The Slow and Deliberate March of Time
Mood:  don't ask
Now Playing: "Perfect Blue Buildings", Counting Crows
So much for hitting 100 entries by Friday.
The only reason I wanted to reach 100 by Friday was that Friday is my birthday, and I thought I should accomplish SOMETHING. You know, the little things.
I know, I know, everybody's going to jump on my ass and say "Queenie, you're only going to be 25, what the FAHK are you kvetching about?"
I can explain. Or, at least, try. This is one of those windows into my neuroses, and it's kind of hard to explain exactly WHY I am the way I am to the sparkly-clean masses. Did I mention that your breath smells fabulous too?
Anyhoo. Here's how I look at it"
At 15: Shit man, you can get a driver's permit! You can drive to the mall (in daylight hours before midnight) with your friends! (as long as your mom's in the passenger seat)
At 16: You can drive a car, and you might even get one. If not, you can now get a job to pay for the car you didn't get but always deep down inside thought you deserved for even LIVING to 16.
At 18: You can vote! You can buy cigarettes! You're a legal adult! You can vote about being a legal adult having the right to buy cigarettes! And if you have that car already, you can move out if you feel the need, but you probably won't because you have no idea what an adult does yet.
At 21: You can drink! You can get into a bar and act silly like the other people you know you hang out with that bought you booze before you were 21! Officially, you can do everything all the other grown-ups of the world do, including paying those bills you ran up while living at home ALL BY YOURSELF because your parents think you're old enough to take care of yourself.
But what happens after that? Oh yeah, you start getting less and less of the incentives that made you want to get older, thus making it harder and harder to look forward to getting on in years.
At 25: OOOOH! Your car insurance rates can go down!
At 30: If you're female, you want to have a baby. Or, that's what I've been told. Of course, I've also been told that at 30 your sex drive goes through the roof and I think THAT'S a crock of shit.
And then it just s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s out until there's nothing left.
At 40: Dear god, you're over the hill! You get a party with lots of funereal jokes and black stuff proclaiming that you are just THATMUCH closer to dying.
At 68: You are eligible for social security checks. Woot woot.
Personally, I think that having birthdays stops being cool the first time you tell your parents that instead of having a swank daytime party with all the trimmings you'd rather have a SLUMBER PARTY. Once your buddies spend the night instead of go home with a goodie bag, it's all down hill.
Of course, that's not why I dread my birthday, that's just my line of thought. And believe me, it may sound like I've put a lot of thought into this straightforward dread, but that's not true. I'm just relying on experience. I get depressed around this time of year because the last ten years I have not had a decent birthday. Well, it may SOUND decent, but it's not.
13th b-day: I was in New Mexico, watching a HUGE rainstorm move across the desert, effectively putting the proverbial kibosh on any plans my 13 year-old self might have had planned. Did I mention I lived in California at the time?
14th b-day: I was in Las Vegas, BEFORE they erected Treasure Island, and was too young to do a damn thing. My parents tried to compensate by driving 14 hours STRAIGHT to Disneyland, but by that time I was too tired and drained to do anything anyway. Did I mention I STILL lived in California at the time?
15th b-day: Honestly, I can't remember this one, so maybe it was a good one. But then again, maybe I just blocked it from my memory because it sucked so much.
16th b-day: I was in the Okanagan Valley of Osoyoos, British Columbia, getting a third degree sunburn so that I couldn't move. Still lived in California, have NO idea what provoked my parents to head to Canada.
17th b-day: Had dinner with my parents because my friends forgot it was my birthday. Where the hell WERE all my friends, anyway?
18th b-day: I got dumped unceremoniously on my ass by my first major relationship. Seriously. A year and a half of dating, six months of sex, and the fucker's actually been cheating on me for six months with some little 98 pound-wet-with-all-her-clothes-on bitch. He subsequently stole all my friends from me and left me to suffer a miscarriage alone three months later. Happy birthday to me....
19th b-day: Had dinner with my parents because all my friends are out partying with my ex and his new girlfriend/fiancee. I am now officially pathetic.
20th b-day: I'm in the Navy, and i spend my supposedly special day in a hotel room somewhere in Florida, huddled up under the sink because the Marines have taken over the bed and the rest of the guys are running a train on some drunk girl in the next room. Where the fuck's my cake, at LEAST?
21st b-day: A 'friend' of mine decides to throw a party for me with 'just us girls'. I assume this means just us FRIENDS, but she invites the whole list of squadron females, many of which I can't stand just because they're female. She also decorates her whole one-bedroom apartment in SMILEY FACES. We show up, she tells us to 1) take off our shoes in her apartment and 2) no smoking in the house. We all smoked, so the whole party was crammed in a six by six porch. FUN. We left shortly thereafter before the Pictionary started, and, well, Memoirs of an (almost) famous rock groupie happened. Still, no fun.
22nd b-day: I hid, and the party monsters still found me. I got dragged to a bar, and they made an ass out of me by trying to pimp me out to EVERY available guy there, and some of the non-available ones too. SUCH fun. Can't you just give me presents and take me out for pizza or a movie or something? PLEASE?
23rd b-day: I was fucking working. The guys threatened to beat my ass on my birthday, so I couldn't tell anyone in fear of my life. FEAR OF MY LIFE. HAR. HAR. HAR. FUNNY.
24th b-day: I was on the road for nine hours, beginning my road trip to Destiny. The BBF bought me a pack of smokes with a heart on it. Finally, a birthday that ALMOST had some spark in it. ALMOST.
You see? I am cursed. CURSED. BAD JOOJOO, people. I dread Friday.
At least I'll be alone all day, so I can pull the covers over my head and bemoan the fact that I am indeed cursed, and one year closer to dying.
Aren't I just a HUGE bundle of fucking sunshine today?

