Mark read my post last night as he ate a mug of ice cream, “You are way too hard on yourself, babe.”
“Yes, I am aware.”
He takes another bite, “Your readers are going to be annoyed you closed comments.”
“Yeah, well. I can’t take any more love and reassurance. You know who needs love and reassurance? Stupid fucking weak people, that’s who.”
Mark laughs, “I think some of your readers imagine you are slightly warmer and fuzzier in real life than you actually are.”
“What? I am warm and fuzzy.”
“Yes, you are warm and fuzzy like a ninja star.”
“A what?”
“One of those throwing blades of death. All sharp and beautiful and brilliant, but not so huggable.”
“Oh, I like that! Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We both turn back to our computer screens. I stare at the post on which no comments are accumulating.
Sigh.
Sluuruurururuurururrrpppppp.
“Mark, what the fuck was that?”
He giggles like a little boy, holds a strange deep-bowled spoon in the air, “All of our regular spoons are in the dishwasher. The spoon went weird in my mouth. Sorry.”
“Geez, babe. You are all immature today. First the car and now this?”
Mark giggles again and chokes on his ice cream, “That was an accident!”
Earlier in the day . . . we are all driving in the car, happily singing along to the radio.
Suddenly, Kallan breaks Ke$ha character to wail tragically, “Oh my god! What is that smell? It smells like hot dogs and horror back here!”
Maj agrees in anguished tones, “Seriously, what happened in this car? That is a weird horrible smell. Make it stop, Mother!”
I smell nothing. I assume one of the girls has let some olfactory nastiness loose in the rear of the car, and there’s no point in trying to lay blame, “Just open your windows, girls . . . let the car air out.”
As I turn to reassure them that they are not dying, I notice that Mark is smiling happily.
Huh.
“Something you want to tell us, babe?”
He giggles and blushes, “Ummm. It is possible that I burped a huge hot dog burp.”
“AUGH! It’s like a nightmare back here!”
I swipe at Maj, “Be quiet, babe. I want to hear this! Daddy apparently has ventriloquist burping skills.”
Mark is sheepish, “I think I burped into the jet-stream,” and he gestures vaguely at the front dashboard of the car.
It takes me a minute, but then I realize he means that he managed to perfectly align his burp with the front-dash vent, which carried it safely past us into the rear of the car.
“That’s awesome!”
Mark giggles again, “It was kind of awesome! I was thinking it was going to be a hot-doggy kind of burp, and you know how those are disgusting, but then there was just . . . nothing!”
“Excuse me, Daddy. Correction. There was not nothing. You have two dying girls back here, flopping and gasping for air.”
“Yeah, Daddy. We are people, you know. People who need to breathe.”
Mark is laughing so hard he has to swipe tears from his eyes, “Sorry, ladies.”
“Geez, Daddy.”
“Yeah, Daddy. Geez is right.”
I lean over to whisper to Mark, “I am so going to try that next time I need to burp.”
“WE HEAR YOU, MOTHER!”
Mark and I giggle happily.
SLUURUURURURUURURURRRPPPPPP.
I turn to stare at Mark, “Seriously?”
He can’t even breathe, he is giggling so hard. He waves his hand in the air to indicate that I need to be quiet so he can collect himself.
“Seriously?”
Mark works to swallow the ice cream in his mouth so he can laugh freely.
“Seriously?”
He gasps for air, “It’s the spoon! I swear it’s the spoon!”
“I don’t believe you. Take another bite so I can watch.”
He does.
SLUURUURURURUURURURRRPPPPPP.
“Oh my god, babe. It’s like you have some sort of weird lip deformity. So sexy! I don’t believe I have ever been so attracted to you.”
SLUURUURURURUURURURRRPPPPPP.
“STOP that! Oh my god. All I can imagine now is you making that noise in another situation. STOP THAT!”
SLUURUURURURUURURURRRPPPPPP.
“OK, your mouth is coming nowhere near me ever again.”
SLUURUURURURUURURURRRPPPPPP.
I stare at him.
He giggles.
Like a little boy, he giggles.
“Mark, you are so odd.”
He scrapes the last of the ice cream from the bottom of the mug and turns to me as he puts the spoon in his mouth.
