Sorry sister. This had to be done.

Alright alright. It's been long enough. This blog needs a pick-me-up. And I have just the thing.

Before we get into the nitty-gritty, I have to confess the story I'm about to divulge isn't actually my story. And my husband gets mad at me when I tell his stories, which I insist on doing because I make them better and funnier than the way they happened in real life. This isn't my husband's story either, but the point is, I don't mind telling other people's stories as if they're my own. I guess you could call me a story-monger. I collect the good ones every where I go, pocket them for the right time and then I share the wealth with the poor.

So prepare yourself for a goodie. A goodie out of the life of this beauty:

My elder sister. We won't disclose her name in order to protect her identity. But we'll call her... Bethezda. The thing is, again, it's a crying shame when people have real good self-deprecating stories but don't write a blog. Bethezda. Bethezda has great stories but refuses to have a blog. How will her grandchildren know about the life and times of the great Bethezda? How will these stories be remembered if not written down? So, her little sisters, Vanessa and myself, decided it was high time to start sharin' some of her goodies. She's been way too selfish way too long. Plus, she was the hot older high school sister that all of my guy friends ogled over while I was going through my jr. high awkwardness. I actually remember telling one such guy friend, pathetically, painfully and coyly, that, Ya know... people say I look like her... to which he furrowed his brow and promptly responded, Nahhhh. I'm actually FB friends now with this individual, I think I'll go send him a scathing message after this. Point is, they ogled for a lot of years. So let's be honest, she's had this coming to her. Plus, she doesn't curl her eyelashes. Look again. Never had to use an eye lash curler in her life. And never had braces. Okay none of the kids in our family had to have braces (thank you mother), but she has truly flawless teeth. The kind that only are supposed to come with years of painful bracing. The kind that belong in toothpaste commercials, and you look at and go, "Oh yeah, like those are real." Well, they are. So she deserves this post. Oh sissy I'm only kidding! But not at all. This is a self-deprecating blog. And a sister-deprecating blog, too.

There she was, sitting as a freshman at BYU-Hawaii in her astronomy class. The world was hers. And she knew it. But not in an arrogant way. Just in a bright-eyed, life-loving way, hi-fiving every one who crossed her path on campus. So there she sat with a slew of other students, listening intently to her professor expound about the cosmos. Until the planet Uranus came up. Now, the number of jokes people have made surrounding the planet uranus over the history of time are innumerable. They're inescapable once the subject of the solar system is breeched. I will say, they're normally made my males. So this one came as a surprise to all of us. But as you'll see, poor little Bethezda just didn't know any better. She. just. didn't. know.

And what I mean is that she just didn't know what the word anus actually refers to. (If you yourself are not sure of its biological definition, take a moment to look it up in a reputable dictionary. Don't just google search it though, I warn, go to a dictionary! Or a human anatomy book. Okay fine, go here if you don't know. My goodness.) So, back to Bethezda, she in her splendor of innocent youth, supposed the word to be interchangeable for tushie, keester, hind quarters, or backside. She supposed it to be just another word for "rear end" in general. So when the planet came up, she thought to herself, I'm gonna make a joke now. And it's gonna be a hit! Perhaps she went back and forth about it a bit in her mind, until finally building up the confidence to take the plunge and announce this joke to her professor and fellow classmates. The joke went a little something like this as the planet of Uranus and its properties were being discussed, Ahem:

"I don't know about your anus! but mine is HUGE! haha!"

Crickets chirped. Expressions of disgust and confusion filled the faces of the entire class and the professor. And an audible, "Ew," was said to have immediately followed. Bethezda, laughing at her joke, desperately gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up around to her peers, and when that didn't work, she even reached out to hi-five the boy sitting next to her, only to have him shake his head in silence and repugnance and turn away.

The professor tried to continue on with the class. But thoughts of Bethezda's larger than life anus filled the room and clouded the minds of all present, until the clock mercifully released those held captive in that room from that shameful hour.

Bethezda gathered her books into her bag, feeling all down-trodden and discouraged at the way her joke had gone over, but she still didn't know why. WHY?? she thought to herself. She might have been screaming that WHYYYYY??? in her head. Until a kind soul gently pulled her aside while exiting the room and explained what the word anus means.

Words could never describe the horror and shame that followed. Poor, poor Bethezda.

You'll be happy to hear that Bethezda has recovered splendidly from that horrific event. She since married a fine lad and birthed 4 strapping children. But she'll never forget, no, not one of us will ever forget, the misunderstanding that took place on a warm day in Hawaii of her freshman year of college.

P.S. You can imagine my horror as her little sister hearing this story when she came back home for summer break, only to find that the confusion surrounding the definition of this word is not uncommon. Didn't people take human anatomy!? Because you see, that very summer I was dating a new boy. He was sweet and good and wholesome. And a gentleman. And as we laid out on our trampoline on a warm summer night looking at the stars, the following conversation ensued: Him: So, what's your favorite planet? Me: (wondering where this could be going and who honestly claims a favorite planet.) Umm I don't know what's yours? Him: My favorite's Uranus, it's really nice. (followed by flirty little chuckle).

And there I lay. Jaw-dropped. Disturbed and disgusted. And astounded that he had made the very same mistake as my dear sister. Because he was too much of a gentleman to really have meant what he said. He simply could not have known. And I didn't have the heart to tell him what in reality he was saying. I mean, he hadn't even kissed me yet. We were just getting to know each other. How could I?

Moral of this story, learn your human anatomy. Just the basics will do. Don't go makin' jokes about body parts unless you're sure what they mean. Another moral, never be prettier than your awkward younger 14-year old sister, especially if she has Ace Ventura hair. It will come back to bite you on the... butt.

