Please Forgive Me

Please don't think less of me, LDs, seeing as how I haven't posted a frackin' thing in over a week!

So here I am, sitting at the kitchen table, listening to the sounds of Super Mario Bros 3 coming from the Wii, and pondering the finer points of ... well ... anything!

Mr Realist, Aunt & Uncle & Cousin Dreamer were all down at Camp last weekend (Heepwah!), and had a blast, as usual. Mumsy Dreamer and I are going down for Mother/Daughter Weekend the second weekend in October (can't wait, seeing as how Mumsy has never seen Camp. Boo.).

We were on vacation all week last week. It was a staycation since we're saving up to go to Phoenix in February to watch Brother Realist graduate from MMS (motorcycle mechanic school). Looking forward to warmth right around my birthday! We did get some things accomplished, however. Our living room has a new floor - well, new to us.

See, someone in their wrong mind put carpet in the living room. Don't get me wrong - I like the warmth it gave during the winter, and it was a really pretty blue. It would have gone beautifully with the navy curtains and the yellow walls (curtains exist, wall color is still in process). But there were a couple of rather large stains that just were not coming out. We decided that we were going to pull up a corner and see what it looked like. Much to our surprise, we found some really nice hardwood. Not laminate, but actual wood! There are a few spots that need to be filled, and there's paint splotches around the edge of the room from where they painted the walls white, but once it's sanded, cleaned, and sealed, it's going to be awesome.

Mowed and cleaned the bathroom and living room and Mr Realist cut some low-lying tree branches and played wiffle ball yesterday. Mostly, the rest of the week was much-needed relaxation.

O, Mr Realist and I celebrated our 5th anniversary as a married couple on Friday the 24th! I loves me some hubsand!

My most sincere apologies, again, for not posting for the last week. I've been in kind of a rut, and I'm determined to dig myself out!

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your 'really doesn't want to go back to work tomorrow because she will have a week's worth of shit to catch up on and doesn't want to do it. At. All.'

Ms Dreamer

PS~I've got a couple things in mind for Bitch and Moan Monday tomorrow :)

Positive...

Mr Realist said something to me last night that I've been bandying about in my brain most of the day.

"When something comes up, you automatically go to the worst possible scenario."

Yeah...so I'm not disappointed when it does happen, and if it doesn't, it makes it that much sweeter.

But he's got a point. I think if I could open my head and put a lump of coal in there, in about three days, I'd have the Hope Diamond.

So. I'm trying to make more happy posts. I've noticed that I'm pretty reliable when it comes to Bitch and Moan Monday, but not so much any other time. I'm formulating a plan here, LDs. Next postie?

"DOH!"

And it's funny. Or it'll make you groan out loud.

At least, I think it is and will.

Just you wait.

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

One more day
Ms Dreamer

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

Thanksgiving

The other day at work, I heard someone talk about ordering pies for their Thanksgiving dinner. At first, I was confused. Why would someone order pies? And then I was amused. Heh. She's ordering pies. And that kind of made me sad. Wow...ordering pies. I don't know how to make pie, at least from scratch. I'd just as soon buy a crust and the fillings and follow a recipe and 'make' a pie.

You see, Dear Readers, Tom and I seem to find ourselves caught in a trap. Not a bad one, mind you.

Tom (Mr Realist) is an old soul caught in a young man's body. He thinks he would have been perfectly happy being his age in the '40s and '50s - going to work, coming home to a wife who had dinner made and children playing - essentially Ward and June Cleaver. I think he might have married part of the wrong girl for that.

See, I (Mrs Dreamer) am both a young soul and an old soul, trapped in the same body. I see the simplicity of being June Cleaver (don't get me wrong, each time has it's own problems and issues and faults and suckiness) - making breakfast and lunches to pack the kids off to school and hubs off to work, clean the house, grocery shop, laundry, dinner, help kids with homework. Total June Cleaver.

But the young soul in me screams out for 'equality!' A marriage is an equal partnership. We both came into it with the same fears and hopes and dreams - why should he 'get away from the house and go to work' while I'm here all day long and all my friends are at work and are you serious? you helped dirty this house, you can help clean it!

Sigh.

