Bitch and Moan Monday

Hello out there, LDs. How's it going?

It's Bitch and Moan Monday here!




That's right - belly your asses up to the bar, have a pint, and tell us what you're Bitching and Moaning about today! If you join us, you'll find the linky at Kisha lova-lova's.

For the second (it's a miracle) week in a row, I'm not bitching and moaning about Mr Realist!

"But Mrs Dreamer, how is that even possible?" LDs, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He's fucking surprised me to the ultimate. Yesterday afternoon, I was in the living room, finishing up New Moon and watching The Sound of Music (my most fave musical), he was doing laundry...and NOT. COMPLAINING.

I'm not sure I have the right to participate this week...wait...I do have one small thing from the weekend.

See, Friday was Mr Realist's 31st birthday (love you), and he was off, so I took the day off. We went out on Thursday night and closed down the bar (woot woot), putting us at home at about 1am. Slept in until about noon (LDs, for that reason alone I'm glad we don't have the childrenz). Decided to get up and go hit some sporting goods stores down near the Loo. First one in, we found a freestanding punching apparatus (he wanted a heavy bag and stand, but this takes up soooo much less space and was less expensive) so we can start working out and he can teach me how to box (no, not that kind of box, you damned dirty pervs *lascivious grin*).

But first, we went to dinner. Special occasions call for new places to eat. We'd never had JCS before. Let me fill you in on something, LDs.

Mr Realist is allergic to shellfish. One would think any seafood place worth its salt will not fry any shellfish in the same grease as the regular fish (shrimp in with the cod). But we think that's what happened. We ate around six, went shopping, got the punching bag (punchy punchy), got the two furbabies some carob cookies, and Mr Realist was having some wicked bad gas (I know, if you can't tell your significant other's dirty secrets on a blog, where can you?) and his stomach was upset. We got home about 10.30, and he had to poo (I know, I KNOW). About midnight or so, he woke me up coming back to bed; told me he'd just vom'd. Fucking wonderful. Now, I'm not a sympathy vom'r, but Mr Realist makes this most gawd-awful noise when he does...kind of like you'd expect a dying moose to make. The sound alone is enough to churn my tum. I fell back asleep, and around 9 or so on Saturday, he had only slept about an hour total between trips to the bathroom (he only vom'd once more; then it was all the other. Sorry for TMI).

LDs, we're pretty certain it wasn't food poisoning. He's had that before, and THAT is not pretty (both exits for two. freaking. days). It's how he was the last time he inadvertantly ate shellfish and didn't know it. He doesn't swell up, but he gets a low-grade fever, and his body expells the evilness until it's gone. Lasts about 16 hours or so. We've been together long enough that we know how he reacts when he gets something to affect his allergies.

So, I'm pretty pissed at JCS. Fuckers. Hope it doesn't happen to anyone else.

Poor Mr Realist - had to miss his birthday bar bash (which was also Bryan's b-day bar bash and a congrats party for Val on a promotion). I was going to stay home with him, but I was commanded to go by the Allergic One. After all, 'someone's got to represent us at this soiree!' So I went (got drunk and didn't get home until 3.30am on Sunday morning), had a bitch of a hangover on Sunday am...and had to be a Grandma & Grandpa Dreamer's by noon. Fuuuuuuuuucking headache...but the greasy mushroom meatballs got rid of it in a hurry. :)

So that's what's got me Bitching and Moaning today. What's got you?

Too much drinking over the weekend (ow ow ow)?
Not enough drinking over the weekend (not my fault, I had a great time)?
Or is your Monday 'practically perfect in every way'? (LDs, I loves me some Dame Julie Andrews)

Link up, bitches.

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your content for a change
Mrs Dreamer

Bitch and Moan Monday

Good morning, LDs. How was your weekend? Ours was pretty good - Friday, we went to the Old Rock House in the Loo to watch a friend's band play (they're awesome); Saturday, we priced heavy bags and stands for Mr Realist and a sit up bench for me and went to a 30th birthday party (surprise); Sunday, brunch and groceries and dicking around on the interwebz.

But today....o, today...

It's Bitch and Moan Monday!

That's right, LDs - time for you to get off your chest what's making you bitchy today!

Here's the sad part: I don't have much to bitch and moan about today. I mean, come on - how could Mrs Dreamer have much to b & m about?

O...wait...I'm married to Mr Realist. NOW I remember!

But he's done well in the last week. I mean VERY well. After last weeks' Sad Face post, some things actually made it through his thick skull. He is lazy, and he's actually working on it. So I'm cutting him some slack today.