You Think You're Better Than Me?

I've spent a good portion of my life in a state of sleep deprivation. When I was young and single (I realize I am only 26, but trust me when I say, in all ways other than chronological age, I am a complete geezer) my lack of sleep was a voluntarily thing. Mostly because I was cool and had too many fun things to do with my time to bother with sleeping. But, as I've gotten older and more lame in general, my relationship with sleep has become more of a star-crossed-lover sort of thing. As in, sleep is my forbidden lover. And I want it real bad. And it's kept just beyond the reach of my anguished fingertips under the tyrannical rule of one sadistic Queen Baby Eve. (There's an uprising headed your way, Baby Eve. Mark my words. This milk cow won't take your abuse forever!)

In general, I do pretty well on little sleep. I attribute this to my superior mental fortitude... far more superior than, say, I don't know, my husband's, who one time had a dream that he kept getting woken up at night and had to take a nap at just the thought of it. Occasionally, though, my sleep deprivation gets the best of me and becomes so desperate, so all-encompassing that my primal instincts completely consume me and I become a reckless, depraved, cat-napper.

As of today, my sleep deprivation manifests itself in my simply laying face-down in the carpet, while Leah jumps onto my back from off of the couch and Eve dread-locks my hair with drool and enthusiastic mangling. This method, while mildly disturbing due to its carcass-and-vulture like appearance, is contained to the safety of my living room, and it's potential consequences aren't necessarily far reaching. This, however, has not always been the case.

My junior year of high school was particularly invigorating in that I had a boyfriend who liked to talk on the phone all night long. Literally, all night. Like, I sometimes got off the phone with him just before getting ready for school. We spent a good majority of our conversations in awkward silence, peppered with, "So what do you want to talk about?" And then we'd talk about how much we liked each other. And then there'd be some more silence. It was all very dramatic. And creepy. Mostly just creepy. But nonetheless, creepyallnightlametalking = depraved cat-napper.

At the time I had a job after school filing paperwork and other such nonsense at the Apple Athletic Club. I worked until around 8:00PM each night, so this meant from about 5:00PM on, I worked in the accounting office all by myself. At about the same time every day, this one particular guy, we'll call him Chris, who worked out at the club would stop by to see me. He was actually Meradith's ex-boyfriend, who, apparently wanted to keep it in the family, and set his sights on me after she dumped him.

Anyway, on this particular evening, I was coming off of a creepy phone all-nighter and was dog-bobbing away at my desk, being a complete idiot and not getting anything done. SO, I thought it would be a good idea to turn off the lights in my office, lock the door, and take a little snooze. In my sleepy psychosis, I thought everyone would think I had just headed home for the evening and leave me in peace to catch up some much needed z's. Turns out I underestimated Chris's determination.... because it didn't take long before I was awakened by the sound of the door handle shaking...

I could see it was Chris through the small, filmed window on the office door, but I was frozen in fear. What the crap do I do? I can't open the door. He'll wonder why I'm sitting here in the dark like a weirdy. I'll just ignore him.

But apparently he had sniffed me out because he started banging on the door and calling my name! What the hail is going on here?!

I had no other choice but to commit to ignoring him. I was in too deep. I sat there trembling at my desk, praying for him to leave before he brought unwanted attention to my sleeping quarters.

And then the unthinkable happened. In horror, I watched as he slipped his club card through the door frame and start trying to slip the lock.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I couldn't believe what was happening. I couldn't let him pick the lock and find me sitting there in the dark, watching it all go down. How did he know I was there? How was this happening? How is it possible that he is breaking and entering my office right now? I rushed to the door and flung it open. And Chris nearly crapped his pants.

We both stood there for a second in a sort of awkward whatthehelljusthappenedhere limbo and then he said, "Why are you sitting in the dark?" And I said, "Why were you just trying to break into my office?" And then he said, "I knew you were in there, I saw your car in the parking lot." And because I didn't want him to probe any further into what I was doing, I had to accept it and act like it was normal. And I could tell he didn't want to answer any more questions about his crazy lock picking so he let the whole sitting in the dark thing go, too. And we just sat there for a while feeling all vulnerable and suspicious.

And the more I've thought about it over the years, the more bat-shiz-crazy it seems. Mostly just the Chris trying to break in part.

I'll think I'll look him up and ask him about it.

Now don't you worry. This wasn't the only time during my working life that I attempted a during business hours snooze. Because only supremely special people venture into the world of work-napping. And I'm one special gal. And if you're lucky, someday I'll tell you about the time when I was the Director of Human Resources at a mortgage company in San Francisco and I tried to curl up into the fetal position and go to sleep under my desk while I was pregnant with the Turkey Sub. And the walls of my office may or may not have been glass...

A few reasons my baby sister is probably better than yours

Today happens to be a very special day. Very special indeed. It's Vanessa's 26th birthday! And being that we co-author this blog together and she is the only person in the family whom I've literally known her entire life... and the fact that my two sisters are my lifeblood in this life (is that redundant?) ... I thought I'd write a little something to honor her memory. Well, she's alive so we'll honor her memory... and we'll honor her present day as well.

I remember the day perfectly. Vanessa and I are number 4 and 5 in the birth order (Vanessa being the baby of the family) and I'd been waiting for the day of her arrival on pins and needles. While I was just a wee lass of 20 months old, I asked mom if I could be in the delivery room when she gave birth. And when it was time to push the doctor actually stepped aside and asked me if I wanted to catch her. Then I cut the umbilical cord, and being the fact that this was the olden days and health regulations weren't quite as strict as they are now... I immediately busted out a cuban cigar and started puffin' that stogie away. I handed them out to everyone in that room and we all had a celebratory smoke together. Then I got out a little Mary Jane, and we smoked a bit of that, too. Just kidding. I mean just about the Mary Jane part. Everything else is true.