SLUURUURURURUURURURRRPPPPPP.
He giggles some more, “You need my silliness to balance out your death star points of insanity.”
Sigh, “I really do, you know.”
He stands and walks behind me, leans over to hug me as I sit in my chair.
“Kris, you are way too hard on yourself.”
I lean back into his hug, “Did you see how I retracted the death star points so this hug wouldn’t harm you?”
He kisses the top of my head, “Thank you for that. Sometimes you really do need a hug.”
I relax into his embrace.
Huh.
“Ummmm, Mark?”
“Yes?”
“You are comforting me?”
“Yes.”
“So your theory is that any comfort I need can be delivered directly through my boobs?”
He laughs and whispers into my ear, “Don’t make me slurp you.”
Hee hee!
NEWS!
A new website called Off Our Chests emailed me several days ago and asked if they might reprint a piece of mine . . . Awkward Gutter Thing.
That piece went up this morning.
Stop by and show them some love if you get the chance.
Check out their website while you are there.
Thank you.
OTHER NEWS!
I have decided that I will no longer be posting on Saturdays.
So there.
See you Sunday!
My husband is all about the boobs too. He will exploit a tender moment just to cop a feel. I swear he’s still 16 years old sometimes.
I love the thought of burping into the jetstream. That is hilarious.
Kmama -
I love that Mark has immaturity in my moments of too much thinking.
I love that.
And the boob comforting?
That’s actually also lovely.
Ahem.
*spiky ninja high-five*
When I told my dad about grad school, after he was all proud and stuff, we joked “It must have been an off year”
Sometimes that is how we roll. All pointy and awesome.
MKP -
That’s awesome.
All pointy and awesome.
YAY!
I went to a wedding in Des Moines, Iowa with my wife’s family. When booking the room, we were told “near the airport or downtown, it doesn’t matter.” Well, rooms near the airport were about 2/3 of rooms downtown & nobody traveling knew Des Moines at all, so we booked cheap.
The Des Moines airport is MILES from downtown. Like, seriously, I think the Des Moines airport is closer to Chicago. We hire two cabs to take us downtown because, near an airport, in Des Moines? There’s “bunny ears” on the TV’s, and that’s about it for entertainment.
I somehow end up taking a cab with both my brother-in-law & sister-in-law. The driver is a very obese man (his cab had been especially fitted with a special chair to accommodate his girth…and not the good kind of girth). About a minute into the ride, we smell the most unbelievable smell in the history of smells.
A moment passes, he says “I’ll get that out of here,” pushes a button to lower all four windows at the same time. The rest of the trip, the smell lingered as we all teared up from a combination of the smell & trying not to laugh.
They say that smell is the best sense to recall, and I swear that this smell is permanently implanted on my smell-receptors.
John -
Best cab story ever.
Ever.
“I’ll get that out of here.”
Dying.
You remember that Seinfeld episode where the BO inhabits the car?
Hee hee!
I am all shuddery with horror.
Hooray for odd husbands with immature senses of humor! They are so necessary.
Karen -
I am incredibly lucky to have this fool around.
He is fabulous and silly when I need him to be silly.
And grown-up when I need him to be grown-up.
I am incredibly lucky.
I am positive that my H cannot fart without giggling… Even in the middle of the night when the covers bulge up from the toxic gases that are trying to rise up and escape, he chuckles and then fans the covers up and down to “disperse” the stench. But when I am frustrated and angry at the world and myself he takes me out in the woods where I can shoot at trees and if writing is not therapy? May I suggest you visit a gun range. Firearms can be extremely theraputic and release a TON of negative energy. If that’s your sort of thing.
Your husband sounds lovely.
Really.
Happy sighs.
As for the other?
I posted about shooting once. I’m guessing you didn’t read that post. I should not have a gun.
Check it out . . .
http://www.prettyalltrue.com/2010/12/the-heart-of-a-paper-man/
Sorry about yesterday :-( But onward to more important things: isn’t there some sort of reality show you could put Mark on? I’d definitely tune in to see that burp blower stunt. You could drive cross-country this summer hitting the carnie circuit. BTW: good 4 you for not posting Saturdays — gotta recharge the batteries!
