Tuesday, March 29, 2016

April Damn Fool

So I'm basically banned from participating in April Fool's Day at my house. According to some people, my totally hilarious jokes get too out of hand and in my husband's words, "You think it's funny but it's really not." Usually I don't even do pranks for April Fool's Day, he is referring to my jokes in general. It's not that they aren't good, they just tend to be elaborate and hurtful to some. More emotionally abusive than anything.

I distinctly remember the first time the husband was an unwilling participant in one of my "jokes". We had been looking for a used car and saw an ad for one in the paper. My family knew we had been looking so we told them we found one that sounded really nice and we were really excited to go test drive it. Husband and I went and test drove it, liked it and bought it. Well we went to go show my sister and I was like "Hey yo! Let's play a joke on her and pretend we didn't get it!" So he's like haha ok? We go into my sister's apartment and she's like "Oh hai guys! Did you get your car?" I'm sitting on her couch, she's standing in the living room and husband is off to the side leaned up against the wall. I break into a full on hysterics act. I have this ability to make myself cry (aka I am always crying on the inside) so there are tears falling, my voice is shaking, I'm slightly hyperventilating, I'm telling her this whole made up story about how we talked to the guy and everything was fine but by the time we got there he had already sold it, it's like every time we try to get ahead something stops us and I just get so tired of trying all the time, life is so unfair.

She looks at me with so much empathy in her eyes, is trying to comforting me and talk me down. I'm a total fucking asshole so in my head I'm thinking, "LOL. She is totally falling for it!" All the while husband is looking at me with complete HORROR on his face. So after awhile I smile at her and say, "Hahaha. Just kidding, car's outside." If looks could kill, I would have been tortured, skinned and chopped up alive while being lit on fire. They were super mad at me and my sister didn't even want to look at the car because she was so pissed off. Of course I was all "What's the big deal? It was just a joke! Hahahaha. So funny." And they are like, "No SATAN, that's not funny at all."

Other things I do that he finds incredibly annoying yet I find incredibly hilarious: When he is in the bathroom, not actually using the toilet, I'm not that dedicated...ok I'm totally lying but he gets really mad when I try opening the door and walking in on him when he is peeing so it's a strictly enforced rule I am not allowed to do that anymore. Also he locks the door. And yells at me when I knock. And tells me I'm weird. Anyway, I'll walk over to the door to like talk to him and sometimes he opens the door pre-knock, pre-talk and I'll just be standing there staring. This "alarms" him and I get "hollered" at for being creepy. The first few times this was completely coincidence. For a feral badger I manage to get around pretty quietly, probably because I am so loud any other time that when I'm not talking it's like I've disappeared. Well once I found out he could be easily "startled" (not scared, STARTLED) I found a hundred hiding spots that are perfect for anytime I feel like being a complete ass and pissing off my husband for the rest of the day.

Technically they aren't even hiding spots, my favorite one is literally just on the opposite side of the wall next to the open doorway leading to hall. How he can't see me is beyond me, I stick out at LEAST 15 inches. So I'll just stand there, back against the wall until he passes. I don't even jump out or say boo, all I do is make a heavy breathing noise while sticking my tongue part of the way out so I have a lisp. That's all it takes. Ok, now that I think about it he probably isn't even startled, he is probably more super creeped out when he turns around to see a grown woman, back against the wall, making lispy breathing noises with crazy eyes, with just a shade of disappointment knowing full well he married me..on purpose. My "least" favorite time was when told Rob I was going to bed early, Ferris Bueller'ed a fake me in the bed and then hid on the ground for like 20 minutes. Rob got into bed, at this point I was silent laughing myself to death, I creeped up from the side of the bed like a slow motion prairie dog and said, "Rawr..." I honestly thought that he was going to divorce me after that one. Rob rarely, RARELY gets really mad. He will just not talk to me or might raise his voice a little but he has only actually yelled at me maybe 4 times in the 11 years we have been together. I yell at him everyday. Holy shit was he pissed after that one. To make it worse I had to walk out of the room because I could not stop laughing. I am seriously the biggest jerk, I deserve to be alone forever. I'm still laughing about it.