Bits and Pieces
Mood:  on fire
Now Playing: "Stuck With You", Huey Lewis and the News
"Catawampus is one of my favorite words, right up there with "feet" and "ungawa".
Just read an article about Koko the Gorilla, and remembered being very small and reading the book "Koko's Kitten", which is about said gorilla and her first kitten, All Ball. The things you remember with the slightest provocation...
A friend of mine read my page and said that it was "visceral", but in a Tarantino way. What the FUCK does that mean?
Visceral
(a.) Of or pertaining to the viscera; splanchnic.
(a.) Fig.: Having deep sensibility
OH.
Well, how the hell is a housewife's online journal THAT? Please, cut me a break.
I've lost three pounds this last week. I think it's just clothes weight, but the hub-unit disagrees. Of course, this is the same man that believes that my birthday is NOT cursed, which of course it is.
I've been bounding about the internet, scaring up new tenants for the apartments, and what have I been doing? Fucking up the link back to the site. So people have been reading my pithy housewife social commentary and then clicking on a link that pops up and error page. BOINK! Good job, me!
New obsession: anything by Nancy A. Collins, especially the Sonya Blue books. Gotta love those vampires...
I'm going back to bed.

Emergency Vet 911, How Can I Help You?
Mood:  lazy
Now Playing: "Circles", Soul Coughing
Three cats barfing.
ALL three cats.
BARFING.

If you have more than one pet, it's like having children. If one gets sick, you can be sure that the others will follow suit, and then you're stuck with a multitude of icky-feeling pets.
Augie (the new kitty) started yakking, then Pigwidgeon and Hobbes came right in behind him, prompting me to call the hub-unit at work and have him come home so that we could take ALL THREE to the vet.
An hour and lots of shed hair later, we are told that the temperature has to be taken on all three felines. Chaos ensues. Dear god, what did I do to deserve THIS fluffwaffyness? Jesus.
The vet ells us that aside from Pigwidgeon needed her teeth cleaned, there's nothing wrong with ANY of them. She says it's probably stress from getting another cat in the house, and we should isolate Augie from the rest of the kitties for at least a week. A week. WHERE?
And it turns out that Augie has Feline Herpes.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Okay, I'm done. However, since it's not transferrable to humans (the hub-unit draws a sigh of relief), this is actually amusing. In the safety of the apartment, we now call him Igotstus Herpes, in honor of the great Julius Cesar, in a way. Kind of.
You know, it was fucking funny last night at three AM.