Just in case you're actually wondering, none of that happened. (I've had family members believe less credible things on the blog, so I have to clarify). My first memory of Vanessa in reality, is watching her take her diaper off and relieve herself in a bad way on our orange shag carpet. I started screaming for my mom. I knew she'd be in the doghouse for days. Poor little Nessa, didn't know a thing about the world. Go for the hardwood next time Nessa, NOT the orange shag carpet.

• Okay. First of all, Vanessa is the best listener in the world. And the best friend. If you know her personally, you know this is the truth. If you don't, you're missin' out big time. There's nothing I can really even write about to do this fact justice, but it's just the plain and simple truth. She is simply the best friend/listener/counselor/therapist/shoulder-to-cry-on/confidant on earth.

• She will do just about anything to avoid awkward conflict. Not in a wussy kind of way, but in a keeping the peace kind of way. I remember one time when we were both in college I was at her apartment and she very casually (actually she was kindof laughing) told me that her roommate had come home with groceries and thrown a bunch of Vanessa's groceries away that were already in the fridge and freezer in order to make room for her own. (This was one of several offenses perpetrated by this particular roommate). And I just couldn't take it any more. I started getting all shaky and slightly convulsive and burst into rage-filled tears. And all the sudden got an Italian accent, YA KNOW WHAT JOEY?! LEMME TELLYA SOMETHIN'. NOBODY MESSES WITH MY SISTA... And she got all panicky by my response because she knew more than anything I was on my way to have an awkward confrontation with said roommate. It's not that big of a deal!! Just sit back down! You're not saying anything to her!! You'll only make it worse! She and I ended up getting into a pretty bad fist fight at that time, because she was keeping me from raging on her roommate. haha. Seriously though, I've had several older-sister-bear moments throughout our lives and she's always the one telling me to knock it off and cool it. She's like Bob Marley in that way. If they ever do a movie on her life, they'll have reggae music playing in the background at all times. Specifically Three Little Birds.

• Vanessa is very forgiving of shortcomings. She has always forgiven me for being a mean sister when I was. I remember being little and just punching her in the stomach for no good reason. Just because I wanted to. I remember one time swinging around a baseball bat in the back yard and accidentally letting go of it and it flung over and pinged her right in the head. It really was an accident. But nobody believed me. Not my dad, not Vanessa. Even believing it was malicious and intentional, we were playing together again within minutes. Then I did it again, this time on purpose. Just kidding.

• Vanessa makes me laugh harder than anyone on the planet. Like, the kind of laughing that makes you go into bodily convulsions and contorts your face and makes you make strange noises amidst the "laughter" that doesn't remotely resemble a laugh; ie snorts, wheezes, hiccups, gasps, grunts, high-pitched screeches.

• When I was leaving on my religious mission, the prospect of us being out of contact besides emails and letters for 18 months was revolting to us both. As missionaries when you're heading to a foreign country, you spend 9 weeks in what's called the MTC (missionary training center) before going to your foreign country. Well, they used to invite family to come and see their missionaries off at the airport but they did away with that when they heightened airport security. But nothing could hold Nessa back from her sister. I spotted her parked in her little purple mazda while we were loading onto the bus headed up to the SLC airport. And then for the 45 minute drive, I watched her out of the back bus window in amazement as she bobbed and weaved out of traffic to keep up with the bus. It was a chase scene out of a James Bond movie, really. And she drove a few vehicles off the road in the process. I may have seen her flashing obscene signs out of her window. Oh the joy of seeing her and hugging her as I was about to leave for South America! Oh the bliss! We bawled in each others arms for a good solid 15 minutes.

Look at my wee little missionary bob cut and my wee little glasses and turtleneck. And look at that super model little sissy.

• Then, after being kept apart for a year and a half, the very night we were reunited, we got into a big fight. Because we are sisters and we can, and it doesn't damage anything. For the record, the fight was over her using a matchbox and a few bobby pins to whittle her way into the lock on my storage unit with all of my loot inside the minute I left the country. Then, she happily took my entire CD collection (which at the time was sacred to me) and dispersed them all out amongst many friends of hers. (Still haven't retrieved most of them). It was a week before her wedding (so she deserved a little slack) and I made her drive to the house of an ex-boyfriend or two to collect. I was socially awkward at the time, having been a missionary for the previous several months, so I would accompany her to the door, and just stand there and stare at them all, as they searched through their crap trying to locate my CDs. Veins were bulging out of my forehead and lips were curled. So, the thing that makes Nessa truly remarkable in this paragraph is mostly her McGyver-like resourcefulness. Remember the part about whittling into my lock with a matchbox and a few bobby pins? Yes. That part.

• She is an outstanding text conversationalist. For example, on our way caravanning from Chicago to Milwaukee up to Kopp's frozen custard (One of the many sources of inspiration for Coney's Frozen Custard):

1:50 PM. Nessa: I keep getting way excited thinking I'm gonna be eating a peanut butter burst in the next little bit! But then I remember we ain't goin ta Coneys! And then I slap Sam in the face!

1:52 PM Are you pooping your pants at the narrowness of these lanes?!

1:53 PM Right when I texted you that the lanes widened up so shut your mouth!

*Another occasion, when I obviously had newly nursing newby:

Me: Imon barf. Did you know that lanolin is a yellow waxy substance secreted by the sebaceous glands of wool-bearing animals?? Just looked it up.