And that's why I'm banned from participating in April Fool's Day.

Thursday, March 24, 2016

I Like To Call It....Hypervigilance..

One of my friends asked me yesterday if I ever get kinda paranoid in my relationship. Short answer: Not so much paranoid as suspicious. Extremely, yet rightfully suspicious. By the time I finished "reassuring her", I could see her filing a restraining order against me in her mind. I'm not crazy...I'm just very open to every possibility imaginable. Which is ironic..why? I'LL TELL YOU WHY!

Some people like to believe that stupid saying that goes something like if your spouse accuses you of cheating, they are probably the ones cheating. I'm not saying this might not happen but I am saying if this was a hold fast, rule of thumb, my life would be a whole lot cooler. Not really the cheating part but if I was doing everything I thought my husband was doing part. Such as:

1. Secret underground gambling ring
2. Government plant to document and report my actions to the CIA.
3. Reptilian
4. Figment of my imagination
5. A cast member in some kind of weird Truman show where I am Jim Carrey aka Truman Burbank
6. Secretly filing for divorce
7. Hiding various clothing items of mine
8. Serial killer, at large
9. Coma husband. Where I've actually been in a coma for several years and created this life in my mind.
10. Time traveler
11. Secretly a really good musician

and on, and on, and on. Why I say this ironic is because I am one of the sketchiest mother truckers I have ever met. I will go missing in the house and when he finally finds me, hiding in the basement or shed or garage, I look like a surprised slow loris, throw my phone on the ground and stomp it into a million pieces. Or sometimes I leave the house and he'll casually ask, "Where are you off to?" and I'll just give him a Charles Manson stare as I slowly close the door. Maybe I'll be gone all day and he'll call and ask, "Where are you?" "UH...UH...UH...TARGET!" "Soooo that's not you in the driveway.....looking at me through binoculars..." "UHHHHHHH *throws car into reverse and squeals out of the driveway knocking over the garbage can* REPTILIAN!! YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!" Perhaps I'll be texting and he'll ask who I've been texting all night, "Uhhh..uhh..the pope! I mean...my mom? I mean...my work..mom..pope.." When really I've just been texting poop and murder emojis to my bestie for a half hour straight.
Slow Loris. They cute AF.

If he acted like I did, even a percentage of how I act, I would have implanted a tracker years ago. I don't really know why I do it, most of the time I'm completely innocent, the rest of the time I'm just looking up inappropriate stuff on the internet. Or singing. I do have this weird thing about him hearing me sing, I don't like it. But besides the singing, part time drug muling and weird internet stuff, my life is fairly tame. YES. I AM JUST COMPLETELY NORMAL. NOTHING TO SEE HERE, NSA.

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

No Recollection

I feel like there should be some kind of internationally known hand signal for when you recognize someone because you know what's super awkward? Going up to someone and being like, 'Hey!" and they just look at you like you're a stranger danger. Then you realize they don't know who you are, you start questioning if you actually do know them or you try explaining to them how you know them. "Umm..you don't remember me do you? We were dart partners like 10 years ago. Well not partners, but you subbed for the girl I usually played with. Like we hung out a few times? Down at that crappy bar? You gave me weed for free once?" Awesome. Now you sound like a stalker who sits at home, reminiscing about the time you spent together while listening to Nickleback's "How You Remind Me" on repeat and smoking clove cigarettes, which is not the case at all.

Even worse is when you see someone, recognize their face, give them a big ol grin and then slowly realize why you recognize them. "HEY! How are you.....cop that arrested me for indecent exposure that time I peed in the Applebee's parking lot..ah shit." Or "Hey you! You look good......considering I held you prisoner in my basement for 18 months fifteen years ago and was never caught...awwwwkkwarrdd! You still mad? But for real, you look good. Wanna come Netflix and chill sometime?"

