Chronicles of My Life with a Blonde, part 18: Pimp Daddy drop off in Hooker Land

“All rise for the honorable justice McWhinesAlot.”

“Please be seated.” gavel strike “We call to order the Superior Court in the matter of the State of Washington versus Brunette Self, murder in the first degree. Prosecuting attorney, you may proceed with your opening remarks.”

“Thank you, your honor. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, the state intends to show that Brunette Self, on the evening of January 16th, did indeed and with malice murder Blonde Spouse by telling him he could light the BBQ propane directly in the canister with a blow torch. We intend to show that the Blonde Spouse was incapable of understanding this would have explosive results.“ The prosecutor sits down.

“ We intend to show that the defendant, Brunette Self, was driven mad by the constant and consistent torment of having to clean up all the disaster created by Blonde Spouse through his, ah, utter Blondeness.

“I present into evidence exhibits 1-17, Chronicles of my Life with a Blonde. This provides rock solid evidence that any normal, Brunette individual would be driven to temporary insanity by these antics. And now, to the day at hand. Let me preface this entry by imbuing the court with the knowledge that this was NOT the best day for the Brunette Self. In sum, her whole day was a disaster, or, the Universe screamed “YOU SHOULD STAY IN BED ALL DAY“ and she failed to listen.

“She was to work a shift as security dispatch for Rustycon, a local science fiction convention. She’d packed a backpack with a change of clothes, two thermoses of coffee and hardboiled eggs for her pregnant friend who was craving eggs. While getting ready to go she locked myself in the closet (the door knob came off in her hand) . This was immediately followed by finding her favorite shirt and the discovery that somehow, most likely assisted by her disgruntled teen forced to do chores, had avoided both the wash and dry cycles and was hanging, soiled, in the closet. Plan B put into action…another outfit located and procured.

“She then popped into the shower, while her ‘infinitely helpful’ Blonde Spouse offered to look up the hotel address for her while she was in the shower and put it in the GPS. She provided said Blonde Spouse with the Rustycon url where he could then obtain the proper address. She was unaware, he would not follow this sound advice and instead procure the address from ‘the thin air of his memories.’

“They left with plenty of time to arrive at the hotel and to locate the office before the beginning of her shift. However, Blonde Spouse determined the GPS was “just clueless” and took his own route, thereby cutting down her arrival time from 20 minutes early to 13 minutes early. Blonde Spouse then drove her to the wrong hotel and dumped her off there. I would like to call attention to the fact that the hotel was located in a seedy part of town, Hooker Land. I would also like to mention that Brunette Self is disabled, has difficulty walking and was carrying a large backpack full of eggs, coffee and clothes, and no working cell phone. She had to walk 2 miles to find the nearest payphone and call her mother n law with a credit card to come and rescue her. Along the way, she had a grand adventure in hooker land, though, almost got beat up by two hookers for "working their block" and nearly got recruited by a pimp (thank goodness for Motel 6 waiting room!) who mistook her for an "independent". She was also tormented by a gaggle of vicious seagulls moving in on the hardboiled eggs, she suffered “Roaming McDonalds Breakfast” trauma.

“Upon her rescue and return to home, her friend Krystal attempted to cheer her up by taking her for a bowl of Pho. While there, Brunette Self rubbed her eyes after handling the jalapenos, effectively tear gassing herself. She also discovered after talking with another friend, that Blonde Spouse had dropped her off one block away from the correct hotel…which drove my client into a fury that she, understandably, unleashed upon Blonde Spouse when she directed him to the BBQ. The prosecution has no basis for this charge, the Brunette Self did not murder Blonde Spouse, he simply blew himself up in an unfortunate situation, being the victim of his own Blondeness., a terminal condition.”

…
“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, your honor.”

“What say you?”

“We find the defendant, Brunette Self, not guilty of all charges of murder and determine the explosion resulting in simple blondeness.”

“Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, Brunette Self, you are released from custody.”

…

“This Fox 13 news, standing here with the prosecuting attorney on the Blonde Spouse murder case. How does the prosecutors office feel about the verdict today?”

