Holey Underwear, Batman!

I’ve heard this complaint from several of my girlfriends, so perhaps it’s a common issue among married couples our age. Regardless, it still drives me nuts that my husband insists on keeping and wearing his holey underwear well past the point where they’re functional and to the point where they’re really only suggestive of underwear. (Remnants of underwear? Fragments of underwear? The ghosts of underwear past?)

I suppose if I were one of those wives I could just creep in under the cover of darkness to throw out the holey underwear, but I just can’t bring myself to that type of behavior. He respects my space, my style or lack thereof, and my privacy, and I aim to do the same for him. I married him for who he is and vice versa (haha, sucker!), and we try not to change one another for our own benefit. Still, The Holeys resurface in our conversations from time to time, because, well, I just can’t. *eye twitch*

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Book Review: Ready Player One

Ready Player OneReady Player One by Ernest Cline

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

First off, I have to state for the record that instead of reading this book I listened to the audio version narrated by Wil Wheaton. And if you’re going to listen to this book, I’m convinced there’s really no other way to listen to it than to hear Wil Wheaton walk you through its pages, audibly seeming to geek out over the same things the story’s main character does. It’s like doubling down on the geekiness!

And speaking of doubling down on geekiness… On its own this book does just that, over, and over, and over again. It’s as though someone took a dictionary of all things gaming, sci-fi, and 80s pop culture oriented and dropped a storyline on top, with references crammed in in small seemingly random lists here, and there, and over there, and over there too.

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Book Review: The Martian

The MartianThe Martian by Andy Weir

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I don’t give out 5-star ratings on this site, and I just did.

I could not put this book down. The story easily sucked me in, and as soon as it ended I wanted more. Throughout Mark Watney’s ordeal I imagined myself there, I felt the feelings I imagine he would have felt, and I grew anxious time after time as things went wrong for him. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, then I laughed at myself for the fact that BEING STRANDED ALONE ON MARS WITHOUT PLAUSIBLE HOPE OF RESCUE in the first place wasn’t enough for me to ignore that feeling. I wanted to meet these astronauts and NASA crew members, and when the story ended I felt as though I was saying goodbye to friends. It’s not often I get this sucked into a story.

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About Me, according to my husband

Q: What makes your wife sad?

A: Piles, my piles [of random stuff]. Also, war movies based on true stories.

Q: What was your wife like as a child?

A: OCD, probably a bit bossy. But very cute.

Q: What makes you proud of your wife?

A: Her independence.

Q: How are you and your wife different?

A: I like breaking the rules.

Q: Where is your wife’s favorite place to go?

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Book Review: Women, Work & The Art of Savoir Faire

Women, Work & the Art of Savoir Faire: Business Sense & SensibilityWomen, Work & the Art of Savoir Faire: Business Sense & Sensibility by Mireille Guiliano

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Maybe it’s because I read the reviews before I actually read the book, but I started out feeling very skeptical about this title. As I finished reading it and was able to spend some time reflecting, I realized that I didn’t dislike it as I thought I would. I’m also quite certain that if I were to meet the author she’d likely both terrify and completely captivate me.

I’m writing this review from the perspective of someone who operates in a world that is in many ways very different from Mireille Guiliano’s. Continue reading

Dirty Bird [dur-tee burd]

(noun). This is the guy (or gal!) who thinks it’s gonna win them a reward to shout something dirty or suggestive–and perhaps also gesticulate–out a car window at someone before speeding away. The dirty bird’s approach: fly in, swoop low, drop a load of crap, maybe strut around a little bit, then flit away, chirping merrily to the other dirty birds about what they’ve just done.

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Chief Complaint: Stabby Pain

My dear, sweet husband has been asking to take me to the ER all day because he’s convinced I have an ulcer. I’m convinced that after his recent finger+hedge trimmer incident we need to avoid ridiculous ER bills for a while and I should try to get in with my GP tomorrow instead. Also, “I’m not dead yet!” and I can sit up and type this, so I’m clearly not ready for the ER, right? RIGHT.

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