Nessa: What? I'll kill yew if I ever get another text like that again! What is lanolin?

Me: Freaking nipple ointment! Lansinoh lanolin?! Didn't you ever use it when you were first nursing Leah?

Nessa: Oh hahaha! I was so confused! I forgot! I was just like, "Whaaaatt?" Anyway, um that's disgusting! But have you ever felt a sheep when it hasn't been sheared? It's super greasy. Maybe that's the lanolin.

Me: I'm sure it is! It's a water proofing agent! Ugh, just the fact that it's "secreted" by glands on a sheep. Barf! But I'll still rub it on mahself. Every day. P.S. When did you rub down a non-sheared sheep?

If you don't have her cell phone number, you should get it. Just so you can text with her.

Another reason she's the best: everything about this picture. She has ridiculous mermaid hair, unbelievably beautiful skin, huge pillowy-full lips, and makes fat, gushy, cherubic babies. Oh man. Just look at her lookin' all angelic and motherly:

And the list goes on and on. And believe you me, I could continue. But I'd like to get this post out on her actual Belle-of-the-ball day. So here it goes. I love you so much Nessa! What on earth would we all do without you? Happy, Happy birthday!!!

Shameful Dating Part 1

Now, I may have taken a brief hiatus from this blog to birth and fatten a wee babe... And during my sabbatical into the world of mustard colored poo and colic, Meradith may have gotten all smug and cocky, thinkin' this blog was all her's. But don't think for one second I forgot about you. And now I'm back with a vengeance to share with you a tale so harrowing you may be too scared to ever want to read this blog again. Well, you'll probably want to read it, but prolly only Mera's posts cause they're so safe and mainstream. Just kidding. About everything. 'Cept the birthin' and fattenin' part. And the forgetting about you part. Pretty much I was only kidding about the stuff I said about Mera.

Here goes.

During my single days, I went through a period of, let's call it, "dating tourettes," wherein I allowed several dastardly things to happen to me at the hands of crusty men. Don't be alarmed. Nothing serious. But shocking and embarrassing nonetheless.

Meradith and I often recount (with horror) some of the tomfoolery that went down during our dating days... tomfoolery that makes our skin crawl and haunts our dreams at night.

I shared blame in many of these cringeworthy ghosts of dating past. But today, I plan to shine light on a little doosey that happened simply because I was too much of a p-word to say, "Get the bleep away from me, bleeper!"

And by bleep I mean heck and by bleeper I mean stinker. In case you were wondering.

I was boarding a flight to Virginia to visit my parents for Thanksgiving during my freshman year of college when I noticed a large, football player looking young man putting out the vibe. He didn't seem like the shy type... in fact, in my memory he looked just like Busta Rhymes. Without the dreads.

Anyway, I could tell he wouldn't be deterred by my simply ignoring him. Soon enough he made his way over to me in line and struck up friendly conversation. We chatted while we got on the plane and then I headed back to my assigned seat, much further back than his.

I had just gotten settled in when the stewardess approached me and said, "Your friend wanted me to ask you to go sit by him." She pointed up towards the front of the plane and, sure enough, there was Busta, waving and pointing to the empty seat beside him.

I didn't want to go. But again, this post is about me being an unassertive p-word... so I gathered my things and gingerly made my way up to him.

And then things got really awkward.

Because it didn't take long before he was attempting (in the words of my man, Snoop D-O-double-G) a Sensual Seduction.

It started innocently enough... just your average cat-call-esque compliments... but it quickly spiraled into creepytown when he started MMMM-ing and doing the Stevie Wonder before and after each comment...

"MMMMM girl, you so fine MMMMMM...."

"MMMMMMMMM (licking lips) you THICK MMMMMMM...."

Black guys were always calling me "thick" back then. They didn't know that, to a sheltered white girl like me, thick was not a compliment. But we'll settle on it being more of a Kim Kardashian kind of thick. Not like, a Roseanne kind of thick.

I giggled nervously and tried to change the subject. But he was determined.

And then he slid his hand into mine.

And my eyes bugged out of my head.

And I did nothing.

I just sat there with dead fish hand.

We sat like this for a few minutes while I tried to telepathically will the stewardess over. I'm not sure exactly what I expected her to do. But in my mind at the time, I just knew she would save me. She eventually came and I looked up at her with panicked eyes and she smiled down at us in a "oh, how cute! They've found love on the airplane!" sort of way and turned and made her way up the aisle so Busta and I could be alone.

What the crap was wrong with me back then? Heaven forbid I just politely remove my hand and dash to the lavatory to wait out the rest of the flight, trembling on the toilet. Nope. That would have been too productive. P-word here. My next move was the obvious choice.

I know! I'll pretend to fall asleep!

*Note to self--next time you're under a creepy stranger sensual seduction attack, go ahead and don't pretend to sleep.

I slowly closed my eyes and slumped my head to the side. Yes, this'll do the trick.

My hopes of reprieve were dashed when I felt him slooowly maneuver up the arm rest between our seats and slide his arm behind the small of my back. Then he shifted his weight towards me and snuggled up! Right the crap up!!

I'm spooning! I'm pretending to sleep and he's spooning me on this airplane! We're SPOOOONING!!

This was almost too much to bare. But don't you worry. Just almost.

Because in the very next second he drew my limp, sleeping body close to his and planted his cold, spongey lips on the side of my face.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Perhaps you think this would have been the last straw. But you'd be wrong. Because I just satthere. In a terrified pretend sleep coma. While he kissed the side of my face and head and caressed my hair.

For the rest of the flight.