“There is still substantial evidence that the Brunette Self is guilty of murder, Blondes everywhere must be protected. However, she was found innocent of all charges by a jury of her peers…consisting solely of brunettes.”

Chronicles of my life with a Blonde, part 17: 1st grader fashion faux pas.

NOTE: Chronicles of my life with a Blonde came to an abrupt end at the creation of "...part 16, How many blondes needed to use an easy bake oven?" Blonde Spousus Apparently No Sense of Humorous threatened gigantus divorcus, so Chronicles of my life with a Blonde saw a brutal and abrupt end. Brunette Wife has decided THIS INCIDENT warranted an exception. So without further ado and at the risk of my marriage, I bring you...

"Chronicles of my life with a Blonde, part 17: 1st grader fashion faux pas."

Monday morning was a wonderful treat, Blonde Spouse had the day off and so kindly allowed Brunette Self to leisurely sleep in and then waking me with a cup of coffee in hand around 10 am. He'd already seen our 1st grader off to school, fed the dogs and taken them out, and all of the usual morning riff raff. Because I had laid Ana's clothes out on the dresser the night before, it seemed I had nothing to worry about and went about enjoying the rest of our day alone together.

At 3 pm, I discovered just how wrong that sense of security turned out to be, when the first grader got home from school. I've got to hand it to the Blonde Spouse, many of the creations that come out of his kitchen are delightful. Alas, that magical combination ability ceases (and apparently curls up and dies a horrible death) when he replaces food ingredients with pieces of clothing. To be punnable, he sure knows how to dress a turkey but not necessarily our first grader, his blonde mini-me. Now, I'm no fashion connoisseur, but even my eyeballs have limits.

The door opens to reveal my beautiful first grader, magically transformed from mummy's lil princess to a banjo playing, spitting through her proverbial missing front teeth, um, daughter...refer to picture below. Somehow, Blonde Spouse saw nothing wrong with the attire. *shudders*

Mini Me was dressed in a long sleeved flannel, with a short sleeve t shirt 2 sizes to small on top of it. As I start to comment on the attire, I note that Blonde Spouse is currently wearing a long sleeved flannel underneath a Spider Man dress shirt. *rolls eyes*

I spent the next hour programming the Blonde Spouse Mini-Me to "Just Say No" to Daddy fashion faux pas and to tell him anytime he approaches her with clothing in hand, "Nooooo! We must go find the color coordinator, the Virgo, to check the ensemble against her clash meter."

Chronicles of my life with a blonde: part 16, How many blondes needed to use an easy bake oven?

Q: How many blondes needed to use an Easy Bake Oven™?

A: 2...and a Brunette to walk them through it. *sigh* Thus begins another chronicle of my life with a blonde, putting the "irony" in "easy."

little Blonde Spouse Mini Me (aka Ana Rasa) to Brunette Self, "Momma, I wanna play with my Easy Bake Oven™."

Brunette Self to little Blonde Spouse Mini Me (aka Ana Rasa), "Honey, how about you ask Daddy to play with you with your Easy Bake Oven™? The two of you haven't played with it together yet!" [inside Brunette Self is thinking Brunette Brother and Brunette Momma have been suckered into playing with Easy Bake Oven™ on a twice rotation, when it is Blonde Spousus Santa Claus who purchased said Easy Bake Oven™ for ages 8 and up for said little Blonde Spouse Mini Me age 5...ha...revenge is mine! BWAHHAAHAA!]

little Blonde Spouse Mini Me replies, "What a great idea!"

Fast forward two days to unsuspecting Blonde Spousus Santa Claus' next day off.

little Blonde Spouse Mini Me approaches said Blonde Spousus Santa Claus, "Daddy, will you please play with me and play Easy Bake Oven™?"

