I feel the need

I feel the need

Monday, May 22, 2017

Ninja Pig in My Teeth: Not the Weirdest thing Hubby and I Discussed this Weekend.

 This post contains some elements that may be too adult for anyone under the age of 14.

Good evening!

So this weekend was a bit of a revelation for me.  Due to the lousy weather and the fact that our children are now adults and no longer spend time with us, (Unless one of their cars is broken) Hubby and I had plenty of time to spend together and actually...talk.

When you've been together as long as Hubby and I have been, it's a wonder we have anything left to say to each other that don't involve the words "cat litter" or "muscle ache."  The kids are old enough now that we're not monitoring their day to day everything, so we don't talk about them as much. (Sorry kids!) And since we both work from home, we don't have a lot in the way of fun office stories to tell.

You'd think we be bored, but then a weekend like this happens.

It started with the drive to Walmart.  Now, I know you think I'd have given up on Walmart after the "mini-soda" incident, but I have not.  I still like that if I have a weird shopping list there's one place I know I'm going to find everything in one place.  And we had a weird shopping list full of grocery, yard, gift, and storage items.

It was raining HARD on Saturday and, as we pulled out of the the Sunset Family Restaurant parking lot (If you live in Waukesha you need to check out their breakfast menu.  Nothing fancy, but solid food.) Hubby says, "That car behind us...now that's something that pisses me off."

I look in the side mirror and I see a gray vehicle without it's lights on. When it's raining and gray, if you are in a gray vehicle you are all but invisible.  "Yes," says I.  "That's not safe."

"Oh no," says he.  "I mean, not having your lights on, that annoys me.  But it's the other thing he's doing that pisses me off."

I look again. I notice nothing.

"It's not raining that hard." My dear husband of many years glances in the rear view mirror.  "It's not
But is it raining hard enough to set the wipers to 'high?'
raining that hard, and he's got his wipers on full high like it's pouring or something."

I'm going to give you a moment, much like the one I took, to let that sink in.

My unflappable husband, my rock, the one who puts up with all my quirks (although he has been known to privately mock some of them) has an odd thing that wildly annoys him...and I'm just now finding out about it?

How is this possible?

"Let me get this straight," says I.  "You aren't as annoyed by the fact that the car behind us is all but invisible because he's not smart enough to turn on his lights, but the fact that his wipers are going a bit too fast for rain conditions has got you all tied up?"

"Yes.  It's stupid to run your wipers that fast. It's not raining that hard."

"You're as nuts as I am!"  I shout gleefully.  All these years, I thought I was the irrational one with my rage at unmade beds and plates of co mingled Christmas cookies.  Nope, turns out...Hubby's got a thing too!

Now, that was going to be my complete blog...but then the weekend of conversations got weirder.

Sunday evening, a time of day when I normally don't go anywhere or do anything, Hubby convinced me to go out for dinner.  We went to the new Belair Cantina  that just opened in the monstrosity of a shopping center hubby lovingly calls his "new coffee shop."  I've never been to Belair, but the minute I get to any new restaurant, the same thing happens:  I turn into the world's biggest food critic know it all.  It's annoying, really.  I annoy myself, but I can't stop. Blame it on 20 years of watching Food Network, because I can't blame it on any childhood experience or cooking talent of my own.

We get there and we're enjoying our tacos and I'm spouting all kinds of nonsense about "farm to table" produce and "never frozen" meat and "Asian influences" on my taco.

Good lord.

Anyway they seat a couple next to us and we're eating and they're reading the menu and the guy asks us what we're eating. We tell him, and I suggest the vegetarian tacos because, yes, in the middle of my foodie mania, I will order vegetarian just to seem smart.

I'm such a moron sometimes.

Anyway, the woman actually orders the black bean and corn taco (which is very good by the way) but does not order the Ninja Pig taco, which is a sort of sweet pork taco and it's yummy.  (You'll need to know that taco name in a minute.)  The guy opts for the burrito, which is massive.  They dive into their food and we're eating and all is well. 

Then, randomly , the guy looks at me and says, "Greatest movie of the 80's?"

Oh it's on!

I answered, "Breakfast Club" as did hubby and the couple agreed. This began a conversation about movies so in depth that the waitress offered to push our tables together.  We declined, but kept talking and then the subject of Bob and Brian, my favorite morning radio show came up and turns out, the wife listens to B and B as well so we shared stories about that. It was so fun ...and so weird, because when we're out we don't generally become besties with the people next to us.  

During our talk, I mentioned Hubby and I had been together for almost 30 years. The man looked at me and laughed and said, "And you still like each other?"

We all laughed, but it is funny to think about...in this day and age, when relationships fall apart at a blink, Hubby and I have managed to stay together and stay best friends.

Oh, oops. Almost got mushy there.  

Upon leaving the restaurant, Hubby and I stopped at the local liquor store to pick up a six pack of the beer he'd tried at dinner. This is a new hobby for Hubby.  (A hubby hobby. Who else is laughing?)  I don't mind because that just leaves more wine for me!  (We're at a delicate balance in the fridge right now.  It's getting very close to being more alcoholic beverages in there than anything else.  Is that a problem?)

On the way out of the store I mentioned that he should remind me to floss as soon as we got home because, "I have a chunk of Ninja Pig in my teeth."

"That's a blog title," says he.

And it should have been.


On the way home, we passed by a little four resident apartment building we've long called "The Gates of Hell."  (If you live in Waukesha, it's on the part of East Moreland that's 25 MPH, but everyone goes 40.  If you live in town, you know what I'm talking about.)  Outside the building was a recliner, sitting on the curb for anyone to take.

"Hey, we could pick that up."  I suggest this because we've been thinking about getting a recliner.

"I'm not taking anything that came from in front of the gates of hell," Hubby says.  "You know someone died in that chair."

"Someone was murdered in that chair."

"Right. And I don't want any murder death chair in my house."

This is where it gets nuts.  "And you just know someone overdosed on heroin in that chair.  So that makes it a murder, death, heroin suicide chair."

"And I still don't want it in my house," says he.

"Oh, but YOU KNOW someone did some kind of sex fetish thing in that chair."  (See, you should never allow a writer to let an idea start rolling downhill in her brain.  Things go really wrong quickly.)

"So then it's a death-murder-heroin-suicide-sex-fetish chair. And I STILL don't want it in my house!"

We stop at a light and I have a brilliant idea!  "That's a blog title!"\

Now hubby, in spite of his thing about windshield wipers, is still the more logical of the two of us.  "No, you can't," says he.  "You have kids who read your blog. You can't be putting up a title about a death-murder-heroin-suicide-sex-fetish chair at the gates of Hell."

He's right. Of course he's right.

So I'll just put it in my blog....and put a warning at the top... and let you people sort it out!

And yes, when we got home, I did floss out the Ninja Pig.

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