If any of you have ever flown into the Dulles International Airport, you know that you have to ride these little bus/shuttle thingys from the planes to the terminals when you land. And ride we did. Me and Busta. Him standing behind me with his hands clasped tight around my waist and chin resting on my shoulder. Occasionally sniffing my hair. Like we'd been a couple for years.

When we reached the terminals, he gave me his number and I quickly said goodbye and scurried off to find my parents. I felt all violated and icky. And sexy. All in one.

Not really sexy.

............

The culmination of the entire experience was at the baggage claim when I saw him rush into the arms of a woman there to pick him up, and start making out with her next to the carrousel.

That bastard was cheating on me!

I blew up his phone, day and night, for a week.

Just kidding....

Or am I?

.......................................................................

Stay tuned for more installments of "Shameful Dating."

How to torture your husband.

Things I've implemented into my life for the sake of sheer entertainment that you can do too!! It's just so easy!

Are you bored? A little tired of the monotony and blandness if being a stay at home mom? Are you tired of feeling like the only place you should spice it up is in the bedroom or over the stove? Well ladies, here's your answer! These six simple fail-proof tactics are easy for anyone to make part of their normal every day routine- yes anyone- (that means you!)- and produce immediate, hilarious results!

1. Always insist that you don't want anything when he's ordering at a drive though, but insist on sharing what he orders. Even when he demands that you do get something for yourself, tell him, No really, I'm not even hungry. Then when his food comes, what you're gonna want to do is ask for a bite before he even takes one. Then when he complains that you said you weren't hungry, talk to him about the symbolism of sharing food together and sharing emotional intimacy in your life. Tell him you know what it really means when he doesn't want to share his food with you. Cry if at all possible.

2. Send texts to co workers and church associates from his phone signed with something inappropriate.

When he is driving the car and says, Can you send a text real quick from my phone? and you realize that it is addressed to someone he has a formal relationship with, always say the thing he dictates to you to say first, and follow it up with something inappropriate.

Example: Your office needs to have the housing forms faxed over to Ashlyn ASAP. Thanks. Love you bro.

or:

Please remind your guys to be at the training at 8 AM sharp. Thanks. Miss you.

Then when you are at a stop light (safety first), hold up the phone for him to see what you've typed up, and then start somehow fumbling the phone around in your hands and pretend like you accidentally actually hit send. This is one of my very favorites, and will never ever get old.

3. -Steal his sneezes whenever possible. Whenever you see a sneeze coming on, run up to him and start swiping at the air directly in front of his face, like you're magically swiping that sneeze clean away. Amazingly, there's something about this distraction tactic that will usually prevent him from actually being able to sneeze. You'll find this one particularly enjoyable if his sneezes are as loud as bomb explosions. There's something cathartic about a good sneeze, so it's particularly infuriating to him. Also works well with yawns. It's just that simple.

4. -Sneak in and take nudie pictures of him while he's showering, and continue doing so as he yells in objection. This is particularly effective when you have a glass shower, as we do in my house. But if not, there's nothing a little sneaking behind the curtain won't solve. Snap as many shots as is possible, and then run out of the room while he's toweling off and go hide the camera so he can't delete them. The more he's frantically trying to cover himself up while you're snapping the shots, the more humorous it is. Also, the humor increases as the level of panic in his voice increases: Knock it off! I told you you're gonna forget about deleting these and someone's gonna look through our pictures!!! You really don't even have to say anything in response. You just laugh. And laugh and laugh.

*WARNING: Be sure to delete them in actuality once he's really worked himself up. I knew of a certain individual (who shall remain nameless, but we'll say her name starts with a V and ends with anessa, was using this tactic but realized sometime into the photo shoot, it was on an old non-digital camera that had film to be developed. When husband realized this, you can imagine the fury. She said, "Settle down! We'll just rip them up as soon as we get the film developed!" but years later found said picture in a box of family photos at her in-laws house. This really happened folks. Her husband immediately did the Hulk shred to his clothes upon discovery.

5. -Tell him, "I'm blogging about this" 15 times a day. Whenever he does anything that could be slightly embarrassing that people should be able to do in the security of their own home, (say, a nose pick or a body scratch) or says something in efforts to be complimentary that could be construed as chauvinistic or insulting, (for example, "You look so thin... you're really hot these days... maybe you shouldn't get pregnant again for a long time. wink wink."), shake your head and tell him, "I'm so blogging about this." And then on occasion, really do it.

6. -Demand that he rehash your wonderful attributes as much as possible. Ask him something along the lines of, So, what was it that really made you fall in love with me? or Like, specifically what attributes made you realize I was the only one you've ever wanted to spend your life with? or At what point did you know you were totally head over heels for me... like what did I do specifically? at least 3 times a week. Especially good when a sporting event is on that he's really interested in. *Note: not fully effective while still newlyweds or on anniversaries.

I, Meradith (founder at HTTI- husband torture tactics international) can personally guarantee you're in for more entertainment than you've had for years if you will only commit to implementing just one or more of my brilliant strategies. At first they may feel foreign, but with consistency and a little effort on your part, I can promise you they will start to feel like second nature. After all, I'm not only the president... I'm also a client.

Testimonials:

"Ever since I started putting Meradith's simple husband torture tactics into practice, there has not been a dull moment in my marriage. Seriously! Thanks, Meradith! You're the best!"

-Sabrina 28, Chicago, IL

"Meradith's HTTs saved my life." -Jan, 36, Milwaukee, WI

"I honestly never knew I could have so much good clean fun within the walls of my own home at someone else's expense. I can't even tell you how much my life has changed for the better since discovering Meradith's tactics. I don't even resent my husband anymore for having so much social interaction during the day, because I'm always plotting and planning how to use my next tactic. SOO fun!" -Leslie, 31, Mesa, AZ

Facebook disdain.