Blonde Spousus Santa Claus, 'fast stepping' replies, "Perhaps another time."

little Blonde Spouse Mini Me tears up. Big mean Brunette Self jumps in and reminds Blonde Spousus Santa Claus that Brunette Brother and Brunette Momma have already played twice with little Blonde Spouse Mini Me and that it's Blonde Spousus [Santa Claus]' turn. Realizing he's been bamboozled, he laughingly agrees.

But alas, revenge was HIS [plot twist]. It began with a frustrating 15 minutes while he struggled with the picture instructions. Brunette Self begins to feel incredibly guilty.

Blonde Spousus Santa Claus then starts poking things into Easy Bake Oven™ trying to "figure out how to get the **&^*&#^$%#@* cake pan IN there! There's no door!"

Brunette Self realizes impending shock hazard and spends the next 15 minutes guiding Blonde Spousus Santa Claus and little Blonde Spouse Mini Me like Wolfgang Puck through the process of preparing the batter, pans and how to slide the cake pan through the oven without ripping it apart.

By end of process, Blonde Spouse Santa Claus and little Blonde Spouse Mini Me have retired from the kitchen, leaving Brunette Self to complete the cake. DAMN. :D

Chronicles of My Life with a Blonde, part15: Medication Mgmt

With the turn of the seasons always comes the rounds of colds and flu in our home, and this year was to be no exception.

Our 5 year old daughter and Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus came down with the nasties first, immediately going into massive snot production and dry cough hackiness.

Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus ventured out to the market to buy cough drops to help with the hackiness that threatened to leave them both parallyzed in fits and waves of coughing.

Most of this first day, Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus diligently gives daughter and himself a cough drop every 2 hours to help with the cough. Oddly, the hacking is unabated. Daughter is overly willing to take a cough drop, something she usually despises as it "tastes all funny."

Brunette Self begins to wonder if the cold is now a "super bug" and investigates medication Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus brought home from the market, now tucked in on the back of the counter.

Brunette Self is greeted with this a package of Werther's Original Hard Candies.

Brunette Self bites tongue and suggest a cough drop with an actual horeshound derivative might be more beneficial, goes to market and returns with cough drops. Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus and 5 Year Old With A New Mouthful of Cavities immediately cease coughing fits.

1 week later Brunette Self finds herself hacking away, Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus looks through medicine cabinet and advises me we are all out of cough drops, but he found another bag of Werther's Originals. *rolls eyes*

Chronicles of My Life With a Blonde, part 13: The UnHandy Handyman

On Wednesday of last week, the Blonde Spouse and Brunette Self agreed that the main bathroom shower/tub unit needed recalking. Blonde Spouse heartily agreed to take on the task. Brunette Self feels sense of foreboding. *shudders*

"Hon?" Brunette Self ventures.

"Yea, babe."

"Do you know where you put the caulking gun and supplies?" Queries Brunette Self, and directs reader to refer to part 12: Dis-Organization for further details. "We cannot afford to get more caulking and a new caulking gun right now, King County wants their blood--er, TAX money on the 31st."

Blonde Spouse diligently removes trim around top of tub/base of shower surround and treats area with mildew preventer. Blonde Spouse places trim, with nails still in it, with nails pointing upward on the base of the tub. Brunette Self asks why nail points are pointing up (and figures explaining REMOVING NAILS FROM TRIM IS MOST SAFE OPTION is too difficult and lengthy to get into at the moment), and Blonde Spouse snappingly replies it's so the nails don't scratch the tub. *BITES TONGUE*

Blonde Spouse forgot to remove remaining tidbits of caulking prior to using mildew preventer. Tidbits of Napalm like caulking hang dripping with mildew preventer (that Brunette Self is highly allergic to) around the shower surround. Blonde Spouse also forgot to take into account drying time of mildew preventer, thus extending the project back into his work week. Brunette self, several eye rolls later and pondering if we can budget in anti-histamines to combat the welts and swelling, offers to complete the project if Blonde Spouse will locate caulking and caulking gun.

Blonde Spouse states, "There behind the door in the master bathroom."

Brunette self simply ignores nagging need to try to rationalize why Blondus Spousus Dis-Organizedus would consider this the most prime location for home maintenance supplies, and simply says, "Ok."

