Sex and the sicky…

Is it 2008, yet? Too bad! I’m writing, anyway.

A – N – Y – W – A – Y – S

Anyways, Vicky and I spent a fabulous weekend on the sunny shores of Coughy Sneezy Land… which sucks. Seriously. It sucks ass. Vicky and I were dying all weekend long. Actually, some guy bought her this new car – he’s really got it bad for her, I can tell you – and she felt much better after. Amazing what warm buns will do. (Before you start getting any ideas, the car has seat warmers – I kid you not!)

But I’m still sick… dammit.

We spent pretty much the entire weekend watching the final season of Sex and the City. Yes, I know it went off the air about 73 years ago. Call me slow! I’ll say this much for them: they certainly left it open for the movie! (Yes, I am criticizing it now – long, long after it stopped being remotely hip to do so… if it ever was so – what of it?) I wanted to see how thing would turn out. I wanted to see the happy ending! I felt cheated!

Vicky asked, “You wouldn’t want them to wrap it up in a nice, neat bow, would you?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Yes, that’s exactly what I do want! I want a bow, nice and neat! Right now, dammit!”

But that wasn’t what I was getting.

Vicky and I, sprawled out on our sofas, watching old television, is not exactly what I think of when I think of romance but it amazes me how the sound of her blowing her nose can sound like music to my ears. Maybe it’s the sickness talking but I am very much in love with my Vicky. She’s really wonderful… you know, most of the time… Sadly, all of this sickness has been putting a crimp in some important baby making, which is hard to… or, um, difficult to do when you’re both hacking and wheezing and coughing and sneezing.

Vicky thinks so, at least…

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

I got my Christmas present tonight. I drove it home and it's parked in its new spot.

Thanks to my most wonderful husband I got a 2008 Ford Escape Hybrid! I love it. I'll be posting a picture of it later this weekend. Now, I'm off to drive it...if I can stop this darn coughing...

Dying of the plague…

Well, isn’t he a good sport about it, folks?

Okay. Seriously. I’m dying here.

I had a head cold last week. Vicky got it and passed it back. Now, it’s in our chests and we’re both dying. This sucks. My body aches are so bad, it hurts to type. So this won’t be long.

We’ll catch up next year, okay?

Merry Christmas with my mouth full…

It’s the most tubbiest time of the year?

If you take my weight and divide it by 42, you’ll find that I’ve been packing on about five pounds each year. I’m here to tell you, it’s the fault of Christmas! I’ve learned to be pretty good at Thanksgiving, and only eat one place. On Halloween, I generally restrict myself to a handful of candies. On Easter, I avoid the bunny rabbits. But bring me to Christmas…

The problem, I believe, lies in the variety. Every other holiday has a theme but, with Christmas, it’s full overload. “Would you like a cookie?” “Here’s some fudge.” “I bought you truffles.” “Have a taste of this clotted fat!” (I’m not saying it did happen – but it could have when I wasn’t looking.)

If this wasn’t clear to me, it began on Friday, when Vicky went out for a Christmas dinner and brought me home – some pie! Cause, you know, I NEED pie. But it was done with affection and I gobbled it up with affection… and ice cream… Saturday, we went to Polly’s (a southern Californian treat) and I had the turkey dinner lunch (it was the dinner served in a lunch-sized portion) because I knew my Christmas dinner would be slightly different. You see, Vicky and I had made a plan… but more on that later. We went to Costco and picked up a pizza – and if you’re not already saying “Those two need to seriously go on a diet”, you will soon.

Sunday was our Christmas day as both sides of our families had crazy schedules. Mike was working. My mom was going out of town. So, okay, we started the day at my mom’s, and she offered us cookies and candy. Mind you, Vicky had already been making cookies at home for weeks and my employer had gifted us with a three-pound box of chocolate-covered cookies and I had been given fudge… I turned her down. Shocking, no? Then, it was off to Fontana, for dinner with the Pearson clan. I was good and only had one plate, ignoring that a single serving of Mama Pearson’s homemade mac-n-cheese (the recipe for which Jenn would die… and so would I) is the caloric equivalent of South America… I mean, eating it. The folks-in-law had asked us to bring pies, one lemon meringue (Mike’s fave) and one pumpkin (Steve’s fave). Vicky and I had bought them at Polly’s… and brought them back home with us because everyone was too full to eat pie. (And, yes, they’re still in the fridge.)

