Literal To A Fault

As I've mentioned in a previous post, A & D have had some issues with understanding race. It actually has caused some problems in their development. They didn't understand all their colors until they were in kindergarten.

D would hear that his daddy was black, but he sees his dad as he really is, not in terms that are commonly used to describe people of color. Knowing that his dad is black, all things brown are called black. Ipso facto...all things black must be brown.

Me: D, go and grab your black shoes and your backpack so we can get to school.
D returns with brown shoes and backpack.
Me: D, I said go and get your black shoes, those are brown.
D: (Very patiently with me) No, mommy...these are black.
Me: Okay, get your other black shoes then.
D: I don't have any other black shoes, I have some brown shoes though.

Let me just tell you, it usually turned into a "Who's On First" performance until I understood that he matched his shoes to his dad. He was just so confused about it. By the time he was nearing the end of kindergarten, he could name black and brown things, but it would be like, "This is black right, no brown, no black...right?" Just think of growing up your whole life thinking that cats are called dogs and then having to retrain your brain that those are in fact cats, not dogs. That's what it was like for my kids because they knew black people, weren't usually black.

They finally got their colors straightened out, but it doesn't stop the confusion as evidenced by D in The St. Patrick's Day Revelations post. When A was in 2nd grade they were doing a section in Social Studies on the Civil Rights movement. We were talking about it on the way to school one day.

A: And Rosa Parks was supposed to give up her seat on the bus!
Me: Well, there were a lot of unfair things. Not only couldn't black people keep their seats on the bus, they couldn't drink from the same drinking fountains, or eat at the same restaurants.
A: That is so sad, mommy. At least it didn't happen to anyone I know.
Me: No, you probably don't know anyone.
A: Yeah, I'm glad I don't know any black people.
Me: A! You know tons of black people.
A: Who!
Me: Um, your DAD! Your grandparents, Mrs. Smith, Jabari, Khayari....
A: WHAT!?

She was blown away and sadly, she cried a little. She argued with me a little that it couldn't be because all of these people were light brown, dark brown, or tannish. It didn't help that all the photos of it....were in black and white. I explained that during the Civil Rights leaders decided the best thing to do was to call themselves black to make it perfectly clear what exactly whites were afraid of, the color of their skin. She was disappointed they didn't choose brown, but she was also really devastated that relatives of people she knew were treated unfairly. In the beginning, to her, this happened to a group of people that she had no ties to in any way, you might as well have been telling her that this was a Civil Rights movement for monsters and dinosaurs because she didn't know any and didn't think she ever would.

Luckily, A is mostly straightened out now. D, well, I'm sure we still have work to do with him. There's lots and lots of work to do with D yet. Oh so much work....

Bustin' My Butt

Well, the kids are quite thrilled with themselves as spring break quickly approaches. I hardly have the time for looking forward to it with all the work that it entails for me. I despise wishing away time, but I can't help but say that it'll be wonderful when it gets here and all this work can stop for a week and I can relax with my kids. Except for feeding them, bathing them, dressing them, the cleaning up after them, and disciplining them. It's gonna be great....

I will say that I have been doing a few things for myself, like exercising. I've already lost all but 2 of the winter warmth pounds that I put on. I think my despicable "spot" is gone, I haven't seen it for awhile anyway and my butt is getting in shape. I'm just having problems with what I've always had problems with...isn't there any exercise for shrinking boobs? Seriously, if anyone out there knows of one, I'm desperate, but I'm also not holding my breath. Why are there all sort of ads for belly fat and ab tightners....for gods sakes, my boobs are as big as my head, who's got a product for that? I'd buy that one in bulk. All I know is that I've gotta hurry up and find something, I'm 35 now, in another 10 years....they aren't going to be sitting so pretty anymore.

Revelations On St. Patrick's Day

Well, last week was St. Patrick's Day. Being that no one in mine or Vader's family is Irish or Catholic, it gets pretty much ignored at our house. So, in keeping with tradition, St. Paddy's Day was Tuesday as usual in the J household. We don't even bother wearing green, why would we....see above.