It is now Sunday of next week, Brunette Self has managed to remove napalm dripping caulk tidbits from unit without putting herself into the hospital. Brunette looks behind doors in master bathroom for caulking supplies and gun...no caulking supplies and gun.

Brunette Self musters up the courage to educate Blonde Spousus of the Work Week Grumpus on Monday evening, "Hon, the caulking stuff wasn't where you said it would be. Are you sure you didn't move it?"

Blonde Spousus of the Work Week Grumpus pretends not to hear Brunette Self. This tells Brunette Self that Blonde Spousus of the Work Week Grumpus has dis-organized these items so far that even he does not know where they are...they are indefinitely MIA.

Having a family of four share one bathroom for the next two weeks awaiting Blonde Spousus Dis-Organizedus' next paycheck in order to purchase new caulking supplies and gun: ANNOYING.

GETTING THAT ANNOYANCE OUT BY WRITING ANOTHER CHRONICLES OF MY LIFE WITH A BLONDE AND MAKING MYSELF AND OTHERS LAUGH: PRICELESS!

Chronicles of My Life with a Blonde, part 12: "Dis-Organization"

I've come to realize that my Blonde Spouse has some pretty odd habits when it comes to organization. He will look at a box of random items, select the biggest thing in the box (say, "a pan") and determine it is all kitchen stuff. We've lived in our house for over 4 years now, and I still can't find everything he "organized."

Yet, Blonde Spouse is surprisingly anal about the weirdest things: his pillows must be arranged perfectly perpendicular to each other in order to sleep, toilet paper must be folded and not bunched, just to name a few.

My Brunette Virgo-ness has begun to wear off on Blonde Spouse, the last time he packed for a camping trip, he proudly announced, "I have made a list." My Brunnete Virgo-ness' heart jumped with joy and promptly fell to my shoes when he presented me with "the list."

"The list" consisted of a complex drawing with arrows, curved lines connecting items and the occasional "oh, shit, I don't know where that is" comment. There were bubbles connected to other bubbles, big X's over duplicate items, etc. Blonde Spouse determined that we required 6 rolls of toilet paper (for a two day trip), replacement flashlight bulbs, but apparently plates and silverware were not important items...neither was propane or the tent. ?? I attempted to point this out but angered Blonde Spouse, who stated "I can do this!"

We arrived at said campsite to discover he had packed the tent (after I suggested it), but forgot the poles. We had 3 replacement light bulbs but no batteries for the flashlights. We had six rolls of toilet paper but no biodegradable chemical for the port-a-potty. We had tarps but no rope to hang them. We had signs to post but no staples to post them. *sigh* Brunette Virgo-ness has taken over the packing lists, and has resigned herself to composing a "secret" list to assure this never happens again.

Chronicles of My Life with a Blonde, part 11: Ordering Take-Out

Sometimes my Brunette Self is afraid to order anything with Blonde Spouse, fearing disgruntled food service workers may spit in my food in frustration with the order.

We roll up to the order menu, “May I take your order.”

Blonde Spouse, “I’ll take a cheeseburger, please. No ketchup but mustard, no tomato but onion, no pickles but mayonnaise.”

Disgruntled food service worker, “So, you want a cheeseburger with pickles and mayonnaise?”

Blonde Spouse, “No! No pickles but mayonnaise, with onions but no tomato and no ketchup but mustard.”

Disgruntled food service worker, “So you want a cheeseburger plain?”

Angry Blonde Spouse, “NO! Mayonnaise no ketchup, mustard no pickles, onions no tomato!”

Brunette Self, “I’ll just get a #3, please. Surprise me on the pop.”

Angry Blonde Spouse, “Did you get that?”

Disgruntled food service worker, “*audible sigh of annoyance* Please pull forward to the first window.”

Brunette Self turns to Blonde Spouse, “Why don’t you just order a cheeseburger with mayonnaise, onion and mustard?”

Blonde Spouse, “Because that would be too complicated.”