Memoirs of a (almost) Famous Rock Groupie
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: "Sour Girl", Stone Temple Pilots
Just call me the Penny Lane of the Suburban Set.
Today's entry is inspired by the news that a (former) best friend and sometime humper-bunny of mine is getting a record contract. As soon as I heard that, I thought "Fuck's sake, Queenie, you can say you had him before he was famous, among other things." Christ Jesus. But here's the story, see if it moves you:

I was in the navy, fresh-faced and wide-eyed, when I met him. He worked in the same shop as I, was in a matter of fact my BOSS, and I was smitten despite the fact that he was as far from my type as Kermit the Frog. He was built like a cross between a brick wall and a Sherman tank, but something about his carefree manner and flashing golden eyes did it for me. Being the only girl in the shop at the time, and being extremely svelte for one such as me, I was considered a hot property and all the boys were egging me on to ask him out because he had just finalized his divorce from a total psycho (who I learned a lot about later) and was in need of some lovin'. He was older, he was my supervisor, he was COOL, and therefore out of my league because of my oh-so-low self-esteem. (I found out months later that had I asked him out not only would he have responded with a resounding YES, but I would have saved him from a fate worse than death. oops.)
We went on a detachment down to San Diego, we got drunk together, and despite my attempts to remain lucid we ended up making out heavily in full view of, oh, I don't know, EVERYBODY. This was bad because he had found himself a girlfriend only a week after I refused to talk to him, and here I was flaunting my obvious attraction in the most painfully obvious way possible. Bad, bad me. Of course, once we sobered up we had a nice long talk about mutual attraction and the fact that he had a girlfriend, and that talk blossomed into a "omigod I'm friends with the coolest guy in the squadron!" friendship. Hour-long smoke breaks, slipping out to the parking lot to listen to music, blatant acts of work-avoiding, so on and so forth.
JUMP AHEAD TO:
My 21st birthday. What a fucking wash that was. The party that was thrown for me sucked and lasted somewhere between 20 minutes and a half an hour before I left my own bash and headed out to someone else's. We (me and my two girls) ended up at his house, where we had been told that his band was getting down with the sickness. But of course, this is ME we're talking about, so by the time we got there everyone had gone home except for him, because it was his house, and the drummer. His drummer proceeded to make drinks for everyone anyway, and wonder of wonders, we all got drunk. It's funny how most of my stories begin with alcohol and end with debauchery, isn't it.
So he takes me on a tour of his expansive property, and my drunk ass promptly falls into a four-foot hole in the floor of his barn. ooo fun. Once I'm out of the hole, he decides that every few feet we should stop walking and make out. The only issue I have with this is that he still has a girlfriend, who is at this point fighting with him (AGAIN) and has taken off for a few days. He says they're taking a break from each other, even though they're living together at this point, and the last of my resolve crumbles. blah blah blah several moments of intimacy later blah blah blah I decide that the party's over and head back into the house to grab my friends and head home because anything else would end in heartbreak for me if no one else.
MY FRIENDS ARE GONE.
GONE.
Not only that, they've taken my wallet and cell phone and cigarettes, effectively stranding me with no cash and just my ID card, a good two hour's walk from my warm and inoffensive barracks bed. Well, when life hands you lemons...blah blah yak yak several rooms and various furniture items later blah blah (edited for content) Once again, we have a long talk about what just happened. Nothing bad, nothing wrong, but I get the straight poop on the fact that we were good friends and that, you know, maybe we should be together, but there's that girl he's already with... He pours me into a cab and I go home, to face the third degree I will be subjected to whether I like it or not.
JUMP AHEAD TO
a year and a half later:
the coversations have gotten deeper, more unbelieveably meaningful, we've messed around several times behind the bar his girlfriend works at, and he tells me that he knows I fell for him. He is wrong.
That's not entirely true. I DID adore him, but the fact that he had a girlfriend who was insanely jealous and had already threatened to kill me more than once was a serious deterrent for any kind of love. Besides, it's not like my sexual adventures halted after I spent that night with him, quite the opposite. He would hear about someone and get "concerned". There were things that we couldn't talk about, that we WOULDN'T talk about, and we kind of sorted it away into a drawer called "shit we won't talk about". That drawer, ethereal as it was, must have been HUGE. His favorite quote was that he felt like he had two girlfriends, one that he told everything to and one he went home to. I suppose I must have been one, because I certainly was NOT the other.
He was one of my best friends, I will admit that, and we had LOTS in common, but there was no chance in hell we would have ever made it as a couple. Too much drama. You should've seen the look on his face when he found out I slept with his bassist... But I know what will work with me and what will not. He falls into the latter category.
I haven't heard from or seen him since he retired from the navy in the middle of 2002, but every now and then I hear about his band (which was REALLY good), and I have heard tales about how he never moved back to Michigan like he planned because he wanted to keep said band together, and now he's married to his insanely jealous and rage-ready girlfriend.
Does this make me a groupie? It does when you boink three-fifths of the band and show up to every show they do. Especially under threat of death from the girlfriend.
There's LOTS more to this story, but as I have written enough, I won't go into it. Tense moments, dramatic moments, things that float over your heads with the weight of unsaid words... Whatever.
I'm glad I never dated in the Navy.