Poor D came home with stories of children being pinched for not wearing green (luckily he didn't or else the principal and I would be having another lovely chat) and he just couldn't understand why that would happen. I told him that was so tacky and I couldn't explain why that would happen either, for goodness sakes, even the people I know that wear green and celebrate the day don't know what St. Patrick is the patron Saint of. So anyway, in the midst of my explanation and why we don't wear green or celebrate the day, (which maybe I would celebrate the day if I knew what fantastically wonderful thing St. Patrick did for all of humanity) he wanted to know where his ancestors were from. A agreed, she knew some, but she wanted to know more. It was wonderful, my kids, wanting to know about their history.

So, first I explained that they are a little more than 1/4 Dutch. A adds, "From you, right mommy?" I say, "Correct A", she's so clever. Then I explain that they are both 1/2 African. Holy shit, stop the presses! D yells at me, "Whaaat?!" Covers his mouth, bouncing around in his booster seat, extreme joy coming from every pore of his body. He's thrilled, he's excited, he's totally feelin' his roots. He shouts at me again, "FROM WHO!!!!?" Now, it's very hard to keep a straight face, but god, you gotta love the innocence of this kid, he's frickin' clueless. He looks excitedly over at his sister, who to her credit is keeping a straight face and being very nice, and loudly whispers to her, "Can you believe this?!" He starts clapping as I tell him that he's African through his dad's side of the family. His response, just this, "Wow!", in utter awe. (To you Readers who know Vader and may not have noticed, as my son clearly hasn't.....Vader is black.)



For some reason my children have a very different view of race than I or really anyone expect from them. I think for Vader and I, we know that there are other points of view out there, but we don't really notice them and certainly don't focus on them. Our relationship is based on so many other things besides color, that our kids have picked it up and see absolutely everyone as equals in every way. I feel lucky that we have a very normal, perfectly happy life without serious complications that other couples in our situation had even 20-30 years ago. Anyway, I'm sure I'll be writing about some of the other issues my children have had learning about race, it's interesting and honestly, funny. You wouldn't think that a mixed race household would have complications explaining about race to their children...unfortunately, I think it's really that we're having to teach them that where they see no differences, others do. In a way, that's kind of sad.

No Time For You, Readers

Have you noticed? I'm posting my Issues, so much less frequently now, Readers. It's that time of year again, time to spend every waking moment outside....or Swiffering. Well, the Swiffering I do anyway, but I'm getting the spring cleaning urge and the Swiffering has been taken up a notch.

I haven't baked anything chocolate in weeks, can you believe it?? I'm getting outside and doing activities, like bike riding and walking. I just want to feel the sun and warm air, I don't want to miss a minute of it. (By warm air I mean anything over 38 degrees, by the time it gets to 45, break out the shortsleeves. I've gotten used to 9 degrees, 45 is a flippin' heat wave.) But also, I do know it's time to lose that roll around my middle. What kept me warm in the winter, doesn't look so cute in a swimsuit in the summer.

I also find other reasons to get outdoors, like putting clothes on the line, raking, jump-starting the dead battery on my van for the 100th time. None of these things leave a lot of time for writing about issues that are currently plaguing me, or about other people's extreme tackiness making me feel better about myself. (Admittedly, the latter is my favorite.)

I will tell you this though, I'm going to the Barbie Mini-Convention tomorrow. Now, I'm quite sure I'll have wonderful stories to tell about the interesting characters that I'll see. I'll be inside a big hotel all day tomorrow, so I'm going to miss being outdoors. It's times like this that I think I should take up smoking, so that I have a reason to go outside and just stand for like 5 minutes. It's spring in Michigan, Readers, desperate times call for desperate measures.

50, Really? Can't We Make It Like 10?

The kids and I went on a bit of a trek this weekend. I packed up their portable CD players (I'm sorry but portable music players are always going to be Walkmans to me, I don't care how it dates me.) and their little CD library cases and off we went. DJ found some CDs that I bought him when he was younger, the 50 Favorite Kids Singalongs. He was amazed and so thrilled with them, they were like brand new again. He's happy as a little clam singing along;

"....j k l m neno p coo r s..."