But I am pretty miffed at my new coffee cup. See, LDs, since I met my friend Jessi, I've been trying to be more conscious of saving the world with recycling (it's a start). Yesterday, whilst we were at Walgreens (had to pick up some new face stuff-more on that later), I saw they had the eco coffee cups. They're double-walled ceramic with removable silicone grip and lid. I bought one - need to start bringing my own coffee. I love the stuff, but it's too expensive to buy every day (not that I did, but the new cup makes me feel important. Lame, I know).

The lid works in theory, but being in a car cup holder? Fuggedaboudit.

I have coffee in my cup holder. Coffee running down behind the silicone grip. Coffee on my leg. Coffee on my new purse. So, I have a coffee cup with no lid on my desk (o, the horrors!) and cold coffee (didn't keep it as warm as I expected). Boo.

The other thing? My face. It's a pretty average face: two eyes (blue-grey - like the color of a thundercloud), nose (crooked - gotten hit in it a few times, but never broken it), mouth (semi-full lips; I don't wear lipstick very often - chapstick or carmex is normally what you'll find, and on rare occasions, tinted lip gloss), chin, cheeks, forehead, whathaveyou. My issue is that I am thirty-two (32; Sweet Sixteen Doubled)...and I Still. Have. Acne.

I have not found a single thing that works to clear this shiz up, LDs. I've tried Noxzema, Neutrogena, Avon, Clinique (worked somewhat). I'm now on l'oreal's 360 face cleanser (comes with a little rubbery scrubber - kinda feels cool). Let's see if this works. And before you suggest Proactive, or for God's sakes, a dermatologist, I have sensitive skin. I don't want it to work, and then me have to use it (pay for it) for the rest of my natural life. LDs, what do/did you use? Cause I'm tired of this.

Not too bad today, huh? No Mr Realist complaints (yay - I'm sure you were tired of hearing about him), no work (try my hardest not to do that, right Dooce?), just my crappy coffee and my acne and the fact that it's raining. Again. Today. For like the third day in a row.

What's got you Bitching and Moaning today?
Step in cat poo?
Dump red wine on your white linen pants (if you were drinking wine this early, I hate you)?
Or is your day just peaches and cream?

Tell us about it.

Heepwah, and be safe out there

Your on-the-upswing
Mrs Dreamer

PS - FUCK!

PPS - I just hadn't said fuck at all this post, so I figured you'd think me ill if I didn't.

PPPS - Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

PPPPS - Ahhhhh...that felt good. :)

~MD

Sad Face

I think I fucked up tonight, LDs.

As in big time.

Lately, my Bitch and Moan Mondays (and hell, some other posts as well) have all been about Mr Realist - laziness being the big one. I'm tired of starting laundry, loading and unloading the dishwasher, cleaning up after I've cooked and even taking the trash out while he plays video games or watches tv/movies on the interwebz. He'd been saying since Saturday that he needed to clean the rat cage (yes, we have two rats - Bonnie and Sally), and it hasn't gotten done.

For the last two days, Mr Realist has been down (he is on Prozac for depression). Yesterday, I had a TPC meeting up north, so I went to that directly after work. I got home about 9.50 last night, and you could tell that the rat cage had yet to be cleaned. There were dirty dishes in the sink from breakfast and his dinner (he had cereal), and he'd done nothing all evening.

Tonight...I stopped by the coffee shop for knitting night, and he stopped in for a coffee (he didn't end up getting one). I was going to be the only one there, so I decided I'd go home with him. He didn't seem too thrilled with that. What else was I going to do? Sit at the shop and knit with just me? So, we came home, and as we were getting changed out of work clothes, I asked what we were going to have for dinner. His response was "I don't know - what do you want?"

I asked him how it was the same as when I am supposed to be making dinner and I ask him the same question just to get the same response, and yet I have to make the decision and make whatever comes to mind. Food was slammed back in cupboards and the refrigerator, and he said that "if you can't give me any suggestions, then I'm just going to eat chips and salsa." I'd had enough at that point. I turned to him, and very calmly said, "I love how your laziness is more important than everything else in this house."

Bullseye as to what's been running around in my head for the past couple of months.

He finshed microwaving the mac-n-cheese leftovers, and took them and his soda into the bedroom to eat in front of his computer. He brought the dishes back to the kitchen, went back into the bedroom, and put on clothes (he wasn't naked, just had on comfy, loungearound stuff). I was so mad I was scrubbing the shower with a toothbrush (no, not his; one we had saved for stuff like this - when we switch out toothbrushes, they're saved for cleaning small cracks and jewelry) on the icky parts. I left the bathroom to go get the bleach, and he's not in the bedroom.

