Today I’ll be hitting up sessions on cyberbullying and media literacy. I’ll be fitted for new jeans! Tonight?
I’ll wear the Sparklecorn shoes which will kill me.
Kim? Sweet, sweet Kim? Is camping.
Voluntarily. And somewhere “up north.” (Um, Canada IS “up north” to me.)
But before she left, she shared some love for y’all here on NSJM.
Or wished there could be some sharing of love. LOVE HER.
Every summer season I am replaced in the bedroom by my husband’s other lover.
The Detroit Tigers.
Yup, nothing says “do me” like a whole team of grown burly sweaty men wearing tight spandex pants hocking snot and adjusting junk brought right into our bedroom. And thanks to DVR, Shawn can curl up to a nice cold beer and his men instead of me. Every. Single. Night.
I’m so lucky right?
On this particular night, I watched as his beloved men in uniform gave congratulatory pats on the bum to one of the players who had just hit a home run.
Me: Why do they do that?
Shawn: I don’t know.
Me: It’s kind of odd that manly men would slap each other’s bums. Like couldn’t they just give high-fives?
Shawn: Babe, it’s the heat of the moment
Me: In the heat of the moment you’d rather slap a dude’s sweaty butt than give a high-five?
Shawn: Ugh, you don’t understand. Why? Do you find it hot?
Me: Not at all. But if you turned off the game, I would find that hot.
Shawn: Never mind.
And that is the story of the baseball season.
Come to think of it, it’s been a while since the beef bus parked in Tuna Town.
Did you get a visual?
Good. You’re welcome.
For the record, I blame the Detroit Tigers because they’re such mojo killers.
And the fact that I have chronic back pain although Shawn claims that he can “straighten it out”… after the Tiger’s game of course.
Did you get another visual?
Anyways, as Shawn finished watching the game I found this video. It had me cracking up because I imagine that this will be the song I sing when the Tigers stop blocking my pass onto the beef bus.
Poor Shawn. Heck, poor me!
It is hilarious and totally not suitable for work or for children’s ears. But I promise that it’ll make you giggle.