It made me realize that at this age it's fine for him to enjoy this CD and sing along, but it won't last much longer. Just 3 short years from now he'll be 10 and he will no longer be so amazed by The Ants Go Marching.

"....oooh, remender the Blah Blah Black Sheep song mommy....."

Of course, it's possible he will still be in love with this CD at the age of 10, maybe he will still enjoy singing along at the top of his lungs. If this in fact happens, I'll tell you who won't be thrilled. That would be his sister, AJ, at the age of 13. If there is anybody that is going to be far too cool for Mary Had A Little Lamb it will be her. There's no way that she's going to put up with his ruining her reputation with his nerdy choice in music. Clearly, she would have good reason to put her mad karate skills to use and be forced to karate chop his face in order to shut him up. In the meantime he's completely oblivious to what the future could bring and is perfectly happy to sing along;

"....mahwollee mahwollee mahwollee, life is but a dreammmmmah!"

I Was So Proud....And Then I Wasn't

Oh, Vader. Vader, Vader, Vader. He's learning, but so slowly it's like taking your fingernail down the chalkboard one inch at a time. (Yes, I know a very dated reference as chalkboards really don't exist anymore and no one probably knows what it is or why it's bad to take fingernails down it.) He has had a bit of a problem in his past with speeding tickets and every once in a while that past becomes the present, much to my chagrin. Knowing this, when he got a speeding ticket 2 weeks ago, it took him a week just to tell me about it. He fully expected my usual carrying on about him needing to get a second job to pay for his apparent recreation because otherwise we were going to have to sell the house due to the increased insurance costs not to mention the cost of the ticket. Further carrying on is how I can't trust him to ever drive my kids anywhere, I'm going to buy one of those smart cars Ford's been talking about in order to keep his foot level on the pedal, and how he's just used up his whole birthday and or Christmas present depending on the time of year it is. But I saved it, in part because he's heard it all before and it's old, but also because of the amazing thing he said about the ticket.

He told me he felt just awful and that he did a stupid thing and it's so stupid he didn't even want to tell me. Then as he's telling me he got a speeding ticket, (for speeding up to make a light), he tells me that he's been trying so hard, and he's been setting his cruise on his long drives to and from work to make sure he doesn't speed on the freeway, and that this was a stupid, ridiculous, time-wasting, money-wasting thing to do. Now, Readers, I've been married to this man for 11, almost 12 years. I've known him for 15 years, and there have been numerous tickets in those 15 years, let me tell you. Never once has he ever talked about how stupid and out of line he is for getting the ticket. Never. Clearly, I was nothing short of flabbergasted.

There is usually a tirade out of his mouth starting with;
Speed limits are ridiculous, why would they make a car able to go 120, but limit you to 70?
I'm just going the speed of traffic, everyone is going over. (Of course he's flying past them all.)
Lights take too long, everyone knows how to stop and go.
Yellow means go like hell.
And basically, most driving laws don't apply to him and should be done away with altogether.

So, though I told him I was frustrated by the setback and the upcoming cost of it ($125), I felt that he was upset enough with himself that I knew he would be much more aware and this would hopefully be the final step for him to quit driving like an asshole. I didn't carry on, I didn't threaten, I didn't even stop speaking to him for a week (he never actually notices anyway). I felt so proud of him.

Then I lost it.

Knowing the cost of the ticket, I told him to wait until the next payday, I was going to get paid, he was going to get paid, we'd pay it with a check instead of a credit card. So, he comes home one night before the pay days. He is setting up the Wii and I pay no attention. AJ is like, "Wow, did you get a new game daddy." I stop dead in my tracks, "What?" AJ loves this center of attention crap. "Look", she says, "Daddy got a new Need For Speed game. It cost $30." She looks at me expectantly. Vader doesn't look at me, clearly he's forgotten our heart to heart talk and how we're going to be frugal to pay for HIS FU*KING TICKET. Now we're paying for HIS FU*KING GAME TOO?! I stare at him and wait, arms folded of course, hoping like hell I look foreboding. He says, without looking at me, "It's used, I have 7 days to return it." I'm pissed, I decide to go to the library. He's parked behind me and so I take his car. I find an ATM w/d slip from the day before for $20. I was gone and he was off work so clearly he needed cash for some form of recreation. I start adding it up in my head. That's $50 of the $125 he's just wasted. I can't take it anymore. I storm back home and point to the game and just kind of menacingly whisper (cause that's all the anger in my throat will allow me to do), "Tomorrow." before stomping out of the room.

