In case, like me, you struggle with the mathematical skills to get you through daily life without looking like a complete idiot who requires three technological aides, two hours and fifteen minutes of your life that you’ll never get back, and a variety of flustered yet adorable facial expressions just to figure out how much you’re paying per day to feed your dogs, we’re just over 50 days into 2010.
This is relevant only because I couldn’t come up with a better introduction into talking about how much better this year has already turned out to be compared to 2009. 2010 is the old Britney to 2009′s new Britney. 2010 is the How I Met Your Mother to 2009′s Accidentally On Purpose.
2010 is the Beyoncé to 2009′s Taylor Swift – or should that be the other way around? Whichever means I’m using frequent hairtosses to enunciate my stances on the important stuff. Like how blowing bubbles trumps watching the Olympics and how bedazzlers were the single greatest triumph of fashion of the past fifty years.
Prove. Me. Wrong.
*hairtoss*
Wow. Even I want to gaybash this post.
But back on point – things have been really good. From a very deliberate attitude adjustment (from raging, snooty bitch to at-least-pleasant-to-your-face, snooty bitch) to new goals in life (dominate), I’m slowly starting to pull myself together and no one’s happier about this than the newf who, quite frankly, is sick of the dramatic mania that can be cohabiting with Ben Boudreau.
Example: Once I got annoyed with him for calling me at work at 3pm offering to pick me up some takeout for dinner that night because WHO KNOWS WHERE THEY’RE GOING TO BE IN LIFE COME DINNERTIME AT 3PM. I COULD BE DEAD OR MARRIED TO RYAN REYNOLDS OR FAMOUS OR HIT BY A BUS BY THEN.
Teehee. I’m lovely and pleasant and rational always.
But don’t feel too bad for him because that was 2009 Ben. Lately, 2010 Ben has been cooking us delicious meals, proposing fun dates, smiling and laughing often, and a making use of a new time management dealie where I be up in the gym just working on my fitness – he’s my witness (ooooweeee!) – I put those boys on rock rock, and they be linin’ down the block just to watch what I got. So delicious.
(I require no reason to quote Fergie-Ferg. None.)
(Sexiest blogger does as sexiest blogger pleases. BAM.)
Besides, the newf gets away with plenty not even counting his inability to follow simple household rules such as keeping the kitchen hand-towel in the designated kitchen hand-towel location and never questioning my rules.
Plus lately he’s made me feel as if I’m living in a game of Mortal Kombat. It seems I’ve been ‘blessed’ with a spouse who after 28 years on this earth, still has not mastered the art of using his limbs without injuring others. For example, laughing at the television shouldn’t result in a sleeping Ben getting woken up with a punch to the neck. Similarly, putting on a winter coat shouldn’t result in Ben getting razored across the neck with a zipper.
And dancing? Dancing’s the worst of all. I still can’t hear I Hope You Dance without imagining someone screaming FATALITY! and FINISH HIM! as he approaches.
Right. So basically I was going to write a whole post about how Mortal Kombaty my life was and it was going to be hilarious but instead I tossed it in as a throw-away bit now after running out of steam creating this piece of groundbreaking literature. So there.
Just laugh and I’ll go away.
Oh my god, Ben.
How do you even do it?
Ahhhhh I wish I were you.
Thank you.
P.S. Being your own editor is a total joke.