While you slackers are sitting on the couch eating nachos and watching Madonna entertain the crazies who spent way too much money to watch two of my least favorite football teams play each other AGAIN, I've been productive. Did laundry, got in a work out, and now, BLOGGING!
Pandora is one of my favorite things about my smart phone.
Pandora is awesome. When I can't walk away from a situation that is driving me bananas, I can turn on Pandora and listen to PG comedy radio, and make myself laugh.
Proverbs 17:22 (HCSB) says "A joyful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones."
Henry Cho says "What's that clickin' noise?"
Put those together with Pandora, and my day is made infinitely better. (I can't embed the video, but I HIGHLY, HIGHLY recommend you watch it. Especially if you are married to Mama Cain.)
I didn't come here to talk about that, though: Today, I made it three quarters of a mile in 25 minutes, and kept my pulse up around 155-165. By the time I was done, there was actual sweat plastering my actual hair to my actual neck/head/face. I was able to keep up my pace thanks to my new Pandora workout station - and Taio, I want to put my hands up in the air sometimes, too! The problem, of course, is that hearing your song makes me think about Hanukkah.
But let's be honest: you don't come here to hear about Pandora and my coping mechanisms. You come here to hear about how my husband is trying to kill me.
There I was, letting go just like Taio told me to, and travelling at a speed significantly faster than my average, sweat pouring off my brow, and sound turned up - suddenly, Mr. Lurkey sticks his head around the corner and just STANDS there. I didn't even realize it, jamming out as I run, when I head a noise, look up, and see someone standing in the shadows, staring at me.
I almost fell on my face, and may or may not have shrieked and started sobbing. He came over and awkwardly patted my back (trying "valiantly" not to laugh), and said "Do you want me to go away?"
Yes. Yes I do.
I put up with a lot, my friends. He keeps publicly whining about my toilet paper tube tendencies. Okay, fine, I don't ALWAYS put it on the roller thingie right away, or put it on the roller thingie the way he likes. Our bathroom is TINY, y'all. But if he gets to complain about that, I am perfectly justified in telling you this:
The Hubs doesn't clean his facial hair off the sink/counter when he shaves. It gets in my hairbrush, on my toothbrush, on the floor, in the soap, EVERYWHERE. I would show you a picture, except I spent an hour or so scrubbing down every surface of the bathroom today. Which he has never done ONCE since we got married.
Full disclosure, he did clean the toilet bowl last week. To my knowledge, it was a first for us.
I have long hair, and I know its gross to leave discarded bits of yourself everywhere. Personally, I feel like I would be justified not cleaning out my hairbrush, or the shower, or whatever, since I'm the one responsible for bathroom cleaning anyway. BUT I DON'T.
Because its gross.
I kind of feel bad telling you this, because he is in the kitchen doing the dishes right now, and he puts up with a lot from me.
BUT GUYS. He scared the bejeebees out of me when I was working out! And thought it was funny!