And so it was done. And life was good again in the house of J.

A Leisurely Day In The Backyard? I Think Not

This past Friday, the weather was so nice that I just had to go out and clean up the yard. If I didn't hurry up and get it raked I would have to tear out my eyes from looking at it. So I did. I've been having furious bouts of guilt that AJ doesn't really get recess time during the winter, so I sent her out for a recess at the same time. I could only take her idle swinging for about 3 minutes and then my OCD took over. I needed that backyard clean and now. So, I sent her up to the tree house to sweep and clean it 'till it sparkled. That way I could then rake what she sent down. Now, luckily AJ has a bit of my OCD and she actually enjoys cleaning, so we made quick work of the back yard.

While we worked we talked a bit. One question she wanted to ask me was this, "Mommy? Are you good at multi-tasking?" Hello? There may be many a thing I'm not good at, but I'm a kick ass multi-tasker. I fu*king multi-task in my sleep. Knowing this of myself I decided to question if she knows what multi-tasking is because how could she even question this of me otherwise? She replies that she knows what it is and asks again if I'm good at it.

My reply, (while out of breath since I'm raking more intensely than before because I have no more time for raking as now I want to get clothes out on the line.), "AJ, if you live in this house you better know the answer to that. What do you think it's called when I talk on the phone while doing the dishes and cooking supper, all the while handing you plates to set the table with and sending your brother off to your dad to do his homework? Let's not even mention combining an OCD obsession of cleaning this yard, giving you a recess, making you clean during it, while giving you spelling words and planning out what's for supper. For gods sakes if moms couldn't multi-task, we'd have to get rid of the husbands once the babies were born cause god knows you can't take care of a husband, on top of everything else we do without being able to multi-task." And holy shit, kick my ass, frickin' point made and proven. Whew.

Perhaps AJ was just looking for a yes or a no answer. She really didn't have anything else to say to me about that.

Spring...How I've Missed You

I know, I'm so disgraced, I haven't even written anything in March yet. I'm finally feeling better this week and I have so much to catch up on around the house. Then you add in the fact that we've had two days in a row in the 60s and really so little else holds meaning for me any longer. My ass belongs outdoors, scrubbing, cleaning, raking, sweeping, fixing, and just plain basking. Soaking it all up. Without. A. Coat. I'm going back out now, I'm gonna hang clothes on the line. Life is good.

Can't We Just Keep A Couple Impediments...For Laughs?

My friends China and V were lamenting with me the other day my decision to put DJ into speech classes. It's really ruining all our fun. D asked the other day if "cwap was a sweah wood" and could he say it. I almost told him yes just so I could hear him say cwap all the time. Sure, we have our classics that we'll always enjoy, like James Bombs, webbons for weapons, bideo games, churkboys for turquoise, and ED DAR 2 for R2 D2. But the problem is, we're not getting a lot of new stuff now that he's progressing in speech. We've had to resort to making things up that he'd say with his current speech problems...if he could swear. Like if he was suffering a little road rage, "That piece of cwap got a blinka? Fwickin' bastoad."

That may a touch more on the pathetic side if a 35 year old man talked that way though. I know no one would take him seriously, they'd be laughing their asses off. It's killing me, but I guess we'll stick with the speech therapy just to save some poor idiot being called a "cwap-ass potlicko", or "son of a whoah cocksucko".