Not in the kitchen, or the living room. I look out the door, and his car's gone.

I finished cleaning up the bathroom (note: bleach and Comet mixed together can leave stains on porcelain tubs), went to the living room, and texted where I knew Mr Realist would have gone.

Asked him if my husband was there, and not to let him do anything rash. Not minutes later, I get a text from Mr Realist, telling me he's going to the movies with Dunn. Then I get one saying that he doesn't know when he's going to be home. I figure he's going to get puke-fucking drunk. I finished cleaning (I finished the bathroom and cleaned the rat cage) (note: tears are not conducive to seeing where you need to clean vs where you have cleaned), and watched a movie.

About 9.20, he came home. We didn't talk until he'd laid down in bed. We talked, and whilst what I said made him very, very angry, it was a valid point. It's why he left; that I was right - he is lazy. We both needed to cool off, and we were very adult about the whole thing. It could have escalated into a screaming fit, but we both just stepped away.

LDs, I'm not going to apologize for saying what I said. Granted, it could have been said better, but I'm tired of trying to say things nicely to him. Nagging just makes me a bitch (and I don't really like doing it).

He did have to explain to the friends that met up with him and Dunn at the movies where I was, and the married couple in the group said that we handled it the right way.

I do love Mr Realist, LDs; with all my heart. However, here's my dilemma: do I continue to ask him to do things with me, to help clean the house he helps dirty?

Or do I accept that I'll never get any of the help I'd like, be a housewife in addition to holding a full-time job? I'd have to quit TPC - I can't work on my marriage, my house, and my business with no help.

Sadly enough, I am documenting when I clean things or empty things or do things that are dual responsibility.

What are your thoughts? Have any of you had the misfortune to be in a similar situation and how did you handle it? You can let me know here, FB me, email, I don't care. I just need some advice (and I know not all of my readers are female, so guys - your thoughts might just mean more than the ladies').

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your torn-between-two-personalities

Mrs Dreamer

PS - I finished typing this up Wednesday morning, so that's why it's being posted now.

Random Thoughts

Morning (or afternoon...whatever), LDs. How's your day been so far?

~I really don't want to be at work. I didn't get home until late last night, and I'm still quite tired. I have to finish my knitted baby blanket to get it to the poor kid (who was born April 22nd). I'm still debating whether or not to put the hoodie on it. I did promise you pictures of it when it's finished, and I haven't forgotten about that.

~Anyone know of someone who needs/wants two dumbo rats? I'm sick of harping on someone to clean their cage once a week, and he promised.

~I'm beginning to think that this TPC was a bad idea.

~Is it sad that I'm excited that Miss Shitass and Mr. Useless have postponed the wedding a year? Maybe by then, she'll realize that he's nothing but a useless drain on her. Now, what to do with the pretty dress hanging in my closet until then? :)

~What would cause a man to prefer being lazy over his wife, when he professes to love her and would do anything for her (include jump in front of a speeding bullet), and yet can't do anything if she's not there at his side?

~Is it normal to feel this bad for so long?

Heepwah, and be safe out there

Your
Mrs Dreamer

Bitch and Moan Monday

Hey out there, LDs! How's it going? I'm bound (with silken cords) and determined to make this a weekly thing. That's right - it's BITCH AND MOAN MONDAY!

So...today, I'm not going to B&M about Mr Realist (even though I'd really really really like to today...).

You ever get "reprimanded" at work because you done did something stupid (and yes, I do know that isn't proper grammar)?

I'm not talking about reprimanded as in "I'd-like-to-see-you-in-my-office-shut-the-door-now-here's-how-you-fucked-it-all-up" reprimanded. That, I can handle.

It's the "hey-don't-worry-about-it-everyone-fucks-up-every-once-in-a-while-and-at-least-this-wasn't-too-bad-but-they're-still-pissed-off" reprimand.

And in front of coworkers, nonetheless.

Fuckseriously? LDs, I'd much rather be reprimanded in the first way. I can hear (but not listen) to the reprimand and it totally is like water off a duck's back (for those of you who are reading this from college...yeah, I get the joke *grin*) and it's no big deal the moment I walk out of there. I was reprimanded, I got what I did wrong, I'll fix it for the next time.

But the second way makes me feel like I'm about eight years old again and the stepfather has once again told us we're stupid and will never make something of ourselves. That fucking hurts.

Like sawing off your own foot with a rusty bandsaw.