On Monday, we hit Knott’s Merry Farm (and, yes, the plays on words at that place make me want to vomit) and got some walking in… which was good… because after Mama Knott’s place was too packed to get a table and we opted instead for Popeye’s Fried Chicken our bodies were grateful for their brief reminder of health. By the end of the night, our fridge was overloaded with leftovers from Christmas dinner, leftovers from Popeye’s… and food for Christmas.

Here was the plan: we’d be bums on Christmas and eat crappy food… because, you know, we’d been eating so healthy up to that point. So, out came the 6-layer dip and the chips and the mini-corn-dogs. We even had taquitos in the fridge, which never got eaten because Vicky then added TWO boxes of candy to the mix.

I’m ready to puke. Seriously. On the keyboard. A day later.

We also opened Christmas gifts somewhere in there. Our favorite gift of the year? I think it’s Guitar Hero III on the motherfucking Wii (on the motherfucking big-screen TV). Vicky and I were taking turns playing it all Christmas morning and most of Christmas afternoon. Turns out, I rock… in a middle-aged writer kind of way. Vicky rocks completely in every way imaginable – but we already knew that.

The way I see it, we’ll need to rock hard – all night – anything to help me fit in my pants again!

It’s the most laziest time of the year…

Ouch! The grammar police are going to get me for that one!

But it had to be said! Looking around our house this morning, as I ate my breakfast raviolis, I had to admit it. Vicky and I have been slacking off. You can’t blame us. We’ve been busy with the holiday. It took us weeks to get our new TV up and working and, after weeks of research, it looks like Vicky may be getting her new car today. It’s been nutty.

Meanwhile, our pantry is growing barren and I haven’t had a decent breakfast in… well, you’re probably wondering about the breakfast raviolis, aren’t you?

Last night, we had to decide on what to eat. It came down to a frozen brick of Costco raviolis in our freezer. Lobster raviolis – and, yes, they suck as much as they sound like they would suck! Did we have the right sides or sauces to prepare them with? Well… no, but that didn’t stop us.

And I ate the leftovers for breakfast.

Now, look. I know how gross that sounds, and it was, but we all go through these periods where there’s just no time to keep up on the normal tedium of life… like buying food, for instance. I know that Vicky is going to read this and say, “I can’t believe you’re telling everyone that I make you eat raviolis for breakfast!” but it’s not like that. We’re just busy. You know?

We’ll catch up on things again, I’m sure.

… like, in 2008…

I’ve been sick…

Yep, the cold bug got me this week. It started Sunday night and is only now letting up. I actually thought it would be much worse. Up until yesterday, I was afraid it would develop into bronchitis or something – it was really getting bad. And then – and, as much as I hate to plug drugs, I just have to – I tried Zicam. Over the counter, under the tongue, tastes kinda crappy, but works wonders – Zicam.

And now, I feel better. Not 100% but better…

Thanks, Zicam!

(Ugh. I feel dirty.)

Anyway, I thought I’d catch you up on the goings on and follow throughs at the La Salle household.

Vicky is still not pregnant. We had a few days there where we thought – maybe… maybe… - but, no. Nothing. How strange to be so sad about something you are sure you’ll suck at but want so badly when it doesn’t come to pass. I want to hold our child, though I’m terrified I’ll drop her. I want to educate our child, though I am concerned about the superstitious nonsense they teach in school. I want to watch our child grow up, though I know I’ll be ancient by the time she does. But, to do that, we need to start by having a child. It’s almost as if wanting a child is the best form of birth control. I promise you, if I was 16 and feared the words “I’m late” as much as I did (lo! Those many years ago!), Vicky would be pregnant faster than you can say, “Safe sex!”

