Filling a dirty pan with water and letting it soak is not considered washing it.
Staying out late is being out until 11:59pm
Staying out all night is anytime past 12:01am
If your wife says she doesn’t want jewelry, she does.
Wives like sex, just not right now.
The bed does not make itself. Saying that you are just going to sleep in it again is not a valid excuse.
It was not pure luck that my work shirts are hanging in the closet.
Always keep track of favors and tasks. If you owe, it’s best to remember and pay up. It is human nature to remember that you’ve done the laundry the last 30 times or given the last 5 baths. Try to keep it even.
My kids might have a sense of humor and know what The Force is because of me, but all the other credit goes to my wife.
Don’t mention that you found hair in the shower.
Most everything is a test. I’m scoring in the low 20s and there is no curve.
Grey hair only exists on my head.
Putting away leftovers does not mean eating what’s left out of the pan over the sink.
Whole cucumbers do not belong in the garbage disposal no matter what cool noise they make.
If there is a good looking girl at work, I immediately go home and tell my wife about her. I’m not sure why except that it seems like the right thing to do.
It’s not worth arguing about toilet seat status or how much toilet paper makes up a single use.
When you get into an argument in the car there is usually nothing interesting to look at out the window.
Whoever cooks, the other person does the dishes.
It is better for me to go to work unshaven than to use the pink razor in the shower. (Or I should learn to rinse the pink razor better.)
Don’t discuss your sex life on the internet.
Before two kids it was morning sex. After two kids it’s mourning sex.
I am not a very good learner.
My wife is the most tolerant woman in the world. I love her very much. Happy Valentine's Day!
Recycling a website article is not considered a valid Valentine's Day present.
Showing posts with label miss sally. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miss sally. Show all posts
Valentine’s Day Surprise
I went to Taco Bell on Friday night early Saturday morning and ended up shooting chili cheese burrito down the front of my jacket. Sally had just washed that jacket for the first time in two years and now it was going to go in the wash again for the second time in a week.
I threw it in the washer after scraping the 35% beef off the front and spraying it down with something that I think I was supposed to yell “BAM!” while squeezing the trigger. I stuffed other clothes in the washer because my jacket would be lonely and the environment would weep if I didn’t.
Into the dryer.
Out and on to the coat rack.
Because it was a balmy 36 degrees the rest of the weekend, I didn’t see my jacket until Monday morning as Greg and I walked out the door to the garage. My assumption was that it was going to be warm enough to not have a jacket so I just threw it on the front seat.
We pulled into the preschool parking lot and when I jumped out, I realized that it was actually way freaking warmer in my garage than the outside, so I grabbed the jacket off the passenger seat and threw it on.
As Greg and I walked to the doors, I felt something folded up at the pocket flap by my sleeve. I thought my cuff was stuck, but there was something there. As we got up to the door I looked down and saw what it was.
It was Miss Sally’s underwear.
It was stuck to the Velcro that keeps the pocket closed. With several other parents coming and going, I deftly grabbed the undies and stuck them in my pocket. I snickered to myself as we entered and Greg kept asking why I was laughing.
Many women’s magazines suggest spicing up the love life by having the woman stick her underwear in the husband’s pocket so he’ll know there will be some loving later on. As this was Valentine’s Day, I asked Miss Sally if this was the case. Not so much.
Well, in lieu of a Valentine’s Day gift, I told her that I wouldn’t speak a word of this to anyone.
Happy Valentine’s Day Miss Sally!
PS Check your jacket pocket tomorrow, Sally. Hubba hubba!
I threw it in the washer after scraping the 35% beef off the front and spraying it down with something that I think I was supposed to yell “BAM!” while squeezing the trigger. I stuffed other clothes in the washer because my jacket would be lonely and the environment would weep if I didn’t.
Into the dryer.
Out and on to the coat rack.
Because it was a balmy 36 degrees the rest of the weekend, I didn’t see my jacket until Monday morning as Greg and I walked out the door to the garage. My assumption was that it was going to be warm enough to not have a jacket so I just threw it on the front seat.
We pulled into the preschool parking lot and when I jumped out, I realized that it was actually way freaking warmer in my garage than the outside, so I grabbed the jacket off the passenger seat and threw it on.
As Greg and I walked to the doors, I felt something folded up at the pocket flap by my sleeve. I thought my cuff was stuck, but there was something there. As we got up to the door I looked down and saw what it was.
It was Miss Sally’s underwear.