I Guess It Could Be Worse, He Could've Washed Them Down With Beer

Let us reminisce a little longer, Readers. Two years ago, shortly after the whole house had recovered from the dreaded strep 1.0, my husband decided to take the kids sledding. He went with a few friends from the neighborhood, so some of you Readers will be able to relive this cherished memory with me. My husband, the good dad that he is, took darling 8 year old A, and little 5 year old D to the local sled hill. It was a good day for sledding so the sled hill was quite busy. There were kids of all ages, including some 10-12 year old boys. Some of them were taking their sleds and standing on them going down the hill. Clearly, they weren't gifted, but they are adolescent boys, it's to be expected. D and A had received new saucer sleds for Christmas, so that's what they brought to the hill. My husband thought that standing on the sleds looked like fun, and shoot, everyone else was doing it. So he took the new saucer sleds and proceeded down the sled hill....standing. Lo and behold...he fell....hard. Definitely not gifted, and he can't fall back on, "But I'm only a 10 year old boy, I'm required to try and crack my skull open no less than 2 times per year."

When they made it home, there was anguish, there was pain, and on my part, there was much laughter. In truth, I had a hard time feeling sorry for him. I asked if he noticed the difference in age 10 versus 33, if not, did he notice the difference in weight, 100 lbs versus 220 lbs. This was not funny to my husband. He was able to walk, albeit with a limp, but we figured he'd be fine in a few days.

So the next morning he woke up at 4:30am like usual and when he went to get out of bed....he fell. He tried to stand, he fell, he howled, he crawled back to the bed. His leg wouldn't bend, this was bad, really bad. We quickly determined he needed to call in to work since there was no way he would be able to drive (or even get out of bed), he needed crutches to get around, and finally, he needed to see a doctor. Our doctor was clearly the correct one to go to as she just had the exact same thing happen to her...only with skis, not standing on a frickin' saucer sled. I was pleased that her reaction to the sled was similar to mine, a snicker followed by asking him how old he is. Anyway, she knew exactly what to do for his ailing knee.

Now, you would think that this would've been more than enough crap from him. I mean it lasted for over a week and cost a great deal of money by the time the medical bills came due. But no, Readers, this was not to be the end of his bullshit. I had no idea I would have to continue to monitor him just so he didn't kill himself.

The doctor prescribed 2 prescriptions. Prescription strength Ibuprofen for the swelling and Tylenol 3 with Codeine for the pain if he needed it. She gave us instructions and sent us on our way. This is where things went terribly wrong. I underestimated my ability to scare the shit out of my husband with the whole overdose lecture 2 months previous. He clearly didn't learn a lesson from the night spent in the bathroom or from my lecture and he certainly didn't listen to the doctor. Later, at home, I see him opening his pill bottles and I question if he is in pain. No, he feels fine he says. Then I look at what he's doing. He's clearly lost his mind. He still believes that in order to heal, he has to take all the medicine. He's been taking his Ibuprofen and 2 Tylenol 3 pills every 4 hours. I just march up to him, grab the Tylenol bottle out of his hand, grab the pills out of his other hand, head right for the bathroom and flush the whole fu*king mess of them once and for all. I'm yelling at him down the stairs about him doing his damnedest to kill himself and I can't trust him for one second in the medicine cabinet, and no wonder he's slept the whole day away he's high on pain pills, and how long since he's taken his last bit of pills because I think he should stick his finger down his throat to throw them up, and how embarrassing it's going to be for me to have to call poison control about my 33 year old adult husband popping pills.

Readers, I don't think I have to tell you that I don't fill his prescriptions anymore. Last year he had some trouble with a pulled muscle near his heart....I told the doctor he could just rip up the prescription he wrote out for the Tylenol 3 because it wasn't getting filled for damn sure.

Sometimes The Apple Falls Really Far From The Tree

Meeting D's classmates parents always throws me for a loop. They always appear so nice and normal. Like people I'd hang out with even. Sometimes I find I have to hold my tongue, I don't think saying, "Oh, hi. So you're Gage's dad? Gage The Wood Chip Eater? Huh, and you're so normal.", would go over so well. I just want to state right here though, that that is what I'm thinking.

And Now I've Forgotten

I'm ticked. I was almost done with my next memory classic of Vader nearly overdosing and it didn't save properly and now it's lost. That was yesterday. Today, I'm still too upset to finish it and so I'm protesting. Okay, okay, in truth my mind is a complete blank now and I'm having a hard time remembering what I was trying to say. My memory is shit since having kids. Shit I tell you.

