Wish List

I wish...


I could have cat's whiskers to gage if I could fit into tight spaces instead of gynourmus hips that just bang into things and knock them over.

That Cathy Watsen had beat right back in the fourth grade when she said women get their period once for a month. (That chicks dad was in the service, she traveled and knew stuff.)

I had a cops red bubble light that I could carry in my jeep and throw on top of my hood when ever needed to pull over idiots and club them as needed.

The desert had zero calories and veggies were packed with them buggers.

That my Hubby would have been in our pole barn unloading material out of the back of his truck in his tighty whities years ago when the Jahova's first decided to stop and witness.

That I had the guts just to shave my head bald and not worry about stubble or scalp shine.

That my brother in law, the professional painter, had finished staining my house before he fell and dripped the wrong color all over my porch roof. Would of saved me saying, "Hmm, was it too hard to bring back our own equiptment for this job? How the hell did you expect me too carry you down the latter with a broken ankle?" Ok I only spoke it in my head to him but I shouldn't of even had to do that.

My mom could have seen my transplant succeed. She always told me there would be a cure. Mine just took 30 years.

That I had answered K1 correctly when he asked me when he was little, if it was me he heard down stairs, instead of jokingly answering, "NO I'M A BIG HAIRY MONSTER!", in a big hairy monster voice, which warped him somewhat, causing him to follow me from room to room for the next four years.

I had a secret room that was a four sided enclosed trampoline so I could bounce around like crazy to my hearts content.

One time I just rode my bike fast enough that my feet fluttered in the breeze behind me as I hung on for dear life.

Eatting chocolate made you smarter.

That I could develop unburnable hands as a super power illiminating my need for pot holders or ointment.

Everyone just understood the greater good is keeping me happy.

That my Hubby still wrote me romantic love letters instead of the ones he writes now..."I love to have the precious time with you, watching you sleep, as I go through your purse..."

I could read people's minds but only the good stuff.

I could tell my boss what I really think of him. And then have a three minuet running start.

That I was really really good at one thing.

My brain was organized to cross reference all memories for better recall.

On my walk on in "Grid Iron" with my Rock, I had not been dresses in so much football gear that no one reconized me.

If you were my man...

I would never make you go clothes shopping for me. Real men do not belong in women's shops. I am perfectly capably of dressing myself without you. I don't want to be in a mall myself, why would I make you.

I will never try to make you to stop and ask directions. If we are lost long enough, I will eventually have to go to the bathroom, giving me the opportunity to ask myself.

I will tease you outrageously. I am not cruel when I tease. You are in trouble if I don't tease.

I will not ask you to ride my bitch seat. I will ask that you tune my bike however.

You will stop on your way home and gladly buy our feminine protection units. Because if we didn't need them, we would be pregnant. You will also know to pick up some steaks and chippies and chocolate.

If you piss me off, I will tell you. I don't hold back and say nothing is wrong.

Do not buy me jewerly. I don't like jewerly so much. If I find something I want, I will buy it, without guilt.

You will not be jealous of me kissing my friends. Or the kids. Or my friends kids. Or the cat. You may draw the line on my kissing the picture of The Rock on my fridge door, or Dr. Theeth, my new carving knife but you will get over it.

The words, "Does this make me look fat?", will never be asked of you. I can tell what you like by the look in your eyes. But I dress to please me.

I will never discuss our intimate life with my girlfriends. I might blog a little about it.

I will change my mind often. Or not.

You will not spend hours waiting for me to get off the phone with my friends. Any number of friends however will be sitting in my kitchen with me at any given time. You will learn to wear pants at all times.

There will be a book at all times in the car. And in the boat. And your truck. And stacks by the leather chair. And you will have to move them out of the way to see the tv screen on the counter. But just don't lose my page. I do not have time for all that re-reading.

I would never have you wait for me in a beauty salon. I feel so bad for those poor uncomfortably suckers who then have to gush at their significant others appearance. I get impationt having to wait for myself, I would not wait for anyone.

I can be ready and dressed for anything in under thirty minutes tops. That's showered, make up and clean clothes.

If you are wrapped up in sports and games, I am just gone. Not that I would leave you. I'd just find somewhere else to be, doing something I like. I will not whine for your attention.

I will want you to do all mechanical technical stuff. And you will want to after you see the mess I make of such things.

You will learn more about food than you ever imagined.

