So a kick-ass lady-friend of mine on Twitter, @nuckingfutsmama, and I were asked by the sexy, lovely, and talented @toywithme on Twitter, author of the blog “Toy With Me,” to do a collaborative post for her. I can only guess it’s because the last collaboration @nuckingfutsmama and I did, “The Bumpit, the Snuggie & a Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” was one of her most favorite things she ever read causing her to print it out for all her family and friends as holiday gifts, to wallpaper her house with it, and to paper mache the most perfect vibrator with.

“Toy With Me” is a blog geared primarily towards lady readers filled with hilarious, in-depth, thought-provoking, and just all around damn good writing about all aspects of sex. She has four regularly contributing writers and often accepts guest posts. I couldn’t recommend taking a gander through her phenomenal blog any stronger.

The super-mom @nuckingfutsmama is the mother of twins and wifey to a man who apparently loves dressing as a Russian on weekends and relaxes in the most ridiculous Christmas sweaters ever knitted together by little old ladies held captive by Santa. Check out her blog here and enjoy the ride of the hilarious insanity that makes her nuckingfuts.

On to the Collaboration

My partner in crime, Ms. @nuckingfutsmama and I have tossed together another lovely story entitled Let’s Get It On. I have written “The Husband” lines. She, of course, has written “The Wifey” lines. It’s nookie-night at the bustling family of four’s house and the journey of the two love birds coming together for the wondrous act of love making is captured, line-by-line, for your enjoyment in this kick-ass collaboration.

Hope you enjoy! Click here to read Let’s Get It On.

 

Two days have gone by…and we’re already at the “oooh…and one more thing!” phase as the wifey walks out the front door to her jobby job. Oh how evil the flip-side of the coin is. There’s a part of me that thinks that after dropping an “oooh…and one more thing!” list on me, the wifey jumps in the car, cranks the radio, and bee bops her fine ass to work knowing I’m at home throwing stuff animals at my son’s imaginary friends, punching pillows, kicking cushions, and wasting valuable time that could be spent taking care of the “simple activities we’d talked about this morning.”

Wifey: “Hey, so are you picking up the kids today from school?”

Me: “Uh..yeah, I can…but I’m supposed to be making calls, and working on getting a job right?”

Wifey: “Yes dear, but I just thought you….oh, just forget it, I’ll do it.”

Me: “No…I want to do it, I just don’t want it to become this….”

Wifey: “Oooh …and one more thing, could you clean the cat litter box? I just walked down in the basement and it smells like your dirty underwear down there.”

Me: “My dirty underwear is down there…”

Wifey: “Oooh….and one more thing, please don’t spend any money, we really need to be careful.”

Me: “We needed milk…and you said, ‘oooh…and one more thing, could you get some hummus’ remember….!’”

Wifey: “Yeah… I remember, but do you really need all that beer!?”

Me: “Yes!!! Yes I do!!! Do you really need all that..”

Wifey: “Oooh…..and one more thing …can you please just wash one load of laundry…?”

She was a stay-at-home-mom for almost a year. I feel like such an ass cause I can count on my hands, and five of my friends’ hands, how many times I dropped the “oohhh” bomb on her before bolting out the door with the confident feeling that when I got home, the children would be dressed in their dinner clothes, smiling, pulling chairs out for me, asking me how my day was while dinner was wafting through the air, and birds were grasping my top coat and hat to be put away.

And now the shoe is on….yes…the wifey’s foot. And, she doesn’t mean it maliciously. At least I don’t think. I like to think she has no clue that she’s pulling the payback page right out of the book and shoving it up my ass. I like to think she’s giving me payback, without even knowing it! But, that would just be my ignorance showing again.  

It was a day I’ll never forget…standing midway up the stairs looking down at my wife as she’s scrambling to leave with the kids as she takes them to school before heading to her part-time job. The night before we’d shared glasses of white wine and agreed one hundred percent – given the decision before us, I’d stay with the job. But in that brief moment…in my heart of hearts I knew it was wrong, and I know she did too…..

Last Tuesday I was given an option at my job. Take half your pay beginning December 1, or be fired and take three months of your full pay and benefits through February.

My daughter had just finished two days in the hospital fighting H1N1. The next day my son came down with H1N1. Two days later my wife came down with H1N1. Three days later all was well and it was my first time being able to actually deal with the reality of the decision before me. Before us.

