WARNING! icky content. and boiled taquitos.

my husband asks me to do things.

odd things.

and then he has the audacity to be surprised when i actually do these things. for example, once he dared me to spit in his mouth, claiming that terrible things would happen if i did. but i'm no Wimpy McYella so i did. he had the audacity to get mad at me after i'd expectorated into his orifice. his surprise was unfounded; i told him i'd do it.

today i asked him how he wanted his taquitos cooked. boiled? baked? fried? grilled? and he said he wanted his taquitos boiled.

"now honey, you know better than to ask me to do things like that, cuz i'll do it"

" i want one boiled taquito. i want to see you go insane trying to boil a taquito. i don't think it will turn out well for you."

"honey, i won't go insane. it can't be that hard to boil a taquito. all you do is put it in boiling water and wait. i just don't think it will end well for you."


these are the things that i do.  this is my daily life. 


my husband and i need to stop getting sick. our house is filling up with soiled tissues. it's like a chorus of french horns sounding in our living room.  rivers of snot are flowing like honey.  icky sickly runny honey. 

so last night i went over to my girlfriend Carina's house and hung out with the girls.  amidst the playful chatty banter i asked Christine if perchance she had had a Mandatory Sex Party while she was house sitting for me earlier this summer as i had found a girls shirt, a guy shirt, and a random unisex hoodie strewn about my digs upon my return.  Carina piped up and asked Christine if she was missing a pair of pants, as she had found some left at her house as well.

so either Christine is a subconcious house-sitting-subtle-stripper, or she's having secret Mandatory Sex Parties at her friends' houses when they go out of town.


i had a WEIRD dream because of that conversation.  there were like 10 girls, me, and 7 guys in a big hotel suite. myself and a girlfriend of mine ( i won't say who, cuz she might be reading this) were going to have a menage a trois with my hubby.  so she got started and i was about to hop on in when our buddy Hoffman started strutting through the suite peeing on everything and everyone.  a ruckus ensued, i had to kick several people out (Hoffman, 2 or 3 loud noisy guys, and 4 or 5 of the bitchier chicks), and i was all dissappointed cuz it didn't get to get my bow-chicka-bow-wow on. REALLY dissappointed.  hmm...

i woke up and..... what a dream to have. i'm still a tad bit dissappointed, truth be told.

it's probably the only Mandatory Sex Party i'll ever have.  and i didn't even get to enjoy it... cuz there was urine everywhere.

f***ing Hoffman.





Mike and i dissagree on how marriage works. i maintain that this is how it goes:

*I am always right, and all bad/icky things are always his fault, and he's always wrong.

he says that that is just not the case. Mike claims that:

*Krista is always wrong, and he is always right two weeks later with the same exact idea.




Krista's Tip of The Day:

Don't sleep with live baby ducks on your pillow.  It will, without a doubt, turn into a tear jerking, messy, guilt ridden affair.  You'll wake up, expecting to hear it's sweet little "cheep"s, only to discover that the room is silent. You'll turn on the light, rummage through the covers on your futon in a tearful panic, and find your poor Cornelius lifeless and cold in the folds of your comforter.  Later, while you're stretching at the gym with your Army co-workers, and crying like a little whimpering kindergartner, your supervisor will pull you aside and ask you what's wrong.  You will commence blabbering that

"I WOKE UP THIS MORNING AND MY PET BABY DUCKIE WAS DEAD AND I ROLLED ON HIM AND I FEEL TERRIBLE AND I DON'T HAVE ANY FAMILY HERE AND I'M ALL ALONE AND HE'S ALL I HAD AND NOW HE'S GONE AND I'LL NEVER HEAR HIS SWEET LITTLE CHEEPS OR GET TO WATCH HIM WADDLE AFTER ME BECAUSE HE'S DE-E-E-E-E-AD....."

Supervisor will swallow her laughter over your reasons for being so destroyed this morning, cuz she's a pro, and she'll send you home to collect yourself, pull yourself together, and dry up your Crying Too Hard Snot Faucet Nose.

so save yourself the trouble.

don't sleep with your baby duck in your bed. it won't end well for Little Cornelius.