I will ask you to open all jars. Seams as I am losing my grip.

This guy I know..

He can build anything, and it will last forever. Has the best laugh. Loves my family more than his own. He never complains or whines. Knows computer stuff. His eyes are the bluest I have ever seen. Can make me crack up with one word. Never bad mouths or belittles anyone, even the people he doesn't like. Is a manly man. Knows stuff like geothermal hydraulics, Pythagorean theorem, and Roman empire artillery. Tells me I'm the best. Can find any address in any city, and will ask directions. Can carry my world on his shoulders. Thinks I walk on water. Watches the bloodiest scarriest show but cries when little kids get hurt on the evening news. Worries about my future. Is polite. Brags me up to his friends. Does my laundry better than me. Writes me songs. Has medals and trophy's he has never spoke of. Buys me flowers and waters them. Is more ceative than me, but doesn't consider himself artistic. Sharpens my knives. Doesn't spend hours watching sports or playing games without me. Has studied my ancestry. Tunes my motorcycle that he hates. Has never said no to me.

But things are not all wonderful with him. He hates my cat. Cannot pay a bill. Is a slob. Won't dance. Can't remember my birthday. Or anniversary. Watches the same movies over and over. Is experiencing hearing loss. He eats crap. Whistles out of tune under his breath. Doesn't know music. Valls baby oil "fore play in a bottle." Likes to wake up early. Gets in my way. Can't dress himself. Half the time doesn't spell my name right. Get frustrated when I sit on the sink and pick my face. Has no sense of smell. Is jealous. The thought that he make much more money than I do bothers me. Doesn't have an adventurous bone in his body. Comes from a long line of certifiable crazes. Listens to talk radio. Loves White Castles. Pesters me about reading too much. Then begs me to read out loud to him. Tells me when to go to bed. Plans every holiday and weekend around fishing. Hides my library books and dry cleaning instead of returning them. Watches the weather channel and get exasperated when I don't know current weather conditions or forecasts. Likes golf.

But I can't imagine my live without him. He is the yang to my yin. He is the reason I keep a wad of bail money cash in the shoe in my closet. Why I know the difference between a terrarazal and poured concrete floor. He is boyscout to my wild child. The only call I will take before dawn and smile. The peanut butter to my jelly and the salt on my popcorn. How I know the barameteric pressure on the coast. The reason I am gratefull for the fishing lure birthday present two months early. Due to him I can dance alone, without being self concious, if I have too. He is the Abbot to my Costello and the Benny to my June. This guy is something.

Fall Hard

The end of summer always saddens me. And I'll tell you why. With it comes shorter, darker days. Fall ushers in the cold that kills all the colorful plants and sends all God's little creatures running for their lives. No more worry free late nights and sleeping in in the morning. No more all night sleep overs parties and satay with mango dip or flaming marshmellos for breakfast. Gone are the spur of the moment road trips to the Spam factory or to see an Amish. Taking a shower every third day or so is now out of the option. I will not feel the soft green grass beneath my feet for a good long time.
From now on it will be hours of painful home work until I look forward to crawling off to bed at an insanely early hour just to escape taxing my brain. Then there is that damn alarm clock I hate with a vengeance that robs me from my slumbering bliss. The cold cereal for breakfast if I have the time before trying to squeeze myself into my short plaid shirt and fumbling with the knot of my mandatory tie. Franticly rummaging through all my knee high stockings to find an unsnagged matching pair. The cold hard rock under my shivering butt, because it is just not cool to wear a coat, as I sit out at the end of my driveway in the pre-dawn hours waiting for my bus. The smell of diesel gas, dirty rubber, Axe and body odor on the noisy crowded bus as I stair out the window at the passing neibhorhood, pretending I am anywhere but on a direct route to hell. The standing across the road, just off school property, having my last cigarette before flicking it off into the gutter when the shrill bell calls me in for the start of my instructions. The force of the security guards rough handa as they grab me as I try to enter the brick building. The pain that hits to my very soul when the taizer zapps my already asphalt scrapped leg. Having myself once again subjected to the humility of the cops question my authenticity, as I stand there with my uniform all rumpled as they call for psychological evaluation, when all they really need is to allow me to enter the building and open my locker, next to the offices, where I left my school I.D. Seeing the look of disgust in my oldest sons eyes as they unkindly escort me off , as this year he will be old enough to attend the big school in our community with the really hot principal.
*may contain traces of lie