Getting Back on the "No TV Watching" Wagon

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I admit it, I fell off the no-TV-watching bandwagon, and I fell hard. Yesterday it was brought home to me why I quit watching TV in the first place. I spent the majority of the day in front of the TV and, even though I told myself it was because I deserved some relaxation, I ended up tense, nervous, fidgety, and had a raging headache by the time I turned the set off and went to bed. 

This was no doubt due to the amount of brainless fluff I watched for hours on end. In no particular order, I watched: 

  • Part of an episode of Ace of Cakes
  • The ending from the original Alien movie
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The Married Life: A Moment

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We're in the car this morning, pulling into the Wal-Mart parking lot. I'd been flipping through radio stations and started to punch past one when Blair said, "Oooh, that' Steely Dan," so I let it play. For about 1 minute. That's all I could take. Twang-twang-screech-twang-screech. I reached over and changed stations.

"Sorry," I said. "That just goes to the base of my spine." 

Blair heaved a sigh. "I know, sugar," he said. "Anything that brings me happiness goes to the base of your spine." 

♥ The dude cracks me up. ♥

The Married Life: Lovin' Housework

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While eating cereal this morning, I perused yesterday's edition of the Wall Street Journal and read the following tidbit aloud to Blair: 

"A new study shows that for husbands and wives alike, the more housework you do, the more often you are likely to have sex with your spouse."

"I'm cleaning the litterbox!" called Blair from the hall where he was, in fact, emptying out the litterbox. "Whoo-hoo! Let's get it on!" 

It's getting more and more dangerous to read the paper.

Cheers,

Dena

The Married Life: After the Anniversary

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As you know, Blair and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary last week. Even though it was just another night at home, I made sure I looked nice - hair and makeup done, flattering clothes, light perfume... that sort of thing.

The next day I was busy running errands, cleaning house, and exercising. I don't think I ever got around to showering and so when Blair got home I looked less than glamorous - wild hair, no makeup, bags under the eyes, stained clothing.

"Well..." said Blair, surveying me.

"Sorry, my warranty expired at 15 years," I said. "This is what you get from now on."

I offered to sell him an extended warranty but he declined and made some reference to old clunkers often holding together for years. 

Ha! Funny, funny man...