It was stuck to the Velcro that keeps the pocket closed. With several other parents coming and going, I deftly grabbed the undies and stuck them in my pocket. I snickered to myself as we entered and Greg kept asking why I was laughing.
Many women’s magazines suggest spicing up the love life by having the woman stick her underwear in the husband’s pocket so he’ll know there will be some loving later on. As this was Valentine’s Day, I asked Miss Sally if this was the case. Not so much.
Well, in lieu of a Valentine’s Day gift, I told her that I wouldn’t speak a word of this to anyone.
Happy Valentine’s Day Miss Sally!
PS Check your jacket pocket tomorrow, Sally. Hubba hubba!
Shower Curtain Practical Joke (NSFW)
(CAUTION: This post is not safe for work, small children and most of the Middle East.)
Kim and Shorty held their mostly annual Christmas party this year and John decided to liven up the event via a shower curtain he purchased on the internet.
He originally meant to buy the (you don't want to click on this link)FISTING SHOWER CURTAIN, but it was probably so wildly popular that it was sold out and he instead got the SMDB curtain.
John was giddy when he and Bekah arrived at the party. They sneaked up to the guest bathroom and were relieved when the guest bathroom shower curtain hooks would work with their gift. They hung it up and the upstairs was immediatley filled with a stinky, chemical vinyl smell. Or it was a scratch and sniff curtain.
Here is the curtain installed:
Miss Sally and Lynne enjoying the curtain:
I never noticed it before, but the black shirts make it look like Miss Sally and Lynne are groping each other!
It took about two hours for Kim and Shorty to figure out the curtain was up. I assume they kept it up for a few months becuase they enjoyed it so much.
Kim and Shorty held their mostly annual Christmas party this year and John decided to liven up the event via a shower curtain he purchased on the internet.
He originally meant to buy the (you don't want to click on this link)FISTING SHOWER CURTAIN, but it was probably so wildly popular that it was sold out and he instead got the SMDB curtain.
John was giddy when he and Bekah arrived at the party. They sneaked up to the guest bathroom and were relieved when the guest bathroom shower curtain hooks would work with their gift. They hung it up and the upstairs was immediatley filled with a stinky, chemical vinyl smell. Or it was a scratch and sniff curtain.
Here is the curtain installed:
Miss Sally and Lynne enjoying the curtain:
I never noticed it before, but the black shirts make it look like Miss Sally and Lynne are groping each other!
It took about two hours for Kim and Shorty to figure out the curtain was up. I assume they kept it up for a few months becuase they enjoyed it so much.
Who is Miss Sally?
Miss Sally is my wife. But you already knew that. What many of you have asked me is why I call Miss Sally, "Miss Sally." To make this easier, I’ll call Miss Sally, Sally.
Years and years ago, Sally and I lived together in Columbus. I was working for a local shipyard as a merchant marine and Sally was working at a pre-school as a teacher. Sally was the lead teacher in a room full of four year olds. At the pre-school, all the children called their teachers by their first name, but with a Miss in front of it. Miss Carrie. Miss Vickie. Miss Sally. But that wasn’t enough for me to start calling her that name. I never got to hear her called Miss Sally, so I really didn’t even know about it.
One day, Sally came home with a funny story about how a little boy came up to her in the middle of the day and blurted out, “Miss Sally! I pooped my pants!” The way she said it was hilarious. I immediately repeated it back to her and we laughed and laughed.
This story would be very boring if you could not hear the inflection of the words. Luckily, we have the internet and youtube so that you can hear how I heard it and how I repeated it back to her:
We spent the evening yelling back and forth from different rooms of the apartment, something like this:
Me- “Miss Sally!”
Sally – “Yes?”
Me- “I pooped my pants!”
The next day we were doing laundry and we said:
Me- “Miss Sally!”
Sally- “Yes?”
Me- “Is this dry clean only?”
Sally-“No.”
Me- “I pooped my pants!”
This continued on ad nauseam in several various and sundry iterations. The only thing that remained constant was that I would call Sally, “Miss Sally.”
At some point, it stuck. I can’t put my finger on the time or date, but I remember Loy making fun of me for it one day and then referring to her as Miss Sally the next without missing a beat. Friends and family sometimes slip and say "Miss Sally" and don’t bat an eye.
I hope that helps with all your questions.
“Miss Sally! I pooped my pants!”
That never gets old. But the boy did. He would be about seventeen years old now and will never know that he lives in infamy.