Dear Readers, if I were to be a SAH-? (since I'm not a mother, I can't be a SAHM), I might be tempted to paint the house pink with blue shutters; move our bedroom to the living room and vice versa; have imaginary friends that only I and the dogs can see. All of my friends work, whether they are single, married, or have kids. I'd go batshit crazy if I stayed in the house all the time (grocery shopping does not count). I'd have to work part time or even volunteer somewhere to take my mind off of the house and hubs and all kinds of stuff. Our house isn't that big. It was built in the 1880s as housing for the mine employees here in our town (when the mine existed, that is). I stumbled across this interesting fact several weeks ago in the coffee shop. The local paper was sitting on a table, and I happened to walk past it with a glance.

Then another.

Then a "Holy fudge, that's OUR house!" Tom looked at it, and I pointed it out. "See? That's our house, that's Granny's house, and that's the Hoosiers' house!" Turns out, it was a copy of the front cover of the pamphlet that was hand drawn in the 1890s about the mine housing. The original is on display at some museum in Springfield. We need to take a picture from approximately the same angle as the drawing and take it up to the museum and get a picture of us with the original. How cool would that be?

He he he...tangent. Sorry. Where was I?

Oh, yes. June Cleaver.

See, there are days I swear I'm MPD (multiple personality disorder) that has integrated. Stephanie is the one in charge. Stevie's the eight year old who wants her stories heard, but is afraid to because one jackass stepfather told her she'd never amount to anything. June (since she didn't have a name before now) is the throwback, apron-wearing, making-sure-everyone's-happy, 1950s housewife. And then there's Helen - brash, modern, 'I can do anything you can do better' woman who doesn't take much shit from anyone. Sometimes June and Helen want to kill each other...and then, over coffee liberally dosed with straight up Jack Daniel's, they find common ground: they both want Stevie to be happy.

I just looked at the title I had picked out for this post... "Thanksgiving". Are you kidding me? The only thing I talked about was pie.

Fine.

Next one.

Be safe out there, and heepwah.

Completely Random

** Saved from icanhascheezburger dot com - too kyoot!**

You know, I was musing today at work (got quite a bit accomplished today! shut my door, stuck my earbuds in my head, and listened to some tuneage every time I was in my office. I find I concentrate better with music), and I started jotting some things down that you might find interesting...or disturbing - your call.

1. World of Warcraft: a fugging addicting MMORPG (massively multiplayer online role playing game)...or it can be at times. I have six different characters in different levels, all different races (human, night elf, dwarf, draenei) and classes (mage, warrior, druid). My mage Sharmaralyn (interesting name) is my highest level. She's a lvl 68 human mage. She can take down three lvl 68 or 69's baddies all by herself. She's kind of a big deal. Lately, I've not played as much as I did when I first started. Right now, there's more things I could be doing: writing, playing softball, knitting, cleaning out boxes of crap. When winter hits, I'll be back leveling Shar and Erda and Kalexya and Donnae (o Lord...please don't let me go off of the deep end)...erm...well...yeah.

2. Writing: what I should be doing most of the time, but I'm not. I'm trying to work with a beta (Megan from high school) and get some things worked out. I guess I need to start lugging around my computer so I can write write on my lunch hours and whilst travelling. Anyone got a good idea for a boy's name beginning with D? I'm trying to come up with a section as to why the Dean doesn't like L (he seems to be in trouble quite a bit), and why Mr. S set this seemingly unreasonable demand on K.

3. Friends: I don't feel like we do enough with our friends. It seems like every couple that we're friends with all have children, and the one that doesn't, lives forty minutes away. I hate talking on the phone...and most of our friends would rather talk than text. Boo.

4. Mr. Realist. God, I love this man. Poor guy right now has a headache the size of Alaska. Jessi's neck rub helped for a bit, but it's back. He's snoozing peacefully next to me as I muck around on the Interwebs. He keeps telling me that it's ok we're not pregnant yet, but I know it hurts him just as much as it does me whenever she shows up without fail. He's going to Lake of the Ozarks this weekend - Erich from college called him up and invited him to go down. Erich and his wife Susan (live in KCMO, Suse is in Chicago doing a residency) have a timeshare in LotO, and if they don't use it, they've lost out for the year. So Erich's calling up his buddies, and there's like eight of them going. Mr. Realist is taking his clubs because there are like nine courses within like thirty miles of the timeshare. I hope he has a good time. He needs to get away and just be with the boys. I love him madly, but there are some times that if he doesn't get out of my space, I'm going to shoot him! (not really, but he does exasperate me sometimes!)

That's it for now. We've got a softball game tomorrow night, so wish us luck. The first time we played this team, we won 25-5. I don't care if we win or lose, I just want us to play well.

Until next time, heepwah and be safe out there.

Peace out, bean sprouts!
Mrs. Dreamer