A friend of mine who I respect fully called late Sunday night and dropped all kinds of entrepreneurial motivational words my way. They were sincere….they made me think and dream about what could be. Quite honestly it’s that euphoria time in your life where your chest gets filled with air and you think – “fuck yeah I can do that…I totally can do that!!!” But then that child screams, and the wife asks for help, discussions of bills fill legal pads, and reality creeps through every weakness you never knew you had.

We went to bed knowing I would remain in my job, despite half the pay, despite the slam to my ego having to walk in day-to-day knowing that everyone and board members knew what had happened. Knowing I was now a dying blip on the budget.

Then I woke up….and I knew what to do. I agonized, I talked with the wifey, I called multiple people, I stood outside Union Station freezing my hands off holding the phone and making sure I could hear every opinion from every person I respected….and then I knew. It was time to just leave.

In twelve years since I’ve graduated college I’ve never NOT worked. I’ve in fact been consistently rewarded for my work. I’ve been given raises, praises, and opportunities that I felt I’ve grasped. We’ve moved from mill house, to larger house, to a larger city. And yet…..I haven’t stopped to really understand my fortune.

For the past three nights, my family has sat at the table, together, eating dinner. That hasn’t happened in days. Last night, we had “game night.” First time in a few weeks.

I laid in bed with my seven-year-old son….and told him what happened. It was a huge stretch…but I’ve always been honest with him.

“So, are you upset daddy lost his job? Cause it’s OK, but I want you to know how lucky daddy is that he’s going to get a paycheck for the new few months.”

“Yes, but I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“I want you to scream it to the world, cause maybe that’ll help me land a job, my man.”

“OK”

“But in the meantime, you know what’s killer about this?”

“What”

“I’m gonna roll-up every day at 2:45 at your school with….the kickball. At least till it snows, then we’re going home.”

I’m a lucky lucky bastard. I talked to my best friend tonight and found out his wifey lost her job a month or so ago. I never knew. She’s no different than the thousands around the country. Some have no kids, others have many. Some got severance, others didn’t. Some are ashamed…..hell, we’re all ashamed. Some are about to find out a week before Christmas….some won’t have a Christmas.

Today I was put in my fucking place. Today I became a statistic. Today I was given a huge opportunity. Today it’s up to me to figure out tomorrow….

“TRASH CAN!!!!” – those were the words that had me sprinting out of bed like a mad man Saturday morning at the crack-ass of dawn. My precious little princess needed a bucket to bury her head in while she unleashed a fury of puke. She’d been puking since 1 a.m. – roughly the time my wifey got back from her birthday celebration with a friend while I stayed home with a feverish daughter.

I hate hearing her the daughter scream those words. I hate the pukes. I hate when you hold the door for people and they don’t say “thanks.” I hate pooping in public restrooms. I hate when you’re walking down a busy street and you trip on a crack and almost fall, but don’t and are then faced with having to play it off with a slight little jog like everyone’s really gonna believe that you just felt like breaking into a 14-step jog just for the hell of it on the way to work.

So she gets the trash can, pukes…..and pukes….then says, “I’m done. Wash-cloth!!!” And I take the trash can, give her a damp, cool wash cloth to wipe her face and mouth with. Then I tuck her back in bed and go sanitize the living shit out of myself.

Having a sick kid sucks. I hate it more than anything and I’ll do anything to make the kids feel better. But I can’t help but analyze the difference between the two.

Son

Usually he gets one good puke in his bed which wakes him up. Then he stand up, screams “daddy I’m throwing up!!!” while running like a naked banshee through the hall, puke spewing out his nose cause his hands are over his mouth, then he pukes all over the toilet. But from that point on – he makes it to the toilet every time. Of course he always has to announce to me…not the wifey, but me...that he’s puking.

Daughter

The princess in her takes over. She might as well say in her 14^th-century voice, “Oh father dear!!! Father!! Please fetch my golden puking pan! Oh no silly man, not that one, the one mother and I bought the other day whilst in the city. Oh good God father, the ooother one. And it better have a shine to it. I had the butler shine it and if he didn’t well I will just have to get upset, now won’t I. Now hurry up father as I am going to vomit all over it. Bring it here. Now hold my hair and turn away…..I am a lady after all.”