Years and years ago, Sally and I lived together in Columbus. I was working for a local shipyard as a merchant marine and Sally was working at a pre-school as a teacher. Sally was the lead teacher in a room full of four year olds. At the pre-school, all the children called their teachers by their first name, but with a Miss in front of it. Miss Carrie. Miss Vickie. Miss Sally. But that wasn’t enough for me to start calling her that name. I never got to hear her called Miss Sally, so I really didn’t even know about it.
One day, Sally came home with a funny story about how a little boy came up to her in the middle of the day and blurted out, “Miss Sally! I pooped my pants!” The way she said it was hilarious. I immediately repeated it back to her and we laughed and laughed.
This story would be very boring if you could not hear the inflection of the words. Luckily, we have the internet and youtube so that you can hear how I heard it and how I repeated it back to her:
We spent the evening yelling back and forth from different rooms of the apartment, something like this:
Me- “Miss Sally!”
Sally – “Yes?”
Me- “I pooped my pants!”
The next day we were doing laundry and we said:
Me- “Miss Sally!”
Sally- “Yes?”
Me- “Is this dry clean only?”
Sally-“No.”
Me- “I pooped my pants!”
This continued on ad nauseam in several various and sundry iterations. The only thing that remained constant was that I would call Sally, “Miss Sally.”
At some point, it stuck. I can’t put my finger on the time or date, but I remember Loy making fun of me for it one day and then referring to her as Miss Sally the next without missing a beat. Friends and family sometimes slip and say "Miss Sally" and don’t bat an eye.
I hope that helps with all your questions.
“Miss Sally! I pooped my pants!”
That never gets old. But the boy did. He would be about seventeen years old now and will never know that he lives in infamy.
Miss Sally and Doug - Halloween 2008
I got a call from Miss Sally on Friday. I was in a meeting, so I let it go to voice mail. A minute later, she called back. As you know, this is couples' secret code for "THIS IS IMPORTANT" so I made my leave and ducked into the hallway to answer the call.
"I'm at Target and I am looking at costumes."
It was an important call!
"What did you find?"
"Costumes from 'The Learning Channel.'"
I asked, "You mean like lion and tiger Learning Channel costumes?"
"No. From the Miami Ink line. Tattooed chick and dude costumes."
"Buy them. Buy them now."
So here we are:
Miss Sally and Doug with a slightly concerned Anne.
Greg is excited that mom and dad are free thinkers.
The prim and proper Miss Sally downs her Jell-o shot with a fork.
I stood too close to the fire and my tattoo shirt permanently melted on to my skin.
"I'm at Target and I am looking at costumes."
It was an important call!
"What did you find?"
"Costumes from 'The Learning Channel.'"
I asked, "You mean like lion and tiger Learning Channel costumes?"
"No. From the Miami Ink line. Tattooed chick and dude costumes."
"Buy them. Buy them now."
So here we are:
Miss Sally and Doug with a slightly concerned Anne.
Greg is excited that mom and dad are free thinkers.
The prim and proper Miss Sally downs her Jell-o shot with a fork.
I stood too close to the fire and my tattoo shirt permanently melted on to my skin.
Happy 10th Anniversary
Ten years ago, on a beach on Kiawah Island, SC, Miss Sally and Doug were married.
And against all odds and egg timers, she has stuck by my side.
Happy 10th Anniversary!!
Then
Now
And against all odds and egg timers, she has stuck by my side.
Happy 10th Anniversary!!
Then
Now
Meat Mountain Makes Miss Sally Sick
(Click to enlarge)
Miss Sally saw this ad in a parenting magazine. She said it grossed her out.
Now that I keep looking at it, it's starting to gross me out, too.
"This time, we didn't forget the gravy."
Miss Sally saw this ad in a parenting magazine. She said it grossed her out.
Now that I keep looking at it, it's starting to gross me out, too.
"This time, we didn't forget the gravy."
Happy 9th Anniversary
It was nine years ago today that Sally and I got married on Kiawah Island, South Carolina.
Happy Anniversary!
Honesty is the best policy except that I’m lying
I went to MegaRed and Mike’s Cinco de Mayo party on Saturday. They are awesome hosts and always throw a good party. You can see the photos HERE.
The next day, my wife and I were flipping through the photos. I was pointing out the different people and that we were playing flip cup in the basement and which girls I thought were cute. She was somewhat interested. Then we came to this photo:
And I said, “…and this was the girl I was flirting with.”
Oh boy.
See, my definition of flirting is that I was talking directly to this one (female) person and was making an effort to get her to laugh. I wasn’t attempting to get her in the sack or anything of the sort. We were just standing next to each other during the flip cup game. I was just looking for attention from a very attractive, fun girl. Harmless. Right?
