A few nights ago I had a dream I was living at my mom’s house while Mr. J was deployed somewhere inaccessible. None of the cats were there, otherwise this dream would have been more awkward than it was, so I decided to adopt a dog, I think, the dog just kinda showed up. It was a black dachshunds with really stumpy legs. Well, my mom’s house has a lot of stuff in it and the dog kept running around getting lost under things. I didn’t have a kennel or any kind of bedding for it yet, I only had a leash that was too big for it. The leash was made for something lion sized, not dachshund sized so I had no way to contain this dog. So I’m looking for it and looking for it and then I finally find it/it finally comes back to me and it has this really guilty look on its face. I ask it what’s wrong and it just starts shitting everywhere. Like, not basic, containable shit but projectile shit. I freak out and try to grab it to control where the shit goes as it’s leaving this dog and I get shit all over my hands and my wrists. Then I woke up.
Me: If I were a god or goddess who would I be?
Mr. J: (silence)
Me: Take your time.
Mr. J: Ok you know when Hercules fights all the centaurs because he opens a bottle of wine too early or whatever? The wine could only be opened at such and such time on such and such day? Something like that. Because the wine belonged to all the centaurs and it was special wine.
Mr. J: You’re whoever gave Hercules’s friend that wine.
Me: I’m Bacchus? Why? Because I used to drink a lot? I barely drink anymore!
Mr. J: No. Because you’re neurotic as fuck and need things to happen in specific ways at specific times otherwise everything goes horribly wrong.
Note: I think Mr. J made up the part about the wine being reserved for a specific time and place and I’m not sure if Bacchus gave the wine to the centaurs or if they just got it from the local ABC store but it’s still funny.
Me: I’ve been thinking, instead of telling me “you’re doing fine,” whenever I feel like shit could you just say “you’re okay” instead? I think that will help with my neuroses.
Mr. J.: Doesn’t that mean the same thing?
Me: Yes, but it’s different verbiage. Try it.
Mr. J.: (disturbed by the verbiage/sarcastic) I don’t want to.
My husband is super supportive when it comes to dealing with my anxiety. But most of the time everything he says, when I’m in the middle of an anxiety fit, pisses me off. Whenever he says “you’re doing alright” or “you’re doing a good job” I don’t believe him. So I asked him to start telling me I’m just okay because 1) it’s true, I am physically okay and 2) it does in fact mean the same thing. But I can hear it better.
Do not read this if periods, blood, or menstrual cups make you uncomfortable.
This is a legit, for reals conversation between myself and my husband. I am amazed that we both function in adult society.
Me: Can I ask you a question?
Mr. J: …Yeah…
Me: Do you like my writing?
Mr. J: Sure.
Me: You sure?
Mr. J: Yeah.
Me: You promise.
Mr. J: I’m a little confused by your formatting.
Me: (here we go) Explain.
Mr. J: You know when you have really long lines. And then a short line. And then another short line. And then a really long line?
Mr. J: (laughs)
Me: (zero composure) You mean my paragraphs?
Mr. J: No (defensive)…unless that’s what they are…
Me: (falls over)
Me: This time don’t throw away your baking stuff because you’re inevitably going to need it and end up buying the same stuff again.
Mr. J: I got stuff that actually works this time Jess.
Me: What’s this for?
Mr. J: It’s a blender wand, I’m definitely keeping that because it works with my shakes.
Mr. J: Jess, put the blender down. You might cut yourself.
Me: But the blade isn’t attached. It’s all the way over there.
Mr. J: Put the blender down Jess.
Me: How am I going to cut myself when the blade’s not attached.
Mr. J: Put it down Jess.
Mr. J: I remember what Titian reminds me of! She’s like a fluffy version of that half human, half xenomorph the queen gave live birth to in the fourth movie. You know, the one that got sucked out the crack in the window!
Me: What?! She looks nothing like that! It doesn’t even have fur!
Mr. J: I said a fluffy version. I mean, look at her face.
Me: That is terrible! Do not say that!
Mr. J: And they are both mostly toothless…
Me: Shut the fuck up!