My husband's favorite thing to do is....

Not having sex, although I think that comes in second :)

Not getting drunk

Not doing drugs

Not watching porn

Not gambling

His favorite thing to do is... his biggest vice... drinking milk while eating oreo cookies.  Guess it could be worse.

Actually I really like sitting with him at the kitchen table every evening, talking about anything and downing those cookies.  I'm looking forward to growing old with him.

When I take eggs out of the carton, I make a point of doing it in a balanced way. If I take one from the right side, then I take the next one from the left side.  This is so when the next person pulls the carton out of the refridgerator, the carton doesn't have all the weight at one end causing it to tip and open, sending eggs crashing to the floor. I'll bet no one in the family knows I do this small public service. Certainly they never do it for me.

Dancing with my Brother at my wedding meant more to me than dancing with my new husband.

I wanted to play Take My Breathe Away at my wedding. It's always been on my list of things to have on that day. I didn't have it played because I knew he wasn't really the one.

Whenever I masturbate, I feel like I'm dirtying the virtue of the person I'm masturbating to.

So every time I do, I stop for a moment mid-masturbation to apologize before I finish.

I am a teacher.

When I first met my wife, I told her I was a teacher. When I proposed two years later, I was still a teacher.  When we got married, yep, clearly still teaching.

Here we are 6 years later and she tells me a few times a week that if I had a "better" job, we could afford to go on better vacations and buy a nicer car.

To say she "tells" me is too simple.  She nags about it.  She digs.  She sneers.  She is downright ugly about my teaching career sometimes.

I find this so hurtful.  I love teaching.  I've always wanted to teach.  I am happy teaching.  I explained this from day one to her.  At that time she said she thought my career choice was great.

But now she is not keeping up with the Jones.  I am so disappointed by this.  No wait, it's a stronger emotion.  I am heart broken.  I am insulted.  I am saddened.  I feel used. I feel empty.

I love my job.  It's my wife I'm beginning to dislike.

I AM A TEACHER!!!!!

My diploma says English Literature, but let's be real - in college I majored in fucking.

I think the Venus razor for women is the best razor out there.

34m

No, that skirt doesn't make your ass look fat. Your ass makes your ass look fat.

My father left when we were young. He would call us very sporadically throughout the next few years. From a payphone. From a rooming house. This was the extent of our communication. I didn't ever know where he was, exactly. I knew he had photos of us, from our awkward years when his kids were at their least appealing.  Those awful pictures from school with the fake blue sky in the background and every zit, squint and cowlick in high definition. This is what he carried to remember us by, though the years passed and we grew into ourselves, developed as people, traveled, got hurt, went to school, fell in love.  He never, in all his life, got his act together enough to have a home, or a steady job, or to even stick it out with his kids. Whenever I spoke to him, I knew he had the idea he was talking to that 12-year old in the picture.  He wasn't interested in the present, only in discussing everything that was current when he went away. His kids hung in stasis, and I understand it was probably most tolerable for him that way.

One day he called at Easter and said he had a gift for me, a Pocahontas watch. He still had to mail it though. I was 20 fucking years old but I was like, Oh thank you, dad…while feeling heartsick at the skewed kilter of our relationship.
I never resented this man for leaving. I pitied him and mourned his lonely life. He was an abstraction, haunted by mental illness and poor health. He existed more as a black hole, the absence of something, than an actual person. So I wasn't surprised not to get the watch. Follow-through was not his strength.

But he called months later to apologize, as if I had been waiting in eager anticipation, and explained that he'd had to pawn the watch. "Sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you imagine it will," was how it explained it. In writing, this seems like a very trite statement. But it strikes at my heart. Do you have to know my dad, or someone like him, to feel the sadness of this statement? He never justified or apologized or in any way seemed aware than on every level of measurement, his life was a sad failure. This was the one reference, the lone indication of that awareness. A life of being the black sheep, the outcast, poverty stricken, friendless, sick, and estranged from your family, but he always truly seemed cloaked in a selfish obliviousness. But I know he wasn't, he couldn't have been that blind. The alternative, knowing that his life must have been one of crushing loneliness,  fills me with despair. So poor you have to pawn a cheap watch from Woolco.

And my heart will always sicken at the idea of how he died…alone, and dead for days before he was found because he had no one to notice he was gone.

I get disappointed when a so called 'ass to mouth' porno clip has a break in the action between the ass and the mouth. I picture the actors running to the shower and washing before sucking on the cock. Such a let down when this happens. The ass to mouth part should be one continous motion. Anything less would be like watching a magic trick where the magician asks you to close your eyes for a moment. It just doesn't work for me.

I so wish you'd take a chance with me.  We are great together.  I think you see it too.  We are soul mates.

But I'm guessing you are worried.  You see me as a slacker working on silly projects which might never amount to anything.  True.  They might fall flat.  But that's ok, at least I tried to do something on my own right?

