This is one of my favorite pictures ever. I mislabeled it 2004 it’s actually from 2003.

This was a little over a year after we got together and Jase’s first trip up to MS with me to meet my extended family.  We had JUST moved in together and he was getting the hang of the “Daddy” stuff.

A snot nose kid jumped in with both feet to help me raise 3 snot nosed kids.

I might have lost my mind lately but I have not lost my love for this amazing man.

It’s been 60 days since I have wrapped my lips around the end of a cigarette.

60 days of taking little blue pills that don’t cause erections.

60 days of eating non-stop and gaining about 15 pounds.

60 days of irrational fears surfacing either due to the meds I am taking to quit or the quitting itself.

60 days of waiting for this damn necklace to come in.

Has the 60 days of hell been worth it?

YOU DAMN STRAIGHT.

I would not recommend any man take this as a how-to guide on what to say to your wife.

I woke up this morning and called Jase to come lay down with me as is our usual weekend ritual. The kids were at their dads so it was just us, all alone.

He came in and began tickling my back and talking to me. Just idle chit chat nothing of note. That all changed after I got up, went to do my morning routine, then came back to bed sans panties. He kept trying to put the moves on me and I would bat him away playfully as I clawed my way towards total consciousness.

He turns to me and says, “Oh come on, honey! You coming back to bed without panties is like..um.. flashing a Vacancy sign!” All the while his hands are making flashing motions.

Here’s the thing about weekends without the kids. For some reason it turns into a total giggle fest for me. Jase is funny as hell and I get so tickled that I cannot stop laughing.

“VACANCY?! Am I a hotel that drifters can check in and out of?! Am I an hourly rate hotel or am I the freaking Ritz?!” I roared trying to talk through the peals of laughter rumbling from deep within my chest. It was over…. He had turned on my giggle box and there was no turning back.

Ever see a guy try to back peddle out of a sticky situation. Yes, bless his heart he tried. For about 15 mins he tried to ensure the morning sex that was just within his reach remained on the table. He was desperate to seal the deal.

(He is not a man wandering the desert by any means, he is however an overachiever)

Problem was I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to “negotiate” a treaty. My giggle fit was epic. He starts laughing and then we start talking a bunch of nonsense. Mostly jokes to go with the shit we were already laughing about.

Finally Jase burst out with, “Shut the hell up and let me have sex with you!!” I stopped laughing, looked at him and his crinkled, smiling eyes and promptly laughed so hard in his face I think I had a mini stroke. I couldn’t see, tears rolled off my cheeks, and my side has a permanent stitch in it. I think he laughed just as hard but I couldn’t tell you, I was too busy trying to breathe.

Eventually we both calmed down but for the rest of the day we’d  look at each other and giggle.

And for those of you that may be curious….

I was wracking my brain trying to figure out what my first post on my wonderful wife’s blog should be about when it finally dawned on me: Tell a story!!!  You see, back in the days when I actually did things of note*, I loved to tell people the stories of my (sometimes slightly embellished) adventures.  It was a way to re-capture old memories and if I could make someone laugh at the same time, it was a win-win.  So sit down, grab a snack, and let’s jump in the way-back machine to an ancient and mysterious time called 1999…

(Please note, names have not been changed, because no one in the story is innocent, however some of the events may have been changed because I was wasted and this was 11 years ago.)

I was invited by my good friend of many years, Ricki, to go to Savannah for St. Patty’s Day with him and some of his friends from college.  I met up with Ricki and his friends that were going with us: George, Eartle, and Claire.  I had met them all before at various parties thrown by Ricki’s frat, so no introductions were necessary and all five of us piled into one car and took off towards Savannah.

The drive up was fairly uneventful and we checked in to our hotel about 20 minutes outside of Savannah.  While at the hotel, everyone changed into their “holiday” clothes, which for most of us constituted a green shirt.  I say most of us for a reason, though.  You see, George had decided to be a little more festive than the rest of us.  He had gone to a thrift shop and put together a leprechaun costume!  His costume included some too-tight green pants, a white shirt, a hat of some sort, and of course a lovely green sports coat that turned out to be about two sizes too small for him.  When fully dressed, he looked kind of like Bruce Banner right before his pants and shirt would have ripped.  It was hilarious.

Now, some of you may have been insane enough to take this trip yourselves.  For those of you who haven’t, St. Patty’s Day is somewhat of a big deal in Savannah.  Though I have never been in New Orleans at the appropriate time of year, I would liken it to Mardi Gras.  It is a very large street party with WAY too many people.  It is the sort of thing that in your youth sounds like fun, and in your not-so-youth sounds like a nightmare.

After we arrived, parked, and walked forever to the event, we found it already overflowing with people.  Everywhere the eye could see were strangers in various stages of inebriation wandering aimlessly up and down the street.  In short order, we decided to get our first drinks of the evening.  There were several street vendors up and down the designated party area selling beer… and only beer… I hate beer.  This posed a problem for no one else in the group, however, and they happily got in line for their warm glasses of frothy piss.  I, meanwhile, had become considerably less enthusiastic about the entire venture.

After the others stood in the ridiculously long line to get their horribly overpriced swill, we began walking down the street.  Now, I am not at all familiar with the geography of Savannah, but as I remember it, their St. Patty’s Day celebration is on some sort of main street in some sort of downtown area next to some kind of body of water.  On this main street, there happen to be bars in which I assumed I could get a drink more to my liking.  The problem was finding some way to get into one of these bars.   They were completely packed!  When I say packed, I mean that people were spilling out into the streets trying to get into them.  Apparently, I was not the only one who didn’t care for beer.