(Yeah, I know I used incorrect grammar, but Mr Realist thinks there's more than one of me - can't be bipolar when there's three or four of you - MPD. To Truddi Chase and the Troops: rest in peace, all of you.)

I just wanted to throw a brick at someone's head earlier today.

Anyone else have that kind of day?

Or are you the happy Monday fuckers? :)

Let me know how your day went, asshats.

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your tired, cranky, and losing-her-voice-cause-she-sang-for-an-hour-in-the-car-on-the-way-home-from-a-TPC-meeting-tonight-and-she's-way-out-of-practice

Mrs Dreamer

TAG! You're It!

Hello, loverly LDs! How has your day been?

Mine's been an up day (compared to the rest of them lately).

If you haven't check out In Through The Out Door, and my uber-sexy Washington wife Kisha, you should. She effing rules.

Anyway, she tagged me in a Photo Game! It's pretty simple, LDs.

1) Go to your photo files, select the 8th photo folder.

2) Select the 8th photo in that folder.
3) Post that photo along with the story behind it.
4) Then challenge 8 blogging friends to do the same!

The only unfortunate thing is...I really don't like the 8th picture. Boo.

Wait. It's not that I don't like it. It's just that you really can't see what the hell it is.

I was dicking around with the camera ages ago (ok, March of 2009), and I took a picture of a picture hanging on our living room wall.

I didn't take it with a digital. I did it with my 35mm film camera (of course, I had them put the pics on a disc).

It's a three-picture collage of me and Mr Realist in Texas back in 2003 (that part of the date is right, just not the month and day) when we were with his grandparents on vacation (they're cool as shit, so it was all good).

Top left picture is Mr Realist and I on opposite sides of the United States/Mexico line (I'm in Me-he-co!).

Bottom left picture is Mr Realist and I next to the South Padre, Texas sign (and we were down there when all of Texas was out on Spring. Fucking. Break. O dear Lord, were there some fi-hi-hine college boys down there! Of course, you can't see for the glare. O well.

Right picture is Mr Realist and I under a beauty of a palm tree. I want a palm tree in my back yard.

But I live in Illinois. Damn.

Anyway, my eight bloggy friends that I'm tagging?

1. Missus Gamgee at The Hobbit Hole

2. Em Static at Heart and Hairspray

3. Fertility Chick at Fertility Chick (she's awesome, even though I'm not a mommy)

4. Avitable at Tact Is For Pussies (he fucking rules, even though he's more vulgar than I am...)

5. AH at AHStudios

6. JES at The Seeker

7. Boomka at Boehmcke's Human Condition (funny AND hot)

8. Mrs. Flinger at Mrs. Flinger: The Blog

AND WTF...I don't think the links are not working. Damn. Sorry LDs.

Enjoy looking at pics, and I'll try to figure out WTF is wrong with the links. If you can clicky, let me know

Heepwah, and be safe out there

Your

Mrs Dreamer

Bitch and Moan Monday...a bit late...

What's up, everyone? Sorry I didn't post this last night. I didn't do anything on the computer yesterday evening.

Mr Realist and I kind of got into it because of his laziness. Don't talk to me at one in the afternoon and tell me that 'you can make the hamburgers before you go to therapy at six.'

'Scuse me? So I get home at 5.15 or therabouts, change clothes into crappy ones to do knee therapy in, mix up the hamburger (which I forgot the crumbies, so they fell apart), make sure they're done, clean myself up (since I now have hamburger goo all over myself), and make it there by six?

Not a fucking chance.

I was late, and didn't get out of there until almost eight last night. I was so pissed off I wrote him a note before I left.
1. Don't ever ask me to make hamburgers again. I'm not good at it...AT. ALL.
2. You had plenty of time from getting home at 6.45 to make dinner because I normally don't get home from rehab until about 7.30. Why was it so important that I make dinner?
3. You've said so yourself - "I need to start cooking more." Fuckreally? Fancy that.
4. This you not eating until I get home and make dinner for your sorry ass is about do drive me around the bend. I'll make my own dinner - you can fend for yourself.

Yes, LDs, it's another "Bitch and Moan about Mr Realist Monday" and I'm sorry.

He's just the cause of my irritation 94.6% of the time (since we don't have kids).

I'm not trying to make a pearl here, LDs.

I just want some help. We both have full-time jobs. If I were a housewife, I would have no problems about doing all of it myself: cooking, cleaning, etc. But I'm not.

And I damn sure am NOT his maid.

What's got you bitchy today?
Hate making dinner?
Want to hit your SO with a waffle iron?
Or is your life peaches and cream today? (fuckers.)

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your annoyed
Mrs Dreamer