I finished all the painting.
2005-04-15, 9:20 a.m.

DW: I finished all the painting. The house is painted.
Me: Thanks for painting me a new house, baby. May I offer you a blow job?

It is the currency of the crack whore, the blow job is.

I was going to offer up an entry today chronicling something I have bitched and harped and droned about endlessly: DW�s affinity for the guys, and apparent disdain for all things wifely. It�s all the guys, all the time. I give you:

EXHIBIT 1: Sunday night, after the dinner thing at The Mighty KB�s house, Lil Guy and I went home about 10:00, which is late for a school night, but he was having fun, and time always slips right by us when we�re over there. Anyway, DW stayed and had a few beers with the guys and got home well after midnight. I was sound asleep.

EXHIBIT 2: Tuesday night, DW went to the Spurs game with the guys. Go Spurs Go. Yay. I think it was 1:00 when he finally dragged his tired, old ass in. I was sound asleep. I made sure to make a lil noise Wednesday morning getting ready for work. That�s all I�m sayin�.

EXHIBIT 3: Wednesday night, DW went to the little sports bar downtown in our small town to have one beer with the guys. It took him 3 hours to drink it. I was sound asleep.

So one might think that DW is ready for an evening at home with his lovely and ever-shrinking wife, but I give you�

EXHIBIT 4: Thursday night�will be brought to you via dialogue recall and interpretive dance:

DW: What are you doing tonight?
Me: Working and then coming home.
DW: We don�t have any plans?
Me: What do you want to do?
DW: Well, KB says they only have 7 guys tonight and they need me to play. [freakin� flag football! Hmmph!]
Me: Okey dokey.
DW: Are you just going to watch Apprentice?
Me: Yeah, and I might masturbate.
DW: Heh. [He doesn�t believe me][and it turns out I didn�t. God I suck at carrying through with threats] What are our plans for tomorrow?
Me: No plans so far, why?[expecting another wife-excluding sports extravaganza]
DW: I thought we could go out, get something to eat, maybe see a movie, or go to that bar with the live music.
[I�m thinking �Huh! He isn�t asking for my permission to go out and do something asinine and pointless, but I�m saying�]
Me: OK, but if y�all end up playing the golf video game all night, I�ll go out and sleep in the car again.

(Aside: I have done this. Y�all know that if I�m drinking, I have to be up moving around, or at least engaged in lively conversation with lots of cussin� and dirty talk, or I�m just going to go to sleep. Last time we went to the live music bar with a group of friends, I ended up going out to the car to sleep in the backseat of Don�s Trailblazer (mmmm, leather) while DW and Don and a whole crew played that god-awful golf game for hours. And hours. And hours. Once I woke up, I drove home. Hey, I had the keys. Screw them, I thought. Let them walk, or find a ride. They did. No harm, no foul. No ham, no fowl. I�m really glad Don didn�t get upset with me for just driving his car home and leaving him stranded. Ah well, I cook for him a LOT. Home-cooked food is also a currency I deal in. Aside over, conversation continued�)

DW: What�s this �y�all? I�m talking about you and me.

So, I was going to get on here and cuss and cry and fret and feel all sorry for myself because my husband **sob** doesn�t love me **sob** and he wishes he�d never gotten married **sob** because it�s no fun hanging out with me **sob** when he could be playing sports and hanging out with the guys **sob** and that bastard KB prolly swallows.

But instead, I�m gently making fun of him, and I don�t know, mebbe bragging that we�re perhaps going out tonight. I want to see the latest Drew Barrymore movie because you can�t go wrong with Drew. Huh! A date. A DUCK.