While we were walking, we did notice that in front of some of the bars were some waitresses selling shots.  “Shots!” I thought.  “That, I can do!”  If only St. Patrick were that kind.  The only shots available were Jagermeister… I hate Jager.  Again, some of my compatriots were not so picky, and began downing shots.  I decided to bite the licorice bullet and managed to choke down one or two myself.  Now that everyone besides myself had managed to get a decent buzz, we continued our aimless trek.

On our travels we came across some young women and their boyfriends on a balcony and a horde of young men on the street below.  Expecting to see something of note, we stopped to watch.  The general feeling was that perhaps these young ladies had been teasing this crowd for a while.  The men on the street were yelling things at the girls and the girls had their hands on their blouse bottoms, slowly pulling them up as if they were about to flash the crowd.  At that moment I heard Eartle shout up at the women, “No one wants to see your fat stomach, you ugly cow!”

I stared at Eartle, aghast, and my other three friends did the same.  As would likely be expected, the boyfriends on the balcony don’t appreciate Eartle’s outburst.  In no time at all a rather vehement argument has begun between Eartle and the men on the balcony.  Now, Eartle is by no means small.  He is well over six feet and very muscular.  However, the rest of us managed to wrestle him away from the balcony before it could escalate into a brawl.  This was the first indication that the night might turn out to be noteworthy.

To Be Continued…..

Stay tuned for my accidental trip into the gay bar in search of real booze……

*Heather’s note: Screw you, Jase!!!

Just a few Public Service Announcements (AKA What I’m doing on FaceBook) My parents aren’t on FB so I am giving them a taste of what they are missing.

Note to self: Do not try to Veet your eyebrows at 3am and after taking an Ambien. Live and learn.

I like to wear my watch on the “wrong” wrist so that if I die it’ll fuck with the minds of the CSI team. She was left handed! No, she was right handed! No, Grrrrrrrr!

(You know on CSI when it’s a simple car crash and then someone on the team sees a picture of the victim and is all like “She’s right handed! Her watch is on the right wrist! She was murdered and redressed!”)

To save you time here is every Ghost Whisperer ever made. “He/She killed me. It’s his/her/their fault I’m dead.” *Sad story where no one is at fault* “See, it’s all been one big misunderstanding. He/She has crossed over now but they wanted me to tell you they love you.” The End.

Tell Jase I need chocolate cake with strawberries on it before I choke the shit out of him.

(Was having a bad Quitter moment. I was half joking!)

Why the fuck did I wake up at 8am?!?! This needs to be investigated!

(If I wake up before 10am it’s a minor miracle!)

First emotional breakdown. 3 days in. All because Becca said “Again?” When I served spagetti tonight. There’s no crying in cooking!!!

To bring you more crap that will rot your brain!

Yay my shows are back with new episodes! Stupid holidays messing with my viewing pleasure.

Becca is chasing Kyle around the house trying to pry the last Mo’Mint out of his grubby little hands.This could get UGLY. It’s damn fun to watch, though.

My postcards had a slight hiccup. Apparently I am not photo edit savvy enough to know what resolution I should be sending them. I am trying my hardest to get it right so I can continue my journey into your home! So more time for people to sign up! I’ve already found a new blog to read because of this!

Please send all your sticky thoughts to Miracle in the Making. She’s on the verge of finding out if this Clomid cycle worked. Please let it have worked. Please,please, please!

I joined Kristin’s Book Challenge and pledged to read 50 books this year. I put a bookshelf on my side bar so I can keep track of what I’ve read. Already 3 books in YAY! I’m just happy that any book qualifies and it doesn’t have to be Shakespeare or any “deep thought” stuff. I like my fluff!

I’m not officially on a diet but I am trying to lose weight and stop eating so much candy and snack items. Next up, cutting down on my Coke intake. My ulcer will thank me. Don’t worry no tofu or bean sprouts for me in the near future.

I have become an Apples to Apples addict. I make Jase and the kids play with me for hours. I blame Aunt Debi for introducing me to this game. I’ve bought the Party Crate and the A2A Junior game. Now I downloaded the online version. Addict!

Once upon a time Heather wanted a hedgehog more than anything in the world. She did tons of research and tried to convince her husband that bringing in a new pet  into a  house that already had 3 cats was a good idea. VETOED!

Fast forward 2 years to the preset day. We have one very, and I do mean VERY, chill cat. The kids are old enough to be super gentle with such a tiny creature. Soooooooo…….

Guess what I am getting for Christmas?!!?!!?!?!

Here’s a hint….

Here is where I need your help.

If it’s a girl I will name her Popple… because…duh!

Jase has already vetoed Sonic for a boy so I need YOUR help!!!! I need names and I need them NOW!

The candy has been sorted and most of it eaten. Jase and I took our Trick or Treat Toll. We get first pick out of their loot as payment for walking up and down the streets carrying their crap. Sadly, we didn’t get pictures as I forgot the camera. Just look at last years pic because it’s basically how they looked this year. Tyson’s Haunted House rocked this year and Sheldon will never look at black spandex again without shuddering. This is him in his gimp suit.*

Sheldon hid in various corners as people came into the partitioned off porch area to get to the candy bowl. You really couldn’t tell him from the wall until he came up and tried to hug you. We were two blocks away and still heard the screams. It was awesome. I can’t wait until next year!

*Photo is stolen from Tyson’s FB page.