As a kid I remember I couldn’t throw up until I had woken my mother and informed her of the impending toilet decoration I was about to unleash. She was one hell of a heavy sleeper. As soon as I’d get her awake, I’d tear-ass down the carpeted hallway and a good 10 feet from the bathroom I’d just let it launch. Like a dog pissing in his favorite spot in the house, I was drawn to this one spot at the top of the stairs where I’d puke every time.

The wifey’s gotten better, but for a while, she would always give the kids water right after they finished puking. And I’d be all: “Shnookums. You can’t give them anything to eat or drink or else they’ll puke it right back up. You have to wait for a while to make sure the puke bug is gone.”

“But she asked for water and she will get dehydrated.”

“I’d like you to take your shirt off. I’m actually asking you to…does that mean you’ll do it?”

“What is it with you and my boobs?”

“You've got a great rack, but don’t go getting all cocky. I have been known to visually enjoy other ladies boobs.”

“Our kid is puking and you’ve somehow managed to even turn that into a conversation about boobs!!! You seriously need to go to counseling.”

So long story short…we took daughter to the Dr. They said go to the ER. They wanted to watch her overnight. They did a shit-ton of tests. Originally they thought it was a urinary tract infection and/or flu. By the time the daughter came home they were convinced it was only the flu, but still weren't sure. We get test results back on Tuesday. Until then, she’s on tami-flu and antibiotics.

Thanks to everyone who send wonderful thoughts and continually asked about her over the weekend. I can’t even begin to tell you how awesome you all are. Thank you!!

Wifey: “So, did you know pointy bras are coming back in style.”

Me: “Does that mean you’re gonna finally buy some new bras?”

Wifey: “You’re an asshole…just because my bras don’t have flowers and aren’t lacy and my panties don't have ‘sexy’ across the ass doesn’t mean they’re not hot.”

Me: “I never said your skin-toned skibbies weren’t hot. I was just asking because you starting talking about pointy booby holders.”

Wifey: “Seriously honey…do you have a problem with my undergarments?”

Me: “Isn’t an ‘undergarment’ like a slip or something a Sunday school teacher wears? It makes me think of my grandmother walking around the house before bed in like 18 layers of silky nastiness filled with hooks and wires and shit. I’d much prefer you to say ‘panties.’”

Wifey: “Why can’t we ever have a normal conversation anymore? Can’t you save your Mr. Funny-Man routine for the internet?”

Me: “You mean the interweb machine thingy?”

Wifey “SEE?!!!!”

Me: “All right…sorry…damn. So who in the hell would wear those pointy bra things, anyway?”

Wifey: “I don’t know…I wouldn’t.”

Me: “What about tassels? Would you wear them if they had tassels hanging off them? And you could shake your chest and make them twirl and go in opposite directions….that would be money if you did that.”

Wifey: “You really need to lay off the porn.”

Me: “I haven’t watched porn in hours.”

Wifey: “You know the kids can find that stuff on the computer, because you have it so easy to find.”

Me: *loud throat clear “interweb machine thingy” *loud throat clear

Wifey: “Did you go to school to learn how to be such a difficult person to talk to?”

Me: “No, I took bowling because asshole was full. So seriously, I haven’t even seen one pointy boob walking around in the city. I don’t think they’ve made a come-back quite yet.”

Wifey: “I’m just sayin’, I read an article that said they’re coming back.”

Me: “Since when do you read the newspaper?”

Wife: “I read the paper…you’re not around me all day, you have no idea what I read and don’t read.”

Me: “You saw it on Oprah didn’t you?”

Wifey: “I hate you.”

Me: “I seriously don’t think you like me anymore.”

Wifey: “Oh for the love of God here we go again.”

Me: “No…I’m serious. I wake up most mornings sore as hell, and I know it’s because you’re giving me badly practiced acupuncture at night. The other day, Grayson called me a meanie and I swear I saw you high-five him. And today…just today when I opened my lunch bag, there was a note in with my sandwich that said ‘die fucker’ and I’ve had a stomach ache ever since.”

Wifey: “I DID NOT high five Grayson. I would never teach him that name calling was OK.”

Me: “If I bought you a pointy bra would you wear it?”

Wifey: “Keep kicking back those beers and you might need a pointy bra, drunk-o.”

Me: “That would be awesome! It would be like a boob-flask for dudes. I could fill one with beer and the other with Jager with straws coming out of both. I wonder if that’s been patented?”

Wifey: “Idiot….”

Me: “We really should talk more often. This was nice.”

Wifey: “Sssshhh…CSI’s coming on.”