Has It Really Been So Long?
Mood:  sharp
Now Playing: "As If", Blaque
7 1/2 years have passed, and the term has been served....
Mary Kay is a-headin' home!

Mary Kay LeTourneau, for those of yall that don't remember, was convicted in '97 for having sex with a 12 year old kid, one of her students here in Washington. Not only that, she had a BABY with him. I was in my senior year of high school in California, and I distinctly remember going off on the backwoods-ness of Washington state for one, and the positive points of prison-mandated hysterectomies. My moral outrage and crazy experimentation with Republicanism had finally gotten to me at that point, and I was quickly slapped and thrown back to the left by a communist friend of mine, but that's obviously another story.
So Mary Kay slept with a kid. The higher powers gave her probation with the promise to NOT contact this kid again, and a few months later she was discovered having sex with him in her CAR. Come ON, Mary Kay, in the CAR? Even a former slutty personage as myself would never resort to boinking in the car. Well, in retrospect I wouldn't.
And the best part is that she went back to jail and found out she was pregnant AGAIN. So now she's got two girls by this underage kid, and she went to jail for 71/2 years.
Early this morning she was released after serving her term. The kid, now 21, is unemployed and currently working on getting his GED. I guess his passion for learning went down the crapper when he realized his favorite teacher wasn't going to be there on Monday.
I just can't belileve that it's been over seven years. That makes me feel OLD.
Well, that and the fact that my birthday is next week.
The new kitty is doing badly on his second full day in the house. Both of the girls are hissing at each other, last night there was some great hoo-raw going on in the wee hours, and all the animals are basically on edge. The hub-unit's theory is that Augie is a boy, and the girls are competing for his attentions. They're all neutered, this isn't what's happening. He's worried that we'll have to take Augie back to the center if the kids can't start getting along. I told him that we'll give it till next tuesday, because really he's only been in the house for less than 48 hours, and there are going to be some fights when the girls realize that the weird-smelling kitty isn't going anywhere. Plus, they're not used to boy cats, so they have no idea what to make of him. I'd hiss and spit too if some weirdo kept trying to sleep on my bed and eat my food, let alone sniff my butt.
But then, that's just me.