David -
Ack. You owe no apologies. Stop that.
As for a reality show?
I have mentioned before that my family is not TV-ready.
We would need cute actors to play us.
Which makes it not so much a reality show.
Right?
I’ll get working on the actors. We’ll do something unethical to pass them off as the real thing! How about Mark offering a workshop or something? Plus some of the stunts the girls have done merit workshops or instructional videos. You, however, are just too boring. Not too big a market for covers of Crystal Gayle.
Wait.
I am too boring?
Hee hee!
if only you had a more dramatic personality ;-)
I will have to work on that.
you should. People don’t like people who are so blah and don’t exhibit any emotional range (*SNORT*)
I so like this guy!
Snort.
He is all full of the awesome…
Let’s get out of here, cathyjoy — I hate to say it, but the woman used to be a lawyer. How much fun could she be? (of course I just finished writing a book on data. That should put you to sleep…).
Yeah.
You two would make an AWESOME COUPLE.
Snort!
I think I’ve nailed the actors to play you guys when we send the show on the road: a slightly older Seth Rogan for Mark, Abigail Breslin’s younger sisters for the girls, and for you, a cloyingly-sweet younger Sally Fields (SNORT). Let me know when I should contact the agents…
Babe?
You nailed the actors who will play my family?
I am all creeped out at the image of you and Sally Fields having sex.
Snort!
Kris
Sally Fields in her Flying Nun costume. Always wondered about what nuns wore underneath their habits.
OK, I was going to make a hideous joke about the sign of the cross and uncrossed legs.
Ahem.
But I am all mature.
So I will not.
I now see you and Mark as Smokey and the Bandit. Of course a mustache a’la Burt Reynolds would interfere with Mark’s slurping… At least the ice cream type of slurping. But Mark just doesn’t sound like the facial hair type. I picture him a little more Bill Pulman.
ACK!
No facial hair.
Mark is all regular guy and clean-shaven and cute.
Happy sighs.
He is no longer allowed to use that spoon, however.
Silly slurping man.
i was going to email you love and hugs, but i was afraid to. lol. it is those pointy spikes on the death star that frightened me from giving you love!
and yes, you need a day “off”. but that’s it. just a day. ;)
ps – i’m glad you have mark!!
Sarah -
Some people did email me, but I sensed the fear in their messages.
Happy sighs that I inspire fear.
Seriously happy sighs.
“All sharp and beautiful and brilliant, but not so huggable.”
That Mark! All insightful.
I am a hugger.
But I also have to retract my pointy bits first.
Ask my Husband. Ha.
CJ -
I am a hugger where Mark is concerned.
Always.
But I do have to retract my sharper parts first.
Yes.
PS. I think taking Saturday off is going to be a great thing for you.
Me too.
Thanks.
Well, the boobs are the fastest route to the heart and all. <3
On the bewb thing? For some reason this week I have been walking into stuff CONSTANTLY. Several times a day. I feel like a poor, maimed Georja Peach. Except that I'm originally from Indiana and I live in Tennessee. So, you see, same thing. I managed to walk my boob into the kitchen table chair. Writhing in pain, and laughing so that I lose my mind, my sweet hubby comes up to me and grabs my boob. "Feel better?"
It worked.
Aleese -
Your husband sounds very familiar.
Mark claims I store my sadness in my boobs. Snort!
If he can just make my boobs happy, the rest of me will follow.
He does make me laugh.
What a brilliant description of your persona, the Internet one that we know! Your hubs is also good with words, at least on this occasion.
It’s grand that you now feel that it’s okay not to blog every single day & no longer fear that missing a day will cause you to fall off the Blogger’s Ledge into the Pit of Sloth. Actively choosing to schedule yourself a regular day off weekly is a healthy emotional step forward, as I see it. We’ll miss you but will happily (for you) adjust. Enjoy your day off!
Mark is not always gifted with his words . . . The time he told the girls they could dress up as fluffers for Halloween comes to mind.
He meant flappers.
Sometimes he makes me laugh so hard, I can’t breathe.
But sometimes he has the right words.
I love those moments as well.
Yay!
Whoa. Fluffers? Totally different costume. heh.