Delsym - The Root Of All Evil

Same story, different day. Still feeling like crap. My advice, do not try fighting off a cold, you just prolong it. It'll take it's time, and have it's way with you anyway. I decided to give up and lay on the couch for a few days with my book. I managed to finish the 1200 page tome. Because of this I really have nothing too interesting to write unless you want a detailed essay and critique of said book.

What I've decided to do is instead write a little anecdote about pre-35 Vader. Yes, I've gotten him sick too and it's making me remember the first time D brought strep throat home to share with his whole family. (Not a good month, thanks a lot preschool.) Vader thinks two things; first he believes that cough medicine actually cures the cough, doesn't just stop the symptoms, and also he believes that the dosage he takes should correspond to how crappy he feels, not what the bottle says. We use the Delsym in this house, I'm a strong believer in it. (Granted, it hasn't helped me with this cold, but normally it's very good. Vader is sure I'd be cured by now if I was taking it regularly.) So one day 2 years ago, while we're all suffering with the strep, Vader can't take it anymore, he goes to get some Delsym. I walk in as he's literally drinking cupfuls of it. I start yelling, waving my hands, yanking his medicine-taking arm, grabbing for the medicine, clawing his eyes out, anything to stop him. Vader gets pissed. He explains how he's very sick and he's a big man, he can't take any "kid" doses. I asked if he even looked at the dosage. Of course he didn't. He explains that last time he must've taken too small a dosage because he's still sick, so if he wants it to do some good, he's got to take a lot. I start yelling about overdoses, cough medicine not curing anything, stomach pumping, drug addiction, and how he's making me lose my sanity. Shortly thereafter we head for bed. Vader, however, didn't spend more than a couple hours in bed. Poor Vader, didn't read directions, or even god forbid listen to his wife, he got to sit up in the bathroom for most of the night with explosive diarrhea. Lesson learned you ask, indeed it wasn't. More on that another day, Readers.

Officially Allergic To Winter

I'm heading north for the weekend. It's an actual city-wide planned Winter-Fest that I'm going up there for. You know how much I love winter, it's my life's dream to celebrate in the form of a festival where we get to frolic for hours upon hours in the freezing cold. Actually, I think I'm going to plead mental disability and stay at home with my mom. I mean, let's be serious, there is going to be a lot of ice there, in the form of sculptures, sno-cones, skating and god knows what all. And I have clearly documented my phobia of ice. I can hardly be expected to make an appearance. I can already imagine the crunching of the ice underfoot and in little one's mouths, oh the horrors of it....on second thought it might just be best to stay away from the Fest altogether.

Cakes & Cookies & Pies, Oh My!

I'm not going to lie to you Readers, not much interesting is going on at the house of J. I feel like crap, however I continue to cook high fat/calorie/sugar, sinful baked goods. Why not? Yes, I have a "spot" on my thigh, which is giving me heart palpitations, but I have nothing against a layer of fat in general. I just want to be toned underneath that layer.

I have spent much of my last two days "getting better". To my home-schooled child this means I give her her lessons, she disappears, and I read. Or alternately snack....on yummy baked goods....waiting for my husband, Vader, to come home and question what on earth happened to all the cookies/cake/pie. I pretend like I hadn't noticed everything is gone. Like he needs to worry, I'll just make more. I think my new plan of attack is going to be re-making said cake or cookies while he's at work and then he'll never know the difference. That Vader, always so high maintenance.

Cold Be Damned, I Think I See A Blade Of Grass

Oh Readers, I feel like shit. I think I may have finally gotten my dose of flu/cold for the season. I don't know why, maybe my kids brought it home, maybe my body just finally let down it's defenses, or perhaps it was all the romping around in the 30ish degree weather during the Brooklyn Street Winter-Fest this weekend. I have to say though, if it has anything to do with the Winter-Fest, I'll take my punishment because that was just plain good for my mental state of mind. That damn January thaw waited until February and I was about to become a side show with all the different personalities I'd created during my month & a half as a shut-in. I see nothing wrong with celebrating the first sign of a thaw in weeks, who cares about some chills, fever, cough, sore throat, aches, pains and whatever else I may end up with. All worth it because I got to have pork shoulder & a S'more over a bonfire on Saturday night. Added bonus, I feel completely sane again....and that's not just the cold medicine talking. Oh...hacking coughs....too weak to carry on...

