Sunday, August 22, 2010

Who killed Laura Palmer?

NOTE:  My husband started reading one of my posts over my shoulder the other day and decided he didn't like me using his first name in this blog.  He said, "Don't you call yourself 'the fish'?"  (I don't, I use my first name.) "So why don't you call me, like, I dunno, the pterodactyl."  To which I promptly responded with, "Ok, yes, yes I will."  To which, he winced and said, "Oh shit."  So from henceforth my husband will be referred to as pterodactyl.....well, at least for the next couple weeks.

I think I have previously mentioned how exhausting pterodactyl's work schedule is.  It sucks, it really does.  Out of every month, he has two legit weekends off.  And by that I mean, not only are his days off actually on Sat and Sun, they are also days where his primary goal isn't to shift his sleep cycle to accommodate his next rotation.  So every couple weeks, like clockwork, two days before his first weekend off, he gets exuberant.  There really is not other word for it.  It is just like the most ornery, sugar coated, high-as-a-kite optimism one could ever have.  You could probably punch pterodactyl square in the mouth on that one Thursday every month and he would thank you, hug you, and tell you how good it feels to be alive.  It's ridiculous.  

As a result, he takes all this joy out on me.  Which, if that meant he cleaned the house, cooked me dinner, learned various DIY projects, developed a 12-step plan for world peace, or found a cure for diabetes....that would be super.  Instead, like a kid that pulls the hair of the girl he has a crush on, he develops the quickest and most efficient ways to get under my skin.  This past week, that included trying to scare me.  (It should be noted, I grew up with a father who was a notorious prankster as a child, and would frequently jump out from behind open doors to scare me when I was about 3 years old.  To this day, when coming home late in the evening, I steal a peek in that small crevice between the door and the hinge to make sure no one is waiting for me......I do not scare easy.) 

So let me paint a scene for you.......

On Thursday I came home late in the evening, fairly-zened out after yoga.  We eat dinner and I want to hit the rack early.  As per usual Nick beelines it upstairs while I buzz around playing slave to what constitutes my late night, borderline ADD and OCD.  (Is the stove off?  Where are my glasses?  Did the dog go out?  Is there water in the Brita filter?  Is there still wet laundry in the washer?)  After running around the main floor of the house for 10 minutes I round up the 2 cats and one dog to make our way upstairs.  I walk into our bedroom and out of the corner of my eye I see pterodactyl, standing stalk still in the corner behind a dresser, eyes like that of a deer caught in headlights, eating a drumstick ice cream cone.  After quickly checking over my shoulder to make sure there were no red curtains or little people speaking backwards, I critically looked at him, "What the hell?  It's like a freaking David Lynch film in here."

"I was gonna try and scare you....."

*sigh*  He's going to have to try harder than that.


  1. I think that calls for pay back. HA!

  2. ahh this made me actually laugh out loud! ha ha!

  3. Just stopped by from 20SB.

    Your husband (ahem, pterodactyl) sounds hilarious.

    I love that he was eating a drumstick, as if that would help??

    -Elizabeth @