The Neverending Battle Against CRAP
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: "Honestly OK", Dido
Mmmm, Jello.
Sugar Free and Fat Free, with ) carbs (not that I care about the low-carb revolution, but hey it's a perk), Jello has become my favorite snack. I'm having a bowl right now, and it's only 10 after 6 in the morning. Pots and pots of Jello. MM, flubbery! The only thing I can't figure out is how to do anything else with it. I tried mixing in fruit, I tried making it with sparkling soda, and now I'm stumped. The hub unit says he'll stop buying the Jello if I don't find something else to do with it besides filling up our glass baking pan. Any suggestions from the Tenants?
But on to today's topic.
AGAIN I went off on an organizing whirlwind this weekend, making the piles and piles of stuff more manageable by making smaller piles. I rearranged our bookshelves, purging again (I try to get rid of anything I won't ever read again) and dropping off a HUGE stack at the used bookstore. I decided that the pile of plastic, bacteria-farming cutting boards we owned could be disposed of with the purchase of two large glass cutting boards. I forgot what kind of noise the serrated knives made on glass. SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE---
Anyway. We basically went on a buying spree of plastic containers and better-quality knickknacks. I was fairly manic all weekend, due to the wind that unexpectedly sprung up which I was susbequently unprepared for. I couldn't sleep for SHITE. To make matters worse, I ordered Friday's dinner from P____ H__ as a special surprise ( I won't name names :)) for the hub-unit, and it gave me some SERIOUS intestinal problems. A full bottle of Pepto later, I was settled enough to lay in bed and stare at the fluid tree-shapes being whipped about beyond the thin glass. ICK.
And then...the biggest, bestest news...
NEW KITTY!!!!!
Yepper, our brood has increased by one. I hadn't PLANNED on another one, but here's how it happened:
We went to the waterfront to pick up an art glass cutting board, and on the way back to town I asked if we could stop and look at the dogs at the WAIF center. That's our version of a pound, but they don't kill the animals after a set period of time. I like that about them. Anywhoo, so we took the detour, and after slobbering on the dogs for a few minutes, I begged to go see the cats, and there he was.
Yes, I said HE. He was rolling about in his kennel, miaowing piteously, and he was beautiful.
They called him Ballou at the center, but we've changed his name to Augustus, Augie for short, and he's cool with that. He's pure white, with blue eyes, and a little tattooed "3" in his ear. The tattoo shows what year he was spayed. He's two years old, which makes him the oldest of our litter, and for his first day home he's doing okay. Pigwidgeon is a little apprehensive, she follows him EVERYWHERE, and the two of them are now locked in a power struggle over who rules the roost. Augie jumps on the bed and growls whenever the girls try to get up on it too, so we've had a chat about that. There's that general uneasiness between felines right now, but our girls have segued from the "let's kill him" stage to the lesser evil "if we ignore him he'll go away" stage.
It's kinda funny, when they're close enough to each other you notice that we've got the whole monochromatic spectrum covered: a white cat, a black cat, and a between black and gray cat. Hysterical. If only I could get a picture... If only they'd hold still long enough without trying to kill each other.
By the by, three cats in a two-bedroom apartment is FUN.

A Conversation of Kitties
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: "Magic Man", Herat
Feeling MUCH better now, thank you.
Anyway, I was watching the two cats this morning when they woke me up at 5, trying to figure out exactly what it is they discuss behind my back. I know it's probably not much, but for your consideration, as well as my own, I present "5 AM Shenanigans", starring the 15 month old Pigwidgeon and the 7 month old Hobbes. Bitches, both of them. :)

HOBBES: Pig, I'm bored. We've been asleep all day, and now MOM won't even look at us.
PIG: They're sleeping. They do it when it's dark because they're weird.
HOBBES: Do ya think we could get mom to play with us?
PIG: Well, I could get her to play with ME, you'd have to wait under the bed though.
HOBBES: Why?
PIG: Because you're fidgety. You start bouncing all over Mom and she's gonna pull out the squirtgun again.
HOBBES: What are you gonna do?
PIG: Same thing I do every night at this time. I'm going to sing in her ear until she rolls over and knocks something off the nightstand.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: Then you grab whatever falls off, and we can play soccer with it until Mom gets up and throws it for us.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: Then we bring it back so she'll throw it again.
HOBBES: She'll do that?
PIG: At least until Dad wakes up, then she'll just stare at us.
END

Okay, so those aren't really shenanigans. However, I may be giving them more credit than is due. It may also go something like this:

PIG: Wanna play a game with Mom?
HOBBES: SHOWME SHOWME SHOWME! How do ya play?
PIG: Okay, we've gotta find the dingle ball.
HOBBES: Which one?
PIG: Which-? The only one we have left, you dope.
DINGLE DINGLE DINGLE (they found it)
PIG: Okay, now you get on the end of the bed and stare at Dad until he starts making those honking noises, and I'll drool on the ball.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: And then I'll drop it on Mom's back.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: Whaddaya mean, then what? That's it.
HOBBES: THAT'S IT?
PIG: Well, I'll jump up next to her head and stare at her until she rolls over on it and it sticks.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: That's it.
HOBBES: Whaddaya mean, that's it? I stare at Dad and you drop a drooly ball on Mom? That's it?
PIG: What the fuck do you want? We can't do anyting else until the shower starts.
HOBBES: Fine. Just let me go jump on Dad's nuts first and see if he wakes up so he can play too.
PIG: You do that. Oh, this will be SO MUCH FUN!
HOBBES: Indeed it will be! Grab the dingle ball!
END

Seriously. This is what they do. I have now figured out that if Pig is staring at me when I wake up, she wants me to leave the drooly ball where it lies. If she's staring at the hallway, she wants to play fetch. If she's staring at the foot of the bed, it means that the hub-unit will soon be in pain and she's just waiting to give Hobbes the signal to inflict said pain.
They can't be THAT intelligent, can they?