Good morning. Can't believe it's already 11 AM. Still not close to getting used to daylight savings. Neither are my kids. I am also still in my bathrobe, but don't you worry, it's a different robe than the one I was wearing when I wrote my last post. You think I just wear the same bathrobe every day of my life and never shower or get ready for the day?!? That's disgusting! You think you're better than me??? I go back and forth between two robes. A white one and a sea foam green one. And while I hardly shower or get ready, you'd be amazed how fresh and clean rotating between two robes can make a girl feel. (So fresh and so clean-clean). I'm totally refreshed right now.

See? It's not so unflattering to be in a bathrobe. This is about how I look right now.

Except I'm white. And I have no make up on. And my hair actually looks like there are rodents nestled somewhere in there. My hair doesn't ever flow like this come to think of it. Sometimes I wish it did.

Alright, I got somethin' on my mind. I gotta clear the air here. I gotta bone ta' pick. Something occurred to me lately. It's the fact that every single time I'm on facebook, I have an overwhelming urge to delete my account. And sometimes, even when it's a mere 10 minutes of surfing the newsfeed on my phone, I walk away feeling all chapped and surly. So, being the analytical soul that I am, I had to wonder. Why the disdain? Why the love/ hate relationship? I don't want you to think I'm a total downer, but let's be honest, we can all talk about the benefits. We can all say how fun it is to reconnect with our best friend from 3rd grade (I can't believe she has 5 kids!) or the networking benefits or comical banter. That being said, I'm here to talk about the hate side of the love/hate. Why does facebook chap me on such a regular basis?

First of all, remember the mystery? Remember I wonder what ever happened to so-and-so... He was just the best! And then he is just this complete enigma in your mind because no one in your circle of friends that you stay in close contact with (like, actual phone or face to face contact) has seen him or heard anything about him for years and years and then someone says something like, Last I heard he joined the peace corp... working in Malaysia... and then you're like Oh my gosh... that is SO him.. I should have known he would end up in doing something totally heroic like that... as you sit back smiling to yourself, shaking your head with that that guy! expression on your face.

Except then he adds you on Facebook and you're initially thrilled to be in touch but you see he is 50 pounds heavier, bald, and only living about an hour away from you... divorced with 4 kids. Mystery solved. Or maybe he looks better than ever, and you notice...and thing good for him, but nonetheless, mystery solved. You wonder why the marriage didn't last for about 2.7 seconds, and you're moving on. And that's that.

And even if he really is in the peace corp in South Africa or wherever, or was at some point... the person that he is now in now simply can't compete with or compare to the person you've been holding him in your memory as. So it kindof ruins it. And I don't mean that the real person isn't as good... hmmm how do I explain... I just mean the relationship you have with him is different now than it was and can't ever be what it was. And that's okay, it's a healthy part of life. I'm just sayin' the way you were with that person is a lot of times sweeter than the way you are now. Am I making sense? Or am I taking crazy pills? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills.

So you realize he was better off staying the person you kept tucked away in your memory; that sweet, youthful, spontaneous person who you had this real connection with. And he made an impact on you that you are forever thankful for. But now he's all grown up and you don't know his wife or children or anything about his life now and you just feel sortof disconnected looking at his pictures. And maybe you've been in touch and have said something like, "Next time you're in the area, let's get together!" And you genuinely would love to see this person, but Really? You gonna get together just you and him? Like a date? No. You, him, his wife, your husband and all of your kids? And then I could introduce him to my husband and he to his wife and say something like, "Honey, this is so-and so-... we had the best conversations back in the day! We were just such sweet friends! ... but a little more than friends sometimes, too... actually were we ever JUST friends?! and then you could hi-five and laugh while your spouses stand there awkwardly shifting their eyes at you and to the floor again and then you'd anticipate the deserved fight about it later. But hey, those were some great memories! No, again. More awkward please.

Sigh.

There are so many people that we have real connections with of different kinds throughout our lives, that served a purpose for us precisely in the moment that we needed them. And maybe there's a reason they drifted back out of our lives just as they drifted in. But FB is sorta like bringing dinosaurs back from extinction. You remember what happened in Jurassic Park. Not good.

I for one would sometimes like to stay mysterious. I'd like for people to wonder whatever happened to me and what I was up to now. And maybe they could ask about me when running into my old friends and then word would get back to me that they were asking about me. And I'd like it! And I'd like for them not to be able to find out so easily what I am up to. Not that I'm not proud of how my life has turned out up until this point, because I am. More, the fact that they shouldn't be able to find out so easily without having an actual conversation with me. I blog too though, so I'm complaining about something I actively support and participate in. E'rebody up in e'rebody's bidniss.

Or how 'bout this one? How about people who you wish you'd never ever have anything to do with for the rest of your lives? Like ever ever ever? Not by any fault of their own, but mostly because they remind you blaringly of something despicable you did in your past? There's a sweet wholesome boy I had a crush on from another school when I was a junior in high school. And we watched a movie together one time. And cuddled and held hands. And then me and a girlfriend of mine and him got into said girlfriend's car and while on the way taking him home, said girlfriend and I got into a petty argument. That may or may not have involved cursing like drunken sailors. And poor sweet boy sat in the back seat the entire time, witnessing the entire foul event. He didn't really know either of us very well, either. I got out of the car to say goodnight after my awkward yelling match with my girlfriend that had persisted every minute of that drive, and suddenly put on a little smile and coyly said, Okay, well... thanks... I had a great time... call me... with a sweet little hug. Yeah... he'll totally call you, Meradith. Totally. You idiot.

