The Comedian

The husband likes to think he's funny. He tells me all the time. "But babe, I'm funny!"

The problem is, his idea of funny and my idea of funny are completely different. I mean completely.

I have to tell you that the husband is a high school teacher, so he deals with 16 year olds all day. And inevitably, he picks up on their lingo. And uses it. And thinks he's funny. He also picks up on their 16 year old behavior. And things that should not be funny, entertaining or at all interesting to a 28 year old man are suddenly hysterical, enjoyable and applied to his and my every day life.

Recently, he started using the phrase 'your mother' all the time. Our conversations would go something like:

Me: Babe do you want some pasta with the chicken?

Husband: Your mother wants pasta.

Huh? At first this confused me. That doesn't even make sense. My mother wants pasta? What??

And he found this hysterical. In fact, the more confused I was, the funnier he thought it was. And because he found it so entertaining it only encouraged him to use it more.

Me: Do you need socks babe?

Husband: Your mother needs socks.

Me: I really want some brownies.

Husband: Your mother wants brownies.

And so it goes.

I partially blame the 16 year olds. I purposely do not laugh at these 'your mother' moments. I know laughter fuels the fire and I just don't want to go there. The problem is at work. I imagine him standing at the front, commanding attention from the helpless teens. They have to listen to these tales of torture that the husband bestows upon me. And of course they are going to laugh. Afterall, these stories are much more entertaining than learning about the causes of the french revolution. Although I understand their dilemma, they are truly working against me.

(not the husband, just an example)

Possibly the worst part about it all is the husband does not see it this way. He comes home day after day telling me how funny his students think he is. Reasoning with him that they find him hilarious because they are immature, hormonal 16 year olds who are trapped in his class does not work. He will forever think of himself as being a comedian.

Stalking = Happiness

I find it amusing to tell the story of how the husband and I met. We were in college, but as I point out to everyone who is sucked into listening, he is much much older than I (5 years) and being so we had not one class together. How then did we meet? On an intramural volleyball team. And he was psycho. He came to the tournaments screaming his head off, hooting and hollering, scaring the ever-living-everything out of me. And then, when we lost miserably in volleyball and therefore had no more tournaments, he stalked me. Yes. Stalked.

I guess it's necessary for you to know that I worked in the school library to earn money toward tuition. The husband knew this. And he would come in on those nights that I was stuck working the closing shift and stand at the front desk and talk to me for a while. Before he had to go to his "study group", right.

Okay, it's not quite stalking, but it's my story.

6 months went by without anything more than what I thought was friendly conversations when I get an instant message through myspace (yes, I was one of those). It was all over from there. 4 years later and here I am. Married to the stalker.

The husband, however tells the story much differently: As I stated before, I worked at the school library. What I failed to mention, and what the husband never fails to mention, is the Library was a "gentlman's" club. So, his story goes something like: She used to work at the Library, making sure to slowly enunciate "the Library" and nudging whoever he is proudly telling. Blank looks usually come across the story recipient as they imagine the neon signs and the tasteless atmosphere. You know, something like this. Then their faces change as they slowly turn to look at me... I can only imagine what they are thinking right at that moment.

Then the stalker has a good laugh. And I have to clarify that I worked at THE SCHOOL library and that no, I will not be "performing" later that night.

My story is better.

Okay, Here Goes.

After stumbling upon a co-worker's blog and then exploring her list of blogger-friends I thought, I can do that. I talk a lot.... apparently, there's more to it than that.

Turns out, you actually have to have something to say. Now, I'm not too sure about this whole blog process. Sure, when somebody asks me a question or shares a story I undoubtedly have an opinion to state. But this? Thinking of something to write out of thin air?...

I like to think of myself as creative and "quirky" as my dad told the now husband when we were just barely dating. (We hadn't even been on enough dates to really justify the term 'dating' and as we left all the husband could say was "quirky huh" Oh yes, it was that hilarious to him and that humiliating to me)

I guess what I'm trying to say is I am ready for a new adventure. Something new to take up some of my time and hopefully something meaningful will come out of the whole thing. Who knows, but here goes!