My Birthday List for Calm-ass Husband, Written in a Way He Can Understand

My birthday is next week, I’ll be hrmprh-years old. Calm-ass Husband has repeatedly asked me what I want, so I finally came up with a list.

Calm-ass Husband says things weird sometimes. He’ll say it’s because he grew up in England, but I say he’s been in America long enough to acclimate. If you were to see our conversations phonetically, they’d look like this:

CAH: Look at the Jag-you-are over there, it’s the new model
Me: Huh? You mean that Jagwar?
CAH: Where is the “w” in Jaguar?
Me: There is a “p” in psychologist, but we don’t say psss-ychologist.
CAH: Yeah but that is keeping a letter silent, saying Jagwar is adding an extra “w” that isn’t even there.
Me: We don’t call gwavas, gyou-avas, we say gwava, even though it’s spelled “guava”. How dumb would that sound? “Excuse me, would you like some gyoo-av-a.”

I didn’t say we were having ground-breaking conversations that are solving world problems.

So, I don’t want to start sqyou-awking about this too much, but I want to ensure that he feels confident in his birthday purchases for me. So here we go:

Wiseass Wife’s Hrmprh-th Birthday Wish List:

1. A serene day feeding the ducks – nothing makes me happier than hearing the “qyou-ack, qyou-ack” of those sweet little buggers.

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2. A trip to the Caribbean – I’d love to see ig-you-anas in their natyoural habitat

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3. A picnic in the park – pack us something delicious and let’s have a picnic. Don’t forget the kumqyou-ats

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Oh and some g-you-acamole!

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4. Oh and I’d love the DVD box set of the Mod Sqyouad!

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5. I want to expand our garden, so perhaps some bat gyouano?

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6. And, I am a girl, so something pink and sparkly would be nice – how about some rose qyouartz?

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Well hubby, there’s my list 🙂 I hope I’ve made it as easy for you as possible this year.

Love you!

XOXO

Wife

Fucking Gays

and their always making the rest of us look bad by being over-achievers. Yes, I stereotype, but only in good ways. That’s why I have no problem saying that it seems like black and asian women never age.

Bitches.

But I was impressed to hear the progress that gay mayor Jimmy Cummings (or shall I say, Gayor Cummings?) of Vicco Kentucky is making as a politician.

I tend to not identify with one political party because I dislike them all too much to commit. Repubes, Democrabbys – they both irritate me to no end. Especially if they lean really liberal or conservative; I hate extremes. You know who’s extreme? Westboro Baptist Church. They’re horrible.

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You know who else is extreme? Hippies. They need to take a shower.

College liberal no guns

Essentially, I am like a lost little lamb in the political field. I have my own set of ideals, and I’ve worked tirelessly to get “Wiseassican” recognized as a political party, but the people at the post office keep yelling at me to “get off their property,” and that “they have nothing to do with assigning political parties,” and, “maybe I should learn a thing or two about American politics before I propose to start my own political party.”

Like that’s stopped anyone else.

But I do believe we should let people live their lives however the hell makes them happy, so long as the safety of other people or animals is not compromised (I’m looking at you, people into bestiality – sick fucks). Want a polygamous marriage? Knock yourself out (but not so fast, hands off the minors). Want an open marriage? Go for it. Want to make love to your entire vegetable drawer? Have at it. Why should I care?

I don’t, because it doesn’t affect me. And people being gay, does not affect you. You know who affects you? Rapists on the loose. And they’re allowed to marry. A guy could literally rape a girl on her way home from school, and then go get married. Well, you know, if he already had the license and everything ready to go. But it could happen. How does that guy deserve more rights than your innocent gay neighbor who doesn’t rape kids and, let’s face it, is bringing your property value up?

And that is why I am so tired of hearing people who are too afraid to just admit they don’t like gays, hide behind the excuse, “I don’t want them shoving their views in my face.”