Oh boy.
Miss Sally gave me a look that caused my testes to slide back up into lower intestine and quietly build a nest. I think she said, “Oh? That’s just great.” And she walked off. Her feet left scorch marks in the Pergo.
So now I have two choices:
1. Quit flirting
2. Quit flirting
I think I’m going to have to go with number two.
Let this be a lesson to all you men!!
{Please note: #2 is actually “Quit telling Sally all the truth.” She stops reading after about the 200th word. It’s not like I’m lying. It’s just to protect her from the awful truth that flirting is the only thing I do well.}
{Please note again: I told this story to my co-workers and pleaded my case that I was just flirting harmlessly. Beth walked over and slapped me in the head. I guess the sentiment is Universal.}
The next day, my wife and I were flipping through the photos. I was pointing out the different people and that we were playing flip cup in the basement and which girls I thought were cute. She was somewhat interested. Then we came to this photo:
And I said, “…and this was the girl I was flirting with.”
Oh boy.
See, my definition of flirting is that I was talking directly to this one (female) person and was making an effort to get her to laugh. I wasn’t attempting to get her in the sack or anything of the sort. We were just standing next to each other during the flip cup game. I was just looking for attention from a very attractive, fun girl. Harmless. Right?
Oh boy.
Miss Sally gave me a look that caused my testes to slide back up into lower intestine and quietly build a nest. I think she said, “Oh? That’s just great.” And she walked off. Her feet left scorch marks in the Pergo.
So now I have two choices:
1. Quit flirting
2. Quit flirting
I think I’m going to have to go with number two.
Let this be a lesson to all you men!!
{Please note: #2 is actually “Quit telling Sally all the truth.” She stops reading after about the 200th word. It’s not like I’m lying. It’s just to protect her from the awful truth that flirting is the only thing I do well.}
{Please note again: I told this story to my co-workers and pleaded my case that I was just flirting harmlessly. Beth walked over and slapped me in the head. I guess the sentiment is Universal.}
My kid can fall asleep slower than your kid
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is a “My Kid” writing. I suggest you stop reading now. I really do not like to hear people talk about their kid because unless it is a story about them pooping their pants at the recital, I’m not interested in hearing it. Sorry. Most kid stories go like this: My kid “X” did “Y” and did it better or more interestingly or faster than any kid I’ve ever seen. He/She is advanced for his/her age. Blah… Again, stop reading. I warned you.
My kid had an incredibly crazed night. He was extremely excited and running around and I knew all the way through reading books to him that this was not going to end well.
As I turned off his light, he started asking for mommy and then crying for mommy and then ranting for mommy. Mommy came up to calm him down and it worked until she needed to leave. Then he asked for daddy and cried for daddy and so on and so forth.
After the second shift change, Miss Sally calmed him down and we gave him goodnight kisses and he seemed like he was going to be all right, but then he pulled the “sleep with me” card. I’ve slept in his room on two or three occasions in the middle of the night when he was sick or upset. I do not want to start that as a trend.
So, here I am, typing because he can hear it from the other room and it seems to comfort him to know that I am in the other room. It’s an odd connection that my clamoring on the keyboard reassures him. If only he knew that I was usually typing crap about drinking or nudie bars.
So, for the next few minutes, I’ll type. And since we are on the topic of Greg, I’ll continue this one-sided conversation.
Greg sometimes has a problem with listening. Most kids do. If we get reports from his teachers that he wasn’t a good listener that day, then we end up keeping the TV off or not letting him play Lego Star Wars. My kid Greg is the best non-listener of any kid I’ve ever seen. He’s an advanced non-listener for his age.
Lego Star Wars is a beautiful game. Watching Greg play is interesting and frightening. He picked up on it in a few weeks and he’s pretty good. There is a dual player mode so that two people can play in tandem to complete the goals. Greg thinks that it is funny to chase me down and shoot me with his blaster. When we are in the middle of a quest, I get a bit peeved that he kills me. I’ll warn him once or twice and then I’ll drop out of the game and let him finish on his own.
The other day he came up to me around Star Wars time. He said the following, “I was a good listener at school today and I promise not to kill you.”
I almost wept. My little boy is growing up.
And now he is asleep.