Tin Man. Vicky and I watched the miniseries on Sci-Fi. Anyone else? Anyone? Anyone? Hello? It tried really hard to be important and meaningful… really hard. And I can forgive its almost total (and convenient) amnesia about the lore that preceded it. I can even forgive the wishy-washy way the creators wanted to make sure there were no consequences to anyone’s actions. (Seriously, how many times can Neal McDonough get shot without, say, bleeding?) What I can’t forgive, however, was the show’s complete lack of denouement! Just as the big climax is coming and everything is about to finish, just before that beat – be it a minute or five minutes long – where you have the final exhale – credits. Oh yeah? Well, fuck you.

All we want for Christmas. The way I figure it, we’re making up for last year… um, in a very big way. Let’s see… new HDTV… new TV stand/entertainment center, thingie… gobs of other things – and we still haven’t bought a car, yet! (But that's coming, too!) Oy. When I think of the credit card bills!!!

Anyway, that’s just a short picture. What can I tell you? Sick trumps blog. Thankfully, though, it looks like I’ll be feeling back to my old self in time for Christmas. Have a merry one and a merry each day until and after.

Why I won’t make a good father…

Feels like an essay. “What I did on my summer vacation.” But the thing is that the closer we get to this whole “baby” thing – I kid you not, Vicky takes her temperature every day – through her mouth! pervs… – the more freaked out I get by the idea of it. I’ve only recently reached the point where I can live my life without constantly trying to kill myself; what kind of father am I going to be???

I thought a list might help.

Why I won’t make a good father.

1. Babies scare the hell out of me. Seriously. You can break them. Burn them. Accidentally drop them… out of a moving car… on the freeway… over a bridge – there’s just so much!

2. I still eat meat, thus polluting the world my child will inherit.

3. Oh, and I drive a car.

4. I’m not thrifty. I know that’s not a popular word any longer but it was once a very important thing. Thrift meant that you were mindful of the future. Too often, I spend money when I should save it.

5. I am not the most patient person.

6. I’m too old to really endure child rearing.

7. I like my belongings and I know that a child, like a puppy, is going to destroy them. I’m not a big fan of that.

8. I haven’t secured a lifestyle that will keep our child comfortable and grant them opportunity.

9. I am prone to make mistakes.

10. See #1…

Why do I see about twenty years of incredibly high blood pressure, anxiety, and general nervousness in my future?

When is a joke not a joke, or, Get the fuck outta my face!...

My sense of humor is sometimes too dry, sometimes too obtuse, sometimes too “why the fuck did you just say obtuse”…

Here’s an example.

Last night, I was up with Vicky. She was at her computer. She’d just received an email from MySpace; someone had emailed her.

“Who emailed you? Some guy?” I asked. I like to tease Vicky about all her boyfriends. She hates it. She thinks I’m serious. I have yet to pick up on this little detail.

“You’ll see. I’ll open it for you,” she replied, challenging my assertion.

Listen: it wasn’t an assertion. I was just kidding.

So, the email opens and it’s from a woman. It’s obviously a woman. The woman is cute.

“Who’s the guy?” I ask. See, the idea is that she would reply with something like “His name is Vicky” and I would deliver “He’s cute.”

It would have been funny. Vicky would have laughed. That’s not what happened.

Vicky sneered, “That’s not a guy.”

“Who’s the guy?” I asked again, thinking she’d pick up on my wonderful sense of humor.

“That’s not a guy.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“That’s obviously not a guy and why do you keep repeating the same question like a moron?!”

I could tell from the way she was yelling and the way fire plumed from her nose that Vicky was probably not amused.

… nobody gets me…

It’s the most fattening time of the year…

So, Vicky’s making cookies this year. Vicky normally makes cookies but, this year, it’s like she never did it before! She’s making so many cookies, I’ve taken to calling her Keebler. Anyway…

The thing is, I’ve become her guinea pig. Whenever there’s something to taste or when a cookie doesn’t turn out perfectly or just when one’s there… did I say guinea pig? I mean garbage disposal.

