The "no gym" stretch

I got out of going to the gym for a significantly large amount of consecutive days. It was a lot of "hey Ben! Look at this!" Or "hey Ben! I made a gourmet dinner!" Or "Look at me dance with this cat! Let's watch Netflix!"

Now he's on to my little scam. So we are going to the god-awful gym tonight. No amount of my fine tuned distracting techniques will deter his stubborn buns from going and guilt tripping me along. The gym is a place where linguine-armed pizza-lovers like myself tend to steer clear of... but the Mister wants to go, so fine. Besides, I could use a 15 minute tanning session.

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Last night, we walked down the riverwalk to Bar Louie for dollar burgers. After we sat down, I noticed a chair facing a dark corner. I figured it was the naughty chair and proceeded to have a hearty, solo laugh at such an absurd thought while Ben, I assume, was looking up symptoms of lunacy on WedMD.

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When I woke up this morning (to the sound of ducks on the river!), I immediately thought "whaaat the hell was I dreaming." During this thinking dialogue with myself, Ben walked into the bedroom and told me about how he dreamt he was being chased by zombies. I had dreamt that a zombie was lumbering toward me before I got pissed and betch-slapped it.

The moral of that story is that we must have fallen asleep with the television on.

Or the flesh-eating undead are on their way. And that's disgusting.


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xoxo, b

Just because

Tonight, I received a dozen roses.....just because.

I think it's because I'm going to kick his bum in our annual NCAA bracket showdown, and he wants to be sure I take my trash talking easy on him.

Otherwise, he did something/wants something/thought something/or is just banking husband points for when he does do/want/ or come up with something. Or maybe they really are "just because." He can be sweet like that.

The jury is still out folks.

xoxo, b

Crazy eyes

My cats are drug users. Thy have all the tell-tale signs; hallucinations, feelings of grandeur (Nicole is practicing her Olympic-worthy soccer skills), zoning out and babbling (Paris), running into walls, and general crazy in their eyes.

I know whatsup.

Besides, I was the one to give them all this kitty catnip.



xoxo, b

Giraffe hotel

Omg. A hotel with giraffes.


I want to go to there. Bucket listed.


xoxo, b

It's Miller Time

Went on the Miller Tour last week or something like that. First off, alright tour, but after going on the Lakefront and Milwaukee Brewery tours....not as awesome. But free beer is free beer.

Ben, Jess and I took the tour, and then wrote out a couple postcards. And by a couple I mean everyone and my mom will be receiving one.

After finishing our literary works of art in postcard form, we tried to extended-borrow the cool tasting glasses. Those employees are right on top of their shhht though, and foiled our plans.

Psshh, whatevs.

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Last Thursday, I finally went to Oak with Sista Branners and her roommates. They've been asking me for weeks. So I made an appearance and we danced and danced and all was right in the world. And I even got some stunning, vivid yellow sunglasses. I will be sporting them to tailgate at a Brewer's game I suppose.

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Went to the Dustin Lynch concert a few days back with a couple of friends. Concert was good. Girls at the concert were horrid. It's taking a solid chunk of self-control (of which I have limited amounts to be using up so early in the day) to not go all mean girl on their lumpy buns. Great concert though!

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It was Ben's turn to make dinner last night. He slapped some chicken boobs in the frying pan and wandered away...but that's not the point....

Paris & Nicole beg like dogs sometimes, so Ben shared some of his dinner. But P&N went into fancy pants mode and didn't want chicken fat off the floor. That's when I heard Ben reprimanding the cats: "Eat your chicken! There are starving kittens in China!!"

It was immediately following this outburst that he requested banana bread...because 'he likes banana bread and when he was little, that's what he always thought his wife would do for him. So I should be a good housewife and do that because I love him, riiiiight?' Based on what I know about housewives from the media, they don't work, drink wine, and are desperate.

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In unrelated news, I have the day off today. I'm rigorously investigating the pros/cons of wearing pants.

And Google-ing how to make banana bread.

xoxo, b