Have you ever seen an episode of Dr.Phil in which it's just dedicated to parents who have kids who have very bad tempers and are possibly psychotic and they go onto the Dr.Phil show thinking that he is going to make it better and give them the skills they need to be better parents but all he actually does is yell at them and point out how shitty of a parent they are and never really gets around to helping them? Or, possibly, an episode of the Tyra Banks show where even if her next guest is someone who was sexually assaulted by a bear in a man suit and then was attacked by an actual bear and before they could even tell their story she is making it about her and how she had a bad hair day or that she forgot to put her tampon in correctly or something?
Yeah, HGTV isn't like that but it is ruining my relationship. I've officially been banned from watching HGTV in our apartment or anywhere really. The Pilot's reason? Watching that channel and seeing happy people who probably don't even deserve homes and should be homeless but instead they are happy and buying homes or re-decorating homes get to have all the fun and it makes me realize that they need to be punched in the stomach.
I want a house. I want to have a home of my own. I'm tired of living in an apartment and watching them get to do what I want so badly is annoying and it turns me into an envious crank pot and I spend hours talking about what I will eventually do when I have my own home.
And even though I know that a house isn't in the works for The Pilot and I for at least another year (or more) it doesn't stop me from wanting one so bad.
So instead I'm left sneaking peeks at HGTV while The Pilot is working and I'm home alone.
When he asks me what I did all day? I lie and say I watched Full House and read War & Peace to the dog.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
4 Signs That I May Potentially Be Dating A Child
- The Pilot's Reasoning as to why he believes the Whale is Different in Each Free Willy Movie: "It's a different whale and they all have the same deformed fin because the whale is sad that they got caught and their fins flop when they are depressed."
- What The Pilot Thought A Bar mitzvah Was: "You mean it's not a Jewish gathering of 13 year olds that get circumcised together?"
- When in Charge of Grocery Shopping for One Night: "I brought home chicken nuggets! They are shaped like stars and planets and stuff."
- In attempts to get me to guess the historical documentary he was watching on Netflix about Auschwitz: "Guess what I'm going to watch? I'll give you a hint. It rhymes with Sandwich."
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Going To Sleep Angry Doesn't Count If I Don't Let You Sleep
I'm a notorious for spending the first two hours of "bedtime" starring at the ceiling and bombarding a weary Pilot with insane questions that make is head hurt so much that I can hear it cracking under the strain. The Pilot, as most Pilot's, have a way of thinking in the Here and Now of Reality and it's hard for them to stretch the imagination into possible things that are pretty much impossible.
My favorite thing to ask in the wee hours of the night is "What if..." and follow it with insanity. Sometimes The Pilot bites but most times he just lays there silently wishing that I'd shut up and fall asleep and despite the fact that he doesn't answer my question I answer it for him.
Last night I decided that we were going to explore what it would be like if we were Billionaires. Luckily this idea intrigued The Pilot enough that he actively participated in this fantasy:
The Pilot: If I were a Billionaire each room in my house would be different. I'd have a trampoline room, a Velcro Room, a Guitar room...
Me: That'd be awesome! I'd have one room where the floor was just packed with a thousand baby bunnies and you'd walk on them because they are the floor.
The Pilot: Wait..what?
Me: And it'd be the Butlers job that every day to replace the dead baby bunnies with live ones so my floor stays an even, fuzzy temperature.
The Pilot: I'd never go in that room.
Me: You don't have permission to go into my baby bunny room.
The Pilot: I'd have Megan Fox as my personal assistant.
Me: I'd have a secret lab in the basement with a thousand Scientists and they will turn Megan Fox's room into a floor that is made of a billion tips of needles filled with AIDS and then she will catch it and die. And then you would be banned from having assistants ever. Except maybe you can have Steve Buscemi. I'd be OK with that.
The Pilot: I don't want to play this game anymore.
Usually these conversations end with him threatening to disappear to sleep on the couch. I then proclaim that any and all blankets and pillows belong in the bedroom and cannot leave into the living room or else they will explode and he gives up his nonsense and reluctantly stays in bed hoping that I don't voice another crazy opinion.
My favorite thing to ask in the wee hours of the night is "What if..." and follow it with insanity. Sometimes The Pilot bites but most times he just lays there silently wishing that I'd shut up and fall asleep and despite the fact that he doesn't answer my question I answer it for him.
Last night I decided that we were going to explore what it would be like if we were Billionaires. Luckily this idea intrigued The Pilot enough that he actively participated in this fantasy:
The Pilot: If I were a Billionaire each room in my house would be different. I'd have a trampoline room, a Velcro Room, a Guitar room...
Me: That'd be awesome! I'd have one room where the floor was just packed with a thousand baby bunnies and you'd walk on them because they are the floor.
The Pilot: Wait..what?