Like everyone, I've been on the other side of this scenario too. Because even though I can seriously recognize someone who I went to elementary school for two years before they moved to California in second grade, I can't remember someone I saw twice a week for 6 months at an old job. I had a lady come up to me once and start talking about how much weight I had lost, how I changed my hair, she loved my bangs, talking about her grandkids. The entire time I had to hold a conversation with a person who I had no idea who she was while acting like I did and rack my brain to try and place her. Usually I just say something like, "Oh sorry. I used to have a really bad drinking problem," or "I wish I could place you but a few years back I was a drug mule for the cartel and a couple of the balloons opened up inside of me. Completely fried my brain. I was actually legally dead for 2 days. Woke up at my own funeral, which was just me being thrown in a shallow hole outside Tijuana, surrounded by Scientologists. Middle school, amiright?" but I was at work and apparently that's frowned upon.

I always feel like the biggest jerk. Especially when they know so much about me. It's like being a little kid again but you don't have your mom there to say, "Remember our old neighbor Vicki?" "You used to come over and make cookies when you were 2. You had pink socks with bears on them." Even then it's like..bitch...I still can't remember where I left my car on Friday night...and today is Wednesday. At this point I'm just about to call it a loss an buy a new one, so no I don't remember making cookies with you when I was 2. More importantly, do you have any cookies on you right now? And can I borrow like $5000?

I guess I'll go ahead and start this then. Hand signal for "I think I know you" is officially two taps of the right index finger to the right temple. If you recognize them back, proceed with conversation. If you don't, two quick brushes of your left upper arm with your right hand will say, "I don't know you, don't talk to me." If you are absolutely sure you know them and it's that important to you, signal back with tap of the left wrist with your right index and middle finger, (like the Mockingjay sign from Hunger Games) and then mime where you think you know them from.

Super simple! We can do this guys, I believe in us!

Friday, March 4, 2016

Life is Rough-age

Well shitballs. I wrote an entire post about what a bad mood I'm in and how sometimes life just piles on the shit, waiting patiently for you to almost suffocate before letting you catch your breath. In one fell swoop, I somehow accidentally deleted all the text and it took the moment to auto save before I could CTRL Z things. If that isn't a sign, then I can't tell you what is. Apparently the universe is telling me not to spread my negativity around, which I respect. So instead you get this gem, which will probably make you wish I would have just bitched about my bad mood instead....

9 months ago last Tuesday, yes I wrote this like 9 months ago and never published it so here we go... 9 months ago last Tuesday, I had Kashi Go Lean cereal for breakfast and the husband flew out to Pennsylvania for work. Me being the dramatic chipmunk I am, I immediately started thinking about the horrific plane crash that was bound to occur and imagining what my life would be like as a widow. His take off time was set for 11:30 and I had to be at work for a program that morning so he said he would stop before heading out to the airport to say our (final) goodbyes. So he came in and I managed to keep it together until I walked him to the lobby at which point I started bawling as a montage of our memories together ran through my head, "Leaving on a Jet Plane" (the Armageddon rendition) playing in the background. As he left and I came back in, my co-worker Amy asked me what was wrong. I told her he was leaving for a business trip and I'm a cry baby. Mind you this is not the first time he has gone away for work. Then she asked how long he was gone for, "What, until Thursday?" she joked. I looked at her in shame. Yes, a whole 59 hours. So what?! He was flying on a one prop death plane to Pennsylvania! I've seen Amish Mafia, I know what kind of hardcore, gangster shit those boys are into....

Later that day, I was on my break, accepting the fact I would probably soon be re-entering the dating pool and making my list of potential one-night stands when I was overcome with emotional. My stomach ached with trepidation and I felt a wave of dread coming over me. I escaped to the restroom once more. As I exited the staff restroom, Amy and I crossed paths as she headed to relieve herself. "Were you crying in the bathroom again?" She asked. Earlier we decided I'm definitely the cryer at work. I literally cry at least twice a month in the bathroom, which is why I have requested it be renamed the Rachel Lavender Memorial Staff Restroom once I die. I looked at her awkwardly and she took two more steps towards the RLMSR and finally I said forcefully, "Stop!" I looked at her in despair, "Don't go in there....I...I....I ate Kashi Go Lean for breakfast....." She stared at me "...you know..." Knowingly she nodded, "OH YEAH! That's a lot of fiber."

And that's the story of the time I thought I was going to shart myself in the breakroom.