And, of course, I have my yearly physical tomorrow. After all these cookies, I’m sure the doc isn’t going to put me on some kind of no-fat, no-cholesterol, no-flavor kind of diet.

And Vicky’s just gonna laugh and laugh…

47 inches… not that size matters…

It’s been a long time coming. Vicky and I are far from what you could call “early adopters”. In fact, many of our friends already have them.

I’m talking about HDTVs… of course…

We’re still using a TV from the last century, and it’s fine… I guess. We’d like to get rid of the monster wall unit that takes up so much space and the stereo within that’s just so 1994, you know? We’ve been looking, cast longing glances, wherever we go, admiring from a distance, licking screens when no one is looking… well, Vicky has…

Let’s face it, all the cool kids have them, right? And we want to hang out with the cool kids, down by the swings, laughing at Stinky Mulligan as he walks home in those big-ass shoes his mom bought him because she said he’d “grow into them”…

Where was I?

Yeah, anyway, so Vicky and I were Costco on Saturday. We made it past the “wall of big-screens”. We had actually grown so used to it, we didn’t even look sideways. We did some shopping. We walked around.

Then, Vicky got away. I was looking at Wii games and then – she was gone! Where’d she go? I called her and – how do I put this? We’re silly people. She was kinda playing hide’n’seek – though she will never, ever admit that. Long story short: I found her in front of…. Oooh, that’s nice.

“I need this,” she said

It was very modern, very dark, very… wait a minute. “Honey? That’s a stand for a flat-panel TV.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, hopelessly in its spell.

Never one to miss an opportunity, because so few actually come along, I said, “Listen, I’m not going to say we can’t get it. The thing is, we’ll need to get a TV to go with it.”

And that was that. Who knew the secret to getting Vicky to buy an HDTV was finding the right stand? Now I just need to find the secret to getting Vicky to let me stay home all day and play WoW… a new toaster, perhaps???

In the end, we decided on a 47” Phillips LCD HDTV EIEIO. Bonus for us greenies, it’s Energy Star rated, which is hard to find. We got the TV and the stand and… walked out of Costco spending far more than we had ever imagined. (But, according to Shrub, I’m helping fight terrorism…)

Now, Vicky and I (mostly Vicky) are working on ways to donate our old TV, wall unit, and junk – recycling! Then, we’ll have to pay more for a new dish and new HD service… making everything more expensive…

… why did we do this again?

I’ll just try to forget all that once we get it set up and we’re playing Wii…

What is it about the holidays?...

Vicky and I are looking at this weekend… and our eyes are filled with dread!

Christmas is only about three weekends away. We haven’t sent out our Christmas cards, yet. I’ve offered but Vicky has this thing about the recipient being able to read the card. (You people and your “legibility”!) We haven’t finished decorating our tree. Our presents have yet to be wrapped. I think Vicky still has cookies to make. Our place is, to be blunt, a mother-fucking mess.

Now, I’m not going take all the blame, but I don’t think Vicky should, either. The thing is, Christmas isn’t a holiday, it’s an experience. (Someone make that a slogan! Quick!) It’s a month-long, soul-killing exercise in the belief that everything can be nice and happy and cheerful, while we’re killing ourselves to make it so. Is it any wonder that it’s followed with New Years Resolutions. This year, I’m going to resolve to start Christmas in September; hell, the malls do!

But that’s not going to help us much this year. The thing is, you might get your card a little late. You might also not get one – especially if we don’t know you! But if you open it in March, think of all those others who forgot to send you a Christmas card in March, the bastards. Now that Vicky and I have a fake tree, we can take as long as we want to decorate it! – dammit, I just lost Vicky. Oh well, I guess we’re still going to be going nuts, like it or not.