For Lack of A Better Post
Mood:  not sure
Still haven't woke up fully yet, so I thought I'd just post some links that make absolutely NO sense. Give ma a few minutes and I'll post something more interesting.
Peter Pan's Homepage
I don't know if this should make me happy or not. It's kinda cool, until you check out the fashion page, and then it's just disturbing. My friend Jen swears unto God Almighty that he's gay, but then, what about the ad looking for Tinkerbell?
Freaky Paranoid Prophecy Shite
I was looking up on the Laci Peterson case, and somehow this showed up on my Google search. If you have the time, READ IT. Some people have too much time on their hands. Well, aside from us bloggers, of course.
Time Cubey Goodness
Ah, nothing like being told that youre being academically retarded. I LOVE finding these sights on the web!
Right, so today's a twofer. I just need to wake up....

Things That Frighten Me
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: "I'm The Mrs.", Buffy Soundtrack
Things That Scare Me:

1. The hub-unit dying before me, or just dying period. If he goes, not only will I be a catatonic WRECK, but I will be alone with no one to take care of me, and it's painfully obvious that I can't take care of myself.
2. Moving to a new town. I have serious panic attacks when I think about starting over somewhere that I don't now where everything is and I'm all by myself socially. Which segues into this next one:
3. Making new friends. According to the friends that I have now, I'm such a great person. However, it took them almost four years to figure that out. I'm one of those people that you either really like right off the bat or dislike IMMENSELY. And if I don't like you? Second chances are not an option. I'm bad at making friends, I'm content with the ones I have.
4. Having Children. The biological clock keeps ticking, and the IDEA of children is like socialism: looks great on paper...NOT so good when actually implemented. I mean, I forget to feed the cat-monkeys at LEAST three times a week, and the litter box? That's the hub-unit's job because the smell makes me vomit. Kids: good idea, bad reality. I get all skittery just thinking about it.
5. No one remembering me. I know this sounds silly, but come on, I'm bipolar. Silly things upset me. To wit: I am 24, soon to be 25, and I have done nothing noteworthy. Unless you're my mother, and then me getting married was the best news of the century, but I digress. I'm a housewife. I want people to be able to go back after I'm gone and be able to understand my motivation for everything I've ever done. I want people to know my story and be inspired or touched or disgusted or shocked or SOMETHING, because I believe everyone's story is unique and deserves to be told.
Those are the things that frighten me. The stuff that panics me is a HUGE list, and I don't even want to go there as of right now. Besides, the Devil Machine (ie, the workout apparatus) is a-callin'. Time to go hyper-extend my knees again.

Things I Realize Now That I'm Married
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: "Hero", Chad Kroeger and that guy from another band
Yesterday's entries were GINORMOUS. I apologize to anyone who was blown away and quit reading.
Back to topis, Things I Realize Now That I'm Married:
1. My mother, bitter and jaded as she is, now has something in common with me, which is better than when we were both single because that was GROSS. We now swap recipes that made me smile as child, and she gets to send baby pictures of me to the hub-unit where I look like I stuck my finger in a socket.
2. I am NOT the center of the universe. I have to take care of a man who is constantly falling apart.
3. If I run out of clean dishes, someone will suddenly call and want to come over for tea and biscuits.
4. If I have tea and biscuits for myself, the hub-unit will suddenly get to come home for lunch.
5. I have no more single friends, and I think that that's okay.
6. I couldn't imagine dating anymore, much less anyone other than the hub-unit.
7. All those bills I just didn't pay and moved away from no longer just concern me. I now have to worry about a credit rating.
8. The Bestest Best Friend will now call and we will discuss what her kids and my cats are doing instead of sex. When we DO discuss sex, it's always about doing it with the same guy, because we are both married now and have no more cool stories.
9. Cleaning the house is harder than I ever expected. MUCH harder. MUCH.
10. Laudry will not fold itself, nor will a man do it for me.
11. I will never get my 10 thousand square-foot compound filled with majestic dobermans and half-naked minions romping about by the pool after I sell my first novel. Well, I COULD, but then I'd have to buy Helen Hunt for the hub-unit.
I'm sure there are other things, but these and the Things That Frighten Me stick out the most in my mind. As a matter of fact, I think I'll post again after I get another cup of coffee...