But still you are probably worried that I am not good marriage material.  We would have bills to pay and all that.  

So my really big secret?  I drive an old car.  I live in a studio.  I wear ratty clothes.  I pursue artistic endeavors instead of a corparate career.  I look like a loser.  But I am worth $14 million.  I can't tell anyone.  Oh baby believe me I want to.  But if I did, I wouldn't know if people befriended me so I'd pick up the check or because they are truly my friends.  So I keep it secret.

But I so desperately want you to know so you won't be afraid of taking the next step with me.  But I can't say it. I'm not going to say it.  Look in your heart.  Believe in me.  In the end you will have a life where you too can afford to go after your dreams.

About once a week my wife microwaves her toothbrush.  She says it kills any lingering germs.

About twice a week my wife puts my dick in her mouth.  I'm wondering if I should be nervous......

I was embarrassed to get married. Everyone looking at me. Being the center of attention. This just isn't me.  And the first dance.  Oh my god that was doubly awful. Everyone staring and I can't dance.  That was hardly the best day of my life.  In fact I'd rate it one of the worst.

I feed my dog chocolate all the time.  Nothing bad has ever happened.  I think that is myth put forth by greedy people who wanted all the chocolate for themselves.

In the hours after a social event I do a play-by-play recap of my performance and I am always miserable about how I behaved.

The guilt wells up in me as I recall the stupid things I said. I shake my head in disgust at how self centered I came across.

In the end, I promise myself never to be seen in the company of those people again, so I can hopefully forget what a socially inept oaf I am.

My sins?  The things I said which were so awful? Here is an example of what was bugging me about an afternoon barbecue from yesterday:

- Someone asked where I went to college.  I felt I was showing off because I answered.  What if someone at the party didn't go to college.  How rude of me?

- I had put food on my plate from the buffet.  I'm sure people saw me.  What a pig I am.

- I took a can of soda from the self-serve tub filled with ice.  It was a Coke.  I think it was the last Coke.  So selfish of me.  What if someone else wanted the last Coke?  I should have checked with everybody first.

- I told a woman what the Latin root of her son's name is. Obviously I must have been boring her. She of course would have already known that. As she was driving home with her husband, they probably had a good time in the car laughing at me.

My head is a-swirl with these types of mis-steps. But look at them.  By a day later when I catch my breath, I can see the worry points are meaningless.  No one was laughing at me on their car ride home.  But right after the party, my insecurity meter is turned on high and I obsess over all this junk.

There is something seriously wrong with my self esteem and my ability to participate in a normal social encounter.

I shave my legs more often than I brush my teeth.

Good secret to know: if you watch the way you put the netflix cd holder back in the red envelope, there is a bar code.  Make sure it is showing through the slit.  Your order will get processed faster.  If you don't do this, someone must open the envelope by hand.  This takes time and slows down your next delivery.  The company doesn't tell you this because they try to slow down deliveries a little.  I should know, shhhhhhhh......

I want to see you without your clothes on.

Oh wait, I have seen you without your clothes on.  Let me rephrase that:

I want to see you without your clothes on... but this time I want to be inside your bedroom rather than outside in the bushes.

Well at least the chemo got rid of the hair on my husband's back. That's a good thing right?

(I laugh because I'm so tired of crying....)

I think it's repulsive when women demand in their personal ads that I be "tall, thin, successful, ready for a committed relationship".  These women are mid 40s, divorced, overweight, and have kids.  Yet they are starting off this relationship insisting I be a certain way.

Hey, I'm not the one who got pregnant to a loser deadbeat dad. I'm not the one who drowned my grief in cake and ice cream.  I'm not the one having trouble making the mortgage payment.  But you want to lecture me and make me feel unworthy and not up to some imaginary standards which you can't even meet?

Think back to when you were 18.  Did you meet a guy at a party and open the conversation by stating your list of demands:

"If we're going to have a long term sexual relationship, I need to see your last 3 years of tax returns, references from two prior girlfriends as well as a note from you employer, a note from your doctor and your credit history."

Of course not.  But when you have completely blown your life and have a tremendous amount of baggage, you suddenly think it is okay to behave this way?

You'd be lucky if I ever agreed to stick my cock in your cunt.  Not the other way round.  Remember that and grow some humble genes.

I'm embarrassed at my life and the things I'm forced to do.  For example, every evening before going to bed, I head into the bathroom and linger.  The flies and mosquitoes follow me in there and when I'm sure I have their attention, I rush out of the room and place a towel at the bottom of the door so they are stuck in there all night.

I'm playing psych games with bugs.

This is my life.

Sometimes I hide from my children.  I'll need a break and I'll go in my bedroom and if I hear my kids coming up the stairs a minute later looking for me, I'll run into my closet and close the door.  They will look around my room calling for me but I won't answer. Evenetually they wander off somewhere else to find me.  Then I come out of the closet and lie back down on my bed.  Oh the things we do as parents.