I love Christmas. I really do, atheist and all. I love that our insane, mercantile society, our greed-driven world has found a way, despite the Christians, to make a holiday that’s about love for all… um, occasionally… not at the mall, of course… but that’s how I look at it. People think I’m too much of a cynic but that’s just an optimist who has lost his sense of humor. Mine is still intact. I just have to think of a way to giftwrap Vicky’s new car…

Ov-ulation! Ovu-ovu-lation!...

Ov-ulation, a game we like to play! First you take a woman’s egg, then you give the man a keg… (Okay, enough of that…)

I received the strangest phone call yesterday. “As soon as you get home, we’re having sex.”

Who is this person on the phone? I wondered. Happily, it was a woman. Score points for that. The voice sounded familiar… I ran a list of all the people who would want to have sex with me, cross-checked it against all the women I was allowed to have sex with… something wasn’t adding up.

Would you believe it? When I got home – it was Vicky! Holy shit!

Okay, seriously though, she was ovulating. (You knew there had to be a catch, right?) The call was out for sperm. Fresh sperm. And lots of it. So, I went to the fridge…

… oh, wait…

But when opportunities like this come about, I can’t help regretting all the sperm I wasted on other women, porn, and charitable donations (it was the ‘80’s…). By the end of the evening, Vicky had that look on her face that said, “That’s all you got?”

… either that or it was, “Aren’t you a little short for a storm trooper?”

Ether way, I now know that all my troops are now, even at this moment, swimming for all their worth.

Swim. Swim. Swim.

“Come on, guys. We gotta get to that egg!”

“Are you kidding?” one of the tougher, meaner-looking ones asks, as he ashes his cigarette onto the uterus. “Don’t you understand what that’s all about, kid? You swim up there and, next thing you know, you’re talking college savings, finding a good school, responsibilities and – ”

“But that wouldn’t be up to me! That would be Ken’s responsibility. That’s why he’s out there, to be a good dad to us when we’re born!”

“Listen to yourself! Listen to what you’re saying!” The sperm takes a long drag and blows a thick, grey stream of smoke into the eager one’s face. “Don’t you realize what you’re talking about? Ken’s responsibility? Ken as a daddy? You gotta be fucking nuts if you think that’s gonna work out!”

But the tough sperm doesn’t need to say any more. Even as he takes another drag, he can see the swim is all out of the sperm as it sits on the curb and cries.

… Man… I have issues.

Christmastime is here…

It’s hard to say this was the first week of the Christmas season – but it feels like it. Sure, Vicky and I have planning things for a while and, in fact, she already knows what she’s getting. A 2008 Ford Escape Hybrid. That’s it. End of holiday.

Wait.

Actually, that’s exactly why we had to get the holiday started. The last thing we wanted was to make it all about a car!

And so, Saturday afternoon, I set off for the Anti-Mall in Costa Mesa, one of my new favorite places. The nice thing is that they have different things! That’s the key: different! Every mall is just the same, you know? With its same department stores and same book stores and same game stores, every mall is just a carbon copy of the last. (Go ahead. Go look up “carbon copy”.) But the Anti-Mall sells other stuff. And that’s what I wanted. Other stuff.

So, I ended up buying Vicky a couple gifts and Sean a gift and, cough, me a gift – and I didn’t break the bank, thankfully. I can’t tell what I bought for Vic but I will tell you what I nearly bought. I found this beautiful locket, the kind you put a picture inside of, that I thought Vicky would just love. The trick was that it wouldn’t close. I squeezed it close over and over but – no closey. The clerk came over, this tall beauty made for retail jewelry sales, and after I explained the problem she went to work on it. After several minutes of watching her work harder than she had all day, she got it closed.

… then, it wouldn’t open.

So, I went on my way… quickly.

At another store, the clerk ringing up my purchase asked me, “Did anyone help you with this today?” I wasn’t expecting the question. “Excuse me?” I replied. “Did anyone help you with this today?” he repeated. All I could figure is that he was told to ask this. I mean, surely he must know what kind of customer service minefield he was walking into. And, after all, nobody had helped me with that – nobody had helped me at all. So, I gave him a courteous, “No,” while thinking, “Guess that means you suck, doesn’t it? Happy you asked?”