This is a “My Kid” writing. I suggest you stop reading now. I really do not like to hear people talk about their kid because unless it is a story about them pooping their pants at the recital, I’m not interested in hearing it. Sorry. Most kid stories go like this: My kid “X” did “Y” and did it better or more interestingly or faster than any kid I’ve ever seen. He/She is advanced for his/her age. Blah… Again, stop reading. I warned you.
My kid had an incredibly crazed night. He was extremely excited and running around and I knew all the way through reading books to him that this was not going to end well.
As I turned off his light, he started asking for mommy and then crying for mommy and then ranting for mommy. Mommy came up to calm him down and it worked until she needed to leave. Then he asked for daddy and cried for daddy and so on and so forth.
After the second shift change, Miss Sally calmed him down and we gave him goodnight kisses and he seemed like he was going to be all right, but then he pulled the “sleep with me” card. I’ve slept in his room on two or three occasions in the middle of the night when he was sick or upset. I do not want to start that as a trend.
So, here I am, typing because he can hear it from the other room and it seems to comfort him to know that I am in the other room. It’s an odd connection that my clamoring on the keyboard reassures him. If only he knew that I was usually typing crap about drinking or nudie bars.
So, for the next few minutes, I’ll type. And since we are on the topic of Greg, I’ll continue this one-sided conversation.
Greg sometimes has a problem with listening. Most kids do. If we get reports from his teachers that he wasn’t a good listener that day, then we end up keeping the TV off or not letting him play Lego Star Wars. My kid Greg is the best non-listener of any kid I’ve ever seen. He’s an advanced non-listener for his age.
Lego Star Wars is a beautiful game. Watching Greg play is interesting and frightening. He picked up on it in a few weeks and he’s pretty good. There is a dual player mode so that two people can play in tandem to complete the goals. Greg thinks that it is funny to chase me down and shoot me with his blaster. When we are in the middle of a quest, I get a bit peeved that he kills me. I’ll warn him once or twice and then I’ll drop out of the game and let him finish on his own.
The other day he came up to me around Star Wars time. He said the following, “I was a good listener at school today and I promise not to kill you.”
I almost wept. My little boy is growing up.
And now he is asleep.
My effect on people
I am not that bad of a person. Sometimes I come off that way. Many who only know me from social situations would never guess that I am a caring husband and responsible father when I am at home and not out drinking. I think my greatest attribute is my ability to find the perfect moment to quickly say something which to others is witty, but to the receiver of said wit, is grating and offensive.
Here's an example with photographic evidence:
The following photo was taken at Carl and Toni's wedding. You've got (L to R) Miss Sally, Beth, Dana and Leslie. It was taken by Dana's husband, Rod.
Off camera to the left of Rod, is me. Back a little. (You'll be able to figure out the trajectory in just a moment.)
I cannot remember exactly what I said, but it was to Dana and Rod took this second photo right after I said it.
You can see from the photo that three of the four people in the photo found what I said to be amusing.
I sometimes think to myself, is being egotistical, self absorbed and selfish such a bad thing? I can answer only as one with those qualities can: of course it isn't such a bad thing... for me.
I end with the timeless words of Dana's grandfather Mike, "I love me. Who do you love?"
Here's an example with photographic evidence:
The following photo was taken at Carl and Toni's wedding. You've got (L to R) Miss Sally, Beth, Dana and Leslie. It was taken by Dana's husband, Rod.
Off camera to the left of Rod, is me. Back a little. (You'll be able to figure out the trajectory in just a moment.)
I cannot remember exactly what I said, but it was to Dana and Rod took this second photo right after I said it.
You can see from the photo that three of the four people in the photo found what I said to be amusing.
I sometimes think to myself, is being egotistical, self absorbed and selfish such a bad thing? I can answer only as one with those qualities can: of course it isn't such a bad thing... for me.
I end with the timeless words of Dana's grandfather Mike, "I love me. Who do you love?"
Moms
With Miss Sally returning to work, we needed some help taking care of Baby Ann during the day. We were only going to need help for about three weeks until a spot opened up in the infant room at Miss Sally's preschool. Because Baby Ann decided to come out four weeks early, we now need seven weeks of help from my mother and Sally's mom.
I cannot tell you how grateful we are. I cannot tell you how much I forgot to realize that they would be spending the entire work week here. We are ending day two and my mom showed up a little bit ago to take the Wednesday/Thursday shift.
I'll let you know how it goes.
I cannot tell you how grateful we are. I cannot tell you how much I forgot to realize that they would be spending the entire work week here. We are ending day two and my mom showed up a little bit ago to take the Wednesday/Thursday shift.
I'll let you know how it goes.
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