]. Retrieved from http://www.freestockphotos.biz/stockphoto/14058
Bright and shiny, the little 1995 Corsica was calling my name, “buy me, buy me”. It was the cutest car on the lot and would be our very first brand, new car in ten years of marriage. MY hubby and I were so excited. Every car that we owned prior to that was used. Even my 1982Datsan 280ZX was used, but it was an awesome car. It just didn’t have a back seat, so it had to go once kids came along. But that is another story.
We drove the car home on a hot summer’s day enjoying the ride stopping to get gas along the way. Ryan was close to three at this time and wanted to help his Dad pump gas. Little did we know that the small lesson in gas pumping would have such an effect on Ryan, A few days later it was an unseasonably warm day, so the kids were out front playing in the sprinkler. I watched out the front door every few minutes to keep track of them. They decided to wash the new Corsica for us and I felt that was safe. Sure, really safe until a three year old takes the gas cap off of the car! Ryan then proceeded to fill the entire gas tank full of water. He did this all in between the few seconds I was sticking my head out the door to watch them. Of course, my husband was thrilled when he got home. He had to take the entire gas tank off of the car to drain it. The problem was that wasn’t the worst of it. The temperatures were well over a 100 degrees and Ryan had managed to fill in the entire back seat full of water as well.
By the time we figured out what had happened, it smelled like something died in there.
We learned a good had lesson that day. Always invest in locking gas caps for all the cars.