Meanwhile, at home, Vicky was preparing to bake. I’ve come to acknowledge that Christmas baking is not a tradition with Vic, it’s a bodily function. Even if I’m already fat – oh, and I’m already fat – she’ll still bake. She’ll bake up a storm of sweet, tasty yummies and leave them out for me to eat. And, as much as I might love them, that’s beside the point! Every cookie makes me fatter, hon! But, seriously, I think she’s just trying to get rid of me and make way for a younger man who has better luck with lockets.

Our tree this year is recycled. How is this possible? Well, it helps when you have a friend who buys trees he doesn’t need. The story goes like this: Sean used to work at Restoration Hardware. He bought a big, fake tree with his employee discount for next to nothing, brought it home, and put it into storage. Then, he offered it to us. We, of course, took it – cause I’m a cheap bastard. What we didn’t realize was that Sean’s next to nothing price came with some interesting discoveries. For instance, the box states that the tree comes with lights. It does, but they’re not the kind you can plug in and light up. They are, instead, the kind someone chopped up and threw in haphazardly. Very strange. But Vicky got it assembled and looking good – if sans illumination.

This big tree came with a big necessity: ornaments. We decided to go out and get some ornaments. Where from? Costco, of course. (I admit it; it’s one of my favorite stores…) I found some very pretty ornaments that looked like hearts, which helped give our tree a love theme. Vicky found ornaments that looked like shoes and purses…

My wife, ladies and gentlemen.

We haven’t decorated the tree, yet, but the lights Vicky strung give it a simple beauty. Fortunately, I got her to abandon the shoes and purses.

Double-Entry blogging…

Come on. Who couldn’t see this coming? Who’s Luke’s father? That’s a guy at the end of Crying Game? The Maltese Falcon was made of what?

After leaving My Side behind two years ago, who really thought I’d give up the blog, the name, the history – Ken La Salle NOT write My Side? Come on, people.

My Side is as close to me as my own name. It was the name of my high school newspaper column, my college newspaper column, my first book – you bought that one, right? – I wasn’t about to just let it die.

But I needed a break, some time to regroup. One Path was the perfect new home after Vicky and I were married. It was a place for us to write about our love, our lives, and… but Vicky didn’t really write that much, did she? It turned mostly into… well… My Side.

Except that My Side was written pre-Vicky. It was the blog about leaving my first wife behind. It was dipped in the syrup of neurosis and ennui, surely it was best left in the past.

Yeah. Right.

Now, here’s something you won’t see every day. I’m posting this entry onto both My Side and One Path. I’m double dipping. But I’m only doing it to let you know the plan – and there is one. You see, I get people complaining about things. They say they like reading about what’s going on with Vicky and I but they hate reading all the political rants. They say they like the topical stuff but wish I wasn’t so sappy.

So…

If you’ll allow a change in programming, One Path will heretofore be the home of the sappy. It’s where I get to talk about my life with Vicky. All the trials. All the troubles. All the tribula – you know, all the shit. My Side, on the other hand, is all me, baby. It’s all my shit. You may run into Vicky on One Path. But don’t go looking for her on My Side… cause, you know, it’s hard enough to get her to write on One Path…

Who says you can’t have it both ways? I might love Vicky and want to tell you all about it… but I’m still Ken, right? So, let’s get on with it.

The Return of... you gotta be kidding...

Okay, I admit it. There are times when I bite off a little more than would otherwise seem reasonable.

That said... um.... it's back!

Note to the NFL: Thank you…

So when an anthem gets skipped at a football game, it’s football’s turn to be “not patriotic enough”???

I’m just sitting back here laughing… and deathly afraid.

At what point did everything suddenly have to be patriotic? Football, school children, masturbation… all three at the same time? (What else do you call the NFL?) Can’t some things be exempt from jingoism just a little bit?

Or should I be saluting and single God Bless America as I write this?