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.
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