So said one particular a-hole, Pastor Truman Hurt, during a segment on the Colbert Show where they spotlighted the fact that Gayor Cummings led the successful passage of a fairness bill, making Vicco the smallest town in the country to pass such a bill. The fairness bill states that people cannot be fired or denied medical treatment based on things like their sexual preference. Hurt opposes this and says that this is basically paving the way for the gay community to take over and push their lifestyle down our throats. (Full video below)

Which is funny because, if half as many gays as religious people knocked on my door to force their lifestyle down my throat, then maybe that argument would be valid. But not one has. Not one. And I’ve not once heard any of those hateful assholes complaining about Jehova’s Witnesses and the like, who literally knock on your fucking door to shove their fucking lifestyle down your throat. Not once.

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At least the gays would probably come with some wine. Those Jehova’s Witnesses never bring booze, and after all these years of listening to them blather on, I’m yet to fully understand what it is they witnessed Jehova doing. It must’ve been some scary shit because he’s got them repping him hard.

Bottom line: I’d honestly respect these assholes more if they at least admitted that they don’t like gays. Better to be an honest asshole, than a lying asshole.

How Simulated Jerking Off Keeps Me Grounded

Recently, I had an important meeting. Like, the adult kind where you have to be all professional and wear high heels and pretend that you aren’t wearing your sluttiest underwear underneath in the hopes that when you are casually changing into your yoga pants after work, your husband will notice and be all, “Hey, do you fancy a little after work, early evening delight?”.

Also, if you are thinking to yourself, “Does her husband really say, “Do you fancy a little sex?” the answer is: sometimes. Calm-ass Husband went to primary school in England and, even though it resulted in him pronouncing words in a manner that makes us Americans do a double-take (“Jaguar” is “Jag-you-ar” and “Nokia” is “Nah-key-uh”), he is all about politely requesting fancy fuckery. Though he is yet to say, “Do you fancy a fuck?”, I am holding out hope that it’s coming (that’s really a test to see if he is reading this. Tonight will be telling. I’ll report back.)

But you know how they always say, “If you’re nervous, picture the audience naked.”? Well, I don’t do that because I know that my imagination could get things wrong and I need absolutes. I don’t do well in imaginary land. For instance, while most women may fantasize about a celebrity during sex, I fantasize about my husband, but younger. Because I know him personally, and I’ve seen pictures of him in high school, I can fairly accurately piece together what I think he was like. Don’t worry, all you people freaking out about pedophilia, he’s always 18 in my fantasies. Or, if I’m feeling particularly saucy, he’s 16, but we’re back in England, so I’m always keeping it at the age of legal consent.

Sidenote: Before I could have the 16-year-old, England fantasy about my husband, I had to Google, “Age of Consent in England”, which I’m fairly certain has probably flagged me to the US Government.

So, when I’m in important meetings, or speaking to a group of people, I do not picture them naked. I picture them in a way that I’m fairly certain is a reasonable assumption: naked and missionary. It’s a sure bet that most adults have been naked and done it missionary.

Also, if they’re a parent, it is a safe bet that, at any given moment, they or their spouse had jizz dripping out of them throughout the day.

So instead of imagining them naked, imagine dripping jizziness, or at the very least, their o-face in missionary. This is much more effective.

But those in a meeting with me, have full permission to imagine me pantomiming slow-motion jerking off. Because, on this particular day where I had an important meeting, my husband and I were discussing slow sex, like the kind where he is doing it really slowly. And I was making the point that, it must be hard for guys to keep it up during slow sex, because going fast seems to work best. Like, women don’t give slow handjobs, and men don’t typically jerk off slowly. And I felt the need to act out a slow-motion jerk off. Which, I didn’t see, but I wish I could have, because it had to be hilarious, right?

Then later, as I was professionally speaking about a very serious point, in my head, I was thinking, “What if they knew that, just this morning, I was doing a slow-mo jerk-off reenactment?”.

My guess? They would have been way more impressed, because we’re all perverts at heart.

In other news, I apologize that I’ve not been as prolific with the blog updates as usual. The truth is, I’m halfway through writing my first book, which I hope you’ll all love even more than my blog. Updates announced as they come, I promise.