That memory haunts me. Said girlfriend and I remained BFFs the remainder of our high school days and are still BFFs today. And when anyone brings up his name or any memory of that night... cringe... shudder... dry heave. Has that effect on the both of us. Not necessarily always in that order, but still. So much shame. So if I ever spotted him on FB, I would not only not add him nor would I accept a friend request, but I would do any and everything in my power to block him from ever even seeing my name among other friends lists. I don't know if that'd be possible, but I'd do it.

Another time when I was living in AZ, (for a semester in high school), I went camping with a big group of people (I can guarantee that I was the youngest of the entire party) and ended up standing up around the campfire and yelling at everyone (like 20 people) to SHUT THE HELL UP!! and GO TO BED!! at 3 AM. I may or may not have been one of like 3 sober people stranded up there in that cursed wilderness and I may have been having major menstrual cramps and coming down with the flu and I may or may not have just pushed a drunk guy off of me when he crawled into the car I was in trying to hide in and started kissing me rather forcefully. And that my friends was the last straw. Pretty much the worst night of my life. Really.

So I snapped. But I was particularly harsh on this one bloke who had been rapping Eminem's, "Forgot about Dre," loudly by the fire for like an hour solid. I was particularly venomous to him. And being unkind really isn't in my nature, promise. He just said, "sorry" in a soft voice and didn't make another sound. In fact I'm pretty sure the entire campground was silent from that point on. All making merry ceased. And when my tirade was over I burst into tears and crawled back into that car and prayed the rest of the night away until the sun rose. I could never be friends on FB with a lot of the people who were there that night because, "Wasn't that that mormon girl from Idaho that went ape on everyone that one time when we went camping in high school?"

Or what about that other time when I killed a man? And my roommates in college knew about it? Just kidding. But still.

BTW, every single time that camping experience has come up among my besties who were present that night, we laugh hysterically so hard until we cry. So at least it gives us sweet little housewives something to laugh about now. And telling these stories makes me sound like a rageaholic. I'm not. Promise! Don't you judge me!

At the same time, maybe there is something about being in touch with people who have seen you at your worst and love you still. Maybe it's cathartic for us all to get back in touch with people who have witnessed atrocious behavior on our part and see that upon a friend request they don't immediately say, "Remember that time you screamed profanity at all of us and ruined our night?" Instead they say something like, "Oh my gosh I've thought about you so much over the years, I'm so happy to be in touch with you!!!" And then you can sortof let go of things that happened when you were in that "growing up" funk (or in that grown up but still growing funk) because maybe that's not the only thing they remember about you afterall.

So maybe I'm sharing more than I bargained for in this post. Maybe I should have just left it at, Sometimes FB is my nemesis because some peoples' statuses really annoy me when they are super vague and fishing for questioning... like, 'Oh my gosh!!! I can't believe this is happening!! I never thought this would happen to me!!!!!'

Maybe that's where I should have left it. But I still love all of you and I'm so glad we've been able to reconnect through facebook. Love me still. Peace out.

It's the thought that counts.

It's 9:29 AM. I've been sitting here in my bathrobe shoveling white cheddar popcorn into my face for the last 20 minutes solid. And it's no casual shoveling. There's an urgency about it that you'd only be able to understand if you could witness it. Ok fine, I'll take a quick snap shot and post it so you can see me right now.

That's not really me but you get the idea.

Anyway, what really chaps me about this is that I am all congested with a miserable head cold so I can't even taste it. I'm gettin' nothin'. Nevertheless, I can't stop shoveling. I'm just shoveling, tastin' nothin', imagining what it would be like if I could. Calories shouldn't count against you if you can't taste anything. So I'll offer a little tip before we move on. If you happen to be at the supermarket and look over to see a little Italian looking bastard in a chef's hat named Colby staring you in the face, run in the other direction. Don't you dare let him lure you in.

Because the truth is, Colby is actually a Colombian drug Lord, and this popcorn is laced with crack cocaine. And I promise there'll be no escaping once you begin.

So, what I really want to talk about... what's I really wanna get off my chest.... is the little subject of gift giving. I've been mullin' this around in my mind here for some time now. And I've decided gift giving is a real art. One to be developed. One that really doesn't come so naturally to most. Especially in a marriage.

When you're single, special occasions come and go and if you happen to be in a relationship when one comes around, then you have to follow protocol. If you're not in a relationship at the time, you're off the hook. But once you're married, you better believe that it can be a full time job. And for women in particular, it's important. Very important. Mostly just the top 5 though, so you husbands can rest easy every other day of the year. Top 5 include: Birthday, Christmas, Valentine's day, Anniversary, Martin Luther King day.

What, you didn't know Martin Luther King day was on the list?? And you've been wondering why your wife is always in a particularly foul mood on this day, haven't you? Okay, maybe not the last, but in place of MLK day, we will throw in those "just because" days, when you are expected as a husband to give gifts (or do something special) on days other than those mentioned above, just because you love and appreciate her. These "gifts" are not required to be tangible items, but can also include acts of service (as in full body massages, not so much taking the garbage out) or something like a heartfelt card of appreciation or candlelit dinner at home. *Wives also have the same obligations, like going out of our way to make hubby feel special and loved, but I'm speaking from a woman's perspective. Plus, women care lots more about this crap then men do anyway.)

As I said, this is important. Let me tell you what's important about it. Not the money spent. Not the size or extravagance of the gift. The thought. The thought you put into it. As soon as a gift is given to a woman, there is an immediate evaluation check list that she goes through in her subconscious. And she goes through the check list at a rapid 1.7 seconds.