PS. Quick note to China and V, who puts the V in VD, my sanity thanks you eternally, probably my family too, for the developing and hosting of the Winter-Fest. I'm bound and determined to believe it was the kick off to spring, I will ignore all snowflakes from this point forward.

New Motto: Avoid The Humorless Like The Plague

I just don't understand it. There are a few people that I've come across here, in the great Dutch home away from the homeland that is Grand Rapids, that don't appear to have any discernible sense of humor. It's been my misfortune to find these ill-fated individuals amongst the antiques dealers, the school employees, and even my acquaintances around the city. This does not impress me. The worst of it is they make me question my own sense of humor. Because they don't understand sarcasm or irony, I wonder if it's me, if I'm simply being obtuse. Sometimes, I'm perhaps too ambiguous with my snappy sarcasm and witty remarks. Well readers, let me assure you, it's not me. Oh no.

I used to get rather embarrassed when I would say something funny, laugh, and they didn't join me. Perhaps I offended? Now, I realize, I shouldn't be embarrassed, they didn't catch on that a joke even was in their presence. They don't realize anything has happened at all as a matter of fact, and they're certainly not going to go around telling people I told a bad joke because they wouldn't know one if it smacked 'em on the ass. I have never in my life had more awkward, stilted, conversations than I have with a truly, humor-less person. I don't recommend it, if it can be avoided. I've been known to literally run the other way to avoid it, this, I do recommend.

Anyway Readers, it's not just the lack of a sense of humor I don't understand, which admittedly is unfathomable, it's that they are alive at all. Humorless = suicide watch. Let's not forget we live in Michigan. Michigan without a sense of humor....Really? Michigan? It's bad enough with the snow and cold, then you have the yearly percentage of sunlight, which is some piddly number of like 18%. Now to top it all off is the highest percentage of unemployed, highest percentage of people moving to other states, in the top 5 of home foreclosures, top 5 highest gasoline prices....you get the picture. You've got to have a sense of humor to live here, otherwise you better flush the prescription meds and start letting the legs and under-arms go au naturel.

Seriously, You Can't Be Serious

My husband has sleep apnea. He stops breathing frequently while he sleeps. He now has a sleep machine because I insisted he go to the doctor because I was afraid it would be the death of him. Mostly because I would spend my nights slapping, elbowing, and punching him in order to make him breath again. The sleep machine is interesting, it shoots out a constant stream of oxygen through these tubes into a little mask that goes over his nose all the way down over his mouth. My BFF and I call it the Darth Vader mask, though really, because of all the tubes I would say it's more of the Tie Fighter mask. You know, the bad guys in Star Wars that flew around the little ships with octagonal wings and had these masks and all the tubes on them...oh forget it. Anyway, it's definitely like Darth in the fact that there is the noise of the oxygen going through it, which really isn't loud, and then when he talks, it's very muffled, very, well, James Earl Jones. Anyhu, it's all very necessary, very life-saving, very un-sexy.

I think my husband needs to be very clear on a couple of things when he is wearing the mask.

Number one, I have no illicit fantasties of Darth Vader so don't start rubbing my leg while wearing it, I just can't take you seriously. Don't even get me started on the fact that you look like and ICU patient and all those tubes are hooked to a machine on the bedside table which doesn't exactly make you mobile. Secondly, if you turn to face me wearing the machine, expect me to turn as well, with my back to you. Most obvious reason is, again, because I can't take you seriously. Beyond that though, the amazing, wonderful, life-saving machine blows freezing cold air all over my face. Now, I could be completely alone in this, but I certainly don't have any lewd fantasies of Darth Vader, while having freezing cold air blowing in my face with such force that it gags me and I literally can't take a single breath. That's. Not. Hot. At all.