So much giggling at that memory.
Yes, totally different costume.
Totally.
I had a post-appropriate comment to make and then I read about “fluffers” and started cracking up! Still laughing. That is so awesome.
This comment has been high-jacked by another comment response. DYING!
Oh, and I had some other stuff to say too. It was serious but I cannot be serious now. My cheeks hurt. Losing it. Goodbye, Good Saturday
Robin -
Hee hee! Sometimes, Mark makes the mocking too easy.
Sigh . . . the fluffer day was a very good day.
And Saturdays will still be good.
They so will.
Saturdays never suck.
I will not be mushy! Um.. so, yes, all my husbands hugs boob-focused hugs too… Must be a guy thing! haha.
And, your website hates me. It so doesn’t show half my comments. :(
So sorry.
Since the switchover, I have had a few people unexpectedly get flagged as spam. I have been watching for the people who told me they were having an issue, but I didn’t know to watch for you. Oops.
Now that I know, that should not be an issue again.
Thank you for pointing out the problem.
Thanks, you.
Ninja stars are much cooler than porcupines, which would have been my analogy. But I read “death star” and thought of the Star Wars thing. How nerdy am I?
Anyway.
Loved your moon post, and feel as if I can relate. You know, I hope, that from where most of us sit, you’re already on the moon. On a big fat throne. With a scepter that looks a little like a ninja star. If you do nothing else today, please take a good look at this space you have created in Pretty All True and realize that this? Is huge. This? Is a big fucking deal. People pay to read your blog on Kindles. People are literally addicted to the written Kris. If you want to take it to another level, form, whatever, that’s great. But if you don’t, you’ve got a pretty damn good thing going as it is. And you’re raising two kids while doing it.
Now excuse me while I curtsey. In awe.
I would say hugs, but now I’m afraid of the prickly death star parts. Um, air hugs?
Angie -
I didn’t once think of Star Wars! But then, neither Mark nor I is much of a Star Wars fan. So funny!
And I am very pleased with what I have managed to accomplish here on Pretty all True. I am more than pleased and more than proud. I love it here. I love the writing and I love the connections and I love my readers.
I am very grateful.
However, this is a world in which I have all the control.
Seriously . . . all of it. Nothing happens here that I do not allow to happen. Nothing.
The world outside of Pretty All True is scary.
It’s not really about more success.
It’s about being afraid to try.
Thanks, babe.
Air hugs.
Hee hee!
I missed all the brouhaha the other day as Wednesday was my birthday and I was busy being all awesome and shit. Glad I missed it. I am all spikey and pointy like you. I would have felt compelled to say something all encouraging (because that is what you are supposed to do as the social norm) and then would have felt bad for making you feel all…whatever you were feeling. I’m really more like you. All fuck that, I don’t need encouragement, I’m tough, OH GZUS STOP SAYING ALL THESE THINGS PEOPLE AND STOP LOOKING AT ME AND TALKING TO ME!!! Me? Not really warm and fuzzy. Someone the other day was hanging out with me and my group of friends and said “Lindsay, people always say you are a mean bitch, but I know that’s just an act. You are really super nice.” Then? All my friends died laughing. This person did not know me well. At all. I really am a snarky mean bitch. Funny, but really? Not super nice. What can I say? I is who I is.
Oh and to clarify, I’m not saying you’re a mean bitch, but just commenting on how it’s funny how people think they know you whether it’s a superficial colleague you don’t know well or a bunch of blog readers who know part, but not all, of who you are. Okay that’s all.
First?
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Belated, but no less heartfelt. I hope you had an awesome day.
As for the rest?
Yes.
Exactly like that.
Exactly.
I is who I is.
Not always what people imagine.
Ahem.
I’d love to hear I’m sharp and beautiful and brilliant (hell, I’d settle for two out of three). What a clever analogy for Mark to make for you.
As for burping into the jet stream? Too funny. PLEASE remember to try it yourself on the girls. Like farts of retribution.
Enjoy your newly-freed Saturdays!
Madeleine -
Mark is occasionally quite awesome.
And I am sooooo going to burp into the jet stream first chance I get.
Hee hee!
And thank you.