-How many hours of pondering was he required to sacrifice before landing upon this idea in his mind?

-Is this a reflection of the fact that he really listens to me and picks up on all of my clever subtle hints I've been dropping? (She could tell you each and every time she has dropped one of these subtle hints... the setting, time, what she was wearing, etc.)

-Does this gift reflect how much honest thought went into how much I personally will LOVE this gift?

-Does it reflect my individuality and unique awesomeness? (Did he see this and say, "ohhh this just look SO much like my wife... this is SOOO her"? Because we can tell immediately if this inner dialogue took place or if it did not).

I've only been married once, and because of that my personal experiences that I will draw from will be from my relationship with my husband. And first and foremost, I want to do a little horn tooting. I want to tell you about the most meaningful and memorable Valentine's gift he has ever given me. It was the V day of 2008, and he presented me with a framed list entitled, "101 things I love about my wife," with the subsequent 101 items listed below, everything from physical attributes to personality to strange little quirks and mannerisms. The frame was not expensive, the paper it was printed on was nothing extraordinary. But I cried, and I giggled and I got all gushy and ridiculous, reading the list aloud and coyly saying things like, "Oh.. yeah I guess you're right... I guess I do have kinda pretty feet.... and I guess I do have a pretty playful personality...." He is still riding on the coattails of that list, as he should for the rest of his life. Because I refer to it often when I'm feeling pouty or neglected in any way.

Do you know how much time it would take to put together a list of 101 items?? Big time points there. Like, a ridiculous amount. He should probably make a copy of the list, shrink it down and carry it around in his wallet so he can pull it out and flash it in front of my face whenever I want to talk about how he's failing to make me feel special.

Now that we have that out of the way, let's get on to the nitty gritty. The what-not-to-do's:

-Don't buy her something you want for yourself and pretend that it's for her. Prime example, my brother in law was just telling all of us about a month ago while we were in Arizona visiting how much he loves that painting of George Washington praying, and how much he'd like to get one for his home office. This is the one:

Bethany (my sister) and I agreed that it is indeed a cool painting and that was the extent of the conversation.

He gave her the painting for Valentine's Day. I'm not kidding.

She opened it and just looked at him with a confused expression and said, "Oh, this isn't for me..." and handed it back to him. They had a good laugh about it, and now it's hanging in his home office. I think it's probably safe to say that when searching for the perfect Valentine's Day gift for your wife you may want to avoid anything that has to do with George Washington... or any other great political leader of history for that matter. I think I'm safe in saying that.

-Don't replace a household appliance and realize that the timing is right for you to try to count it for a gift. Like if your dishwasher breaks down around the time of her birthday... yeah, don't even think about it. Fortunately, I don't have a personal example on this one, but I can promise that you won't be happy with the results here if you do this.

-Don't get her men's clothing. Period. Or things you could never see her actually wearing. Or apparel from your company and chalk it up to a special occasion item.

Direct quote from my husband on Christmas morning: It might be kinda big, but it's a small in mens.

That means it's a man's coat. I think more than that with this one, it just looks nothing like anything that's in my wardrobe. The subconcious surveying of the amount of thought that went into it resulted in scores that were not good.

I got lucky on this one because I bought him a Wii and with no hesitation, he went and traded it in (upgraded) for the Xbox Kinect, which I didn't even know was legal gifting procedure until that moment. So I was happy to thank him, but tell him "I just don't think I'd ever wear it honey", and ask him to take it back to his work. Though I was nervous prior to having the convo, no harm done.

-Don't misspell your wife's name on a lovey-dovey hallmark card. Probably shouldn't misspell it ever. Now, I only know one person who this has happened to, my sister Vanessa. I'm not sure if it's even happened to anyone else... ever... but because it happened to her, we'd better include it on the what-not-to-do list. And yes, they were married when this happened. Had been for 4 years.

-Don't ignore when she says what she really wants and get her what you want her to want instead.

This one is really somethin', because I expressed my wishes in the very last blog post I wrote on this here blog, folks. And I quote (ahem): I do like to bike, but haven't spent any time on a road bike, and frankly... they scare me. I hate not being able to touch the ground while I'm sitting on the seat. I much prefer a 50's style cruiser at a nice slow leisurely pace, with one of those old fashioned horns that I can honk. Throw in some streamers and I can't think of anything better.

You can imagine my surprise when a mere 11 days after I wrote those very words, I woke up on Christmas morning to find a Trek road bike under the tree with my name on it.

And believe you me, once we were out of the earshot of his family, words were exchanged. And those are delicate waters to navigate. He told me he just wants wants us to be able to take biking up as a family activity that we do together, and is sure I won't be able to keep up with him if he's on a road bike and I'm on a cruiser. He's probably right, bless his heart. It is a beautiful bike.

But I'm still gonna get my cruiser someday. With the picnic basket. And honking horn and streamers.

There. I feel better getting some of those things off my chest. And I hope this post can benefit someone out there who is wondering why his wife ran into the other room crying and slammed the door when he pulled out the tickets to the monster truck show for her birthday celebration. No matter how expensive those tickets were, or how much you went through to get ahold of them, bad move. Even worse if they were expensive.

Oh, and I'll admit. Our first Christmas together I bought my husband 10 latin dance classes that we could do together. But now I've learned that sometimes you've just got to get things for yourself and sign them from Santa. Santa comes to our house more often than other houses, like on birthdays, too. It's just that Santa really knows my taste. And plus, I'm such a good girl. Santa could start visiting your house more than once a year, too.