Me: And it'd be the Butlers job that every day to replace the dead baby bunnies with live ones so my floor stays an even, fuzzy temperature.
The Pilot: I'd never go in that room.
Me: You don't have permission to go into my baby bunny room.
The Pilot: I'd have Megan Fox as my personal assistant.
Me: I'd have a secret lab in the basement with a thousand Scientists and they will turn Megan Fox's room into a floor that is made of a billion tips of needles filled with AIDS and then she will catch it and die. And then you would be banned from having assistants ever. Except maybe you can have Steve Buscemi. I'd be OK with that.
The Pilot: I don't want to play this game anymore.
Usually these conversations end with him threatening to disappear to sleep on the couch. I then proclaim that any and all blankets and pillows belong in the bedroom and cannot leave into the living room or else they will explode and he gives up his nonsense and reluctantly stays in bed hoping that I don't voice another crazy opinion.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Why I'm Probably Going To Drive My Boyfriend Crazy
It wouldn't be a far stretch of the mind to openly admit that The Pilot and myself have different ideas of what a good movie is. For The Pilot a good movie includes explosions and boobies and guns and airplanes and somebody getting kicked in the throat.
My idea of a good movie? It's got to play in our DVD player. I have no standards for movies -- zip, zilch, Nada. You just made a movie that involves your kitty cat using the litter box fifty-six times, heck yes I'll watch it! Probably twice because it's a moving picture on my teletube and if that isn't better then sliced corn I don't know what is!
It's because of our different tastes that I believe I'm eventually going to drive The Pilot insane and end up cut up in a body bag hidden in his freezer.
I make him watch bad movies. Movies so bad you can hear the brain melting in your skull. Having a small furry creature shove red hot chili peppers up your butt hole would be better then watching the movies I pick. They are literally that bad.
And he watches them. I'd like to think he watches them with me because he's utterly and totally in love with me but the truth is closer to the fact that I forcefully hold him down and pry his eyelids open so he can watch every amazing second.
This weekend I forced him to watch Mean Girls 2 and Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2. Despite the fact that he proclaimed from high to low that he would never watch BHC 2 I downloaded it. I told him the dog downloaded it and it was our obligation to reward his tech savvy ways with at least watching it.
With much wrestling he agreed.
Twenty minutes into the movie I got mind numbly bored and feigned a potty break. A potty break I never returned from until the movie was ten minutes from the end.
Do you know what I find in the living room upon my return? The Pilot and Dog snuggled up on the couch avidly watching the movie in a sense of nail biting suspense in the hopes everything comes up fine and dandy at the conclusion.
It didn't come over so well when The Pilot realized I had left and that he had, for some reason, allowed himself to get into the movie to the point he couldn't stop watching. Or the fact that I loudly proclaimed that I had ceased to date a man a few months from his thirtieth birthday but a twelve year old girl.
It also didn't help that he proceeded to hide the remotes from me so we couldn't watch anything like this again only to have them found by me twenty minutes before the new episode of Glee aired on Sunday.
My idea of a good movie? It's got to play in our DVD player. I have no standards for movies -- zip, zilch, Nada. You just made a movie that involves your kitty cat using the litter box fifty-six times, heck yes I'll watch it! Probably twice because it's a moving picture on my teletube and if that isn't better then sliced corn I don't know what is!
It's because of our different tastes that I believe I'm eventually going to drive The Pilot insane and end up cut up in a body bag hidden in his freezer.
I make him watch bad movies. Movies so bad you can hear the brain melting in your skull. Having a small furry creature shove red hot chili peppers up your butt hole would be better then watching the movies I pick. They are literally that bad.
And he watches them. I'd like to think he watches them with me because he's utterly and totally in love with me but the truth is closer to the fact that I forcefully hold him down and pry his eyelids open so he can watch every amazing second.
This weekend I forced him to watch Mean Girls 2 and Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2. Despite the fact that he proclaimed from high to low that he would never watch BHC 2 I downloaded it. I told him the dog downloaded it and it was our obligation to reward his tech savvy ways with at least watching it.
With much wrestling he agreed.
Twenty minutes into the movie I got mind numbly bored and feigned a potty break. A potty break I never returned from until the movie was ten minutes from the end.
Do you know what I find in the living room upon my return? The Pilot and Dog snuggled up on the couch avidly watching the movie in a sense of nail biting suspense in the hopes everything comes up fine and dandy at the conclusion.
It didn't come over so well when The Pilot realized I had left and that he had, for some reason, allowed himself to get into the movie to the point he couldn't stop watching. Or the fact that I loudly proclaimed that I had ceased to date a man a few months from his thirtieth birthday but a twelve year old girl.
It also didn't help that he proceeded to hide the remotes from me so we couldn't watch anything like this again only to have them found by me twenty minutes before the new episode of Glee aired on Sunday.
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