Category: Matrimonial Log

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5783.153

“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”

Señora and I were in Costco.  A gentleman more elderly than us passed us by with much promptitude.

I commented to Señora, “someone needs to call 911.”

When she looked at me queerly, I added, “someone stole his butt.”

The whole time she  was chastising me for my inappropriate, non-woke comment she was doing her damnedest to not burst out laughing.

The reality was that his posterior had fled to such an extent that I wondered how his britches maintained their position upon his waist without the succor of suspenders.

And so it was once upon a time in Costco.

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5783.108

“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”

Señora recently acquired a new phone. Right now the phone is a bit annoying as it has a notification sound  that, for all the world, to me, sounds like “ruh roh”. Clearly I spent far too much time watching Scooby Doo with my kidrens when… well,  when they were kidrens way back in the last century.  This “ruh roh” sound is probably on multiple applications,  However, messing around with her phone ranks right up there with getting into her purse. It is something I avoid doing as I consider both very personal items. That, and  gawd only knows what I might find.

The other night it was late, the lights were out, and Señora and I were being, shall I say, more than a little feisty. A little while into our canoodling, an application on her phone started in with notifications.  “Ruh roh” it kept saying, over and over. At first it was barely impinging on my semi-crazed  hormonal state (fully crazed fled years ago), but after eight or ten times, it became hard to ignore.

As it continued with the “ruh rohs” I began to feel like her phone was judging us.  Was it bothered by feisty seniors?  Her phone might be a super Christian for all I know.  The Apostle Paul and St. Augustine espoused sexual congregation only, only  in marriage, and even then solely for the purpose of procreation.  It would, indeed, be a miracle – and a disaster – if Señora and I were to procreate.  Perhaps the phone was pulling a 1984 and Big Brother was being judgmental about what we were doing.   I basically felt like there was a hypercritical third party in our matrimonial bed adjudicating our nocturnal activities. The hormonal part of me wanted to grab the device and fling it into silence, but then I remembered what we had paid for it.

Funny time of life when logic and caution prevail over hormones – ruh roh.

And so it goes.

Which reminds me of a joke from my biochemistry class (again last century):

How do you make a hormone?

Don’t pay her!

Now days the college chemistry professor would probably be in deep water for telling such an un-woke joke.  Oh well…

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5783.107

“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”

Señora has a habit of lying in bed in the mornings, drinking her coffee, and working puzzles from the New York Times on her phone.  She was doing so this morning as I was buzzing around getting ready for my Spanish class on Skype.

Suddenly she jumped out of our matrimonial love nest, loudly exclaiming, “I am running late. I have an appointment for a massage in just a few minutes.”

I unwisely replied, “You have a habit of that.  It just drives me nuts to be running late.”

Señora responded to my injudicious comment with, “I’m going to get there on time, and you are altogether nuts anyway.”

When will I ever learn? In the ongoing drama of our matrimonial repartee, I always end up as the bottom.

And so it goes.

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5783.071

“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”

Señora was not feeling well today, and since she was upstairs napping, I was the one to get the mail.  In that bundle of mostly spam, was a bill or two, and the monthly AARP magazine.

Since I was avoiding going to the basement to exercise, I read a couple articles in the magazine and worked the crossword puzzle. It seems AARP wants us seniors to feel good about ourselves as the crossword puzzle is seldom challenging. However, that is another topic.

I left the magazine open on the kitchen counter to an article titled on the cover as Sex in Your 70s, Yes Yes, Oh Yes, It Can Still Be Great.  Actually the Oh before the last Yes was my own addition.   In the body of the magazine the article was titled Start Your Own Sexual Revolution. After that, I ceased my procrastination and descended into the depths of our basement to work on keeping this magnificent body, well.. magnificent. Sometimes it takes a little work to hear that last “Ohhh… YES!”

When I came up from the exercise dungeon, I found Señora had been downstairs.  The AARP magazine was now open to an article about four old ladies lusting after Tom Brady.  Yes, Lily Tomlin, Jane Fonda, Sally Field and Rita Moreno starring.

Seems to me there is a not so subtle message in there somewhere… if AARP would just make those crossword puzzles a little harder perhaps I would have the mental acuity to figure it out.

And so it goes.

 

 

I once heard the noted sexologist, well Bubba down at Smitty’s Bar and Grill, claim there are only four major types of orgasms.  The Negative Orgasm – “No, No, OHHHH NOOO!”. The Positive Orgasm – “Yes, Yes, OHHHH YESSS!”. The Religous Orgasm – “GOD, Oh GOD, Oh…. god….”.  And my personal favorite – “Oh David, Oh David, Ohhhh, DAVID!”

How Bubba knew about my personal favorite, I have yet to find out.

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5783.066

“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”

Almost out of the blue Señora said to me, “You would not make a very good MC on a game show.”

“Oh?,” said I, arching one eyebrow, a perplexed expression crossing my charming, handsome countenance, “why is that?”

“You get annoyed by people too easily,” she went on.

“So you think I am annoyed with you right now,” I echoed, dropping into my best active listening mode and reflecting back to her what I thought she had just said.

“Clearly that is true, my dear, dear sweet man,” Señora commented, only a little sarcastically.

“Well come on down and see if the Price is Right, your turn to spin, vowels are worth double, What is sarcasm, Alex?” for some reason seemed to be the necessary, if absolutely not the appropriate response.

Growing up with four brothers, I became very good at ducking.

And so it goes.

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5783.363

“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”

My 6′ 2″ self is sitting on the edge of the bed. Señora, all 5′ 2″ of her, standing at the foot of the bed, cutting her eyes between me and the juncture of the wall and ceiling above the bed, profoundly pronounces, “there sure are a lot of cobwebs up there.”

Apparently, once again, I opted for the incorrect response.  It definitely was not, “Well, you need to do something about that, don’t you?”

Perhaps if Señora would hand me a sheet of paper with the possible answers that were in a multiple choice format, and then give me sufficient time to study the answers…. nah, probably not, she would not let me get by with saying, “All of the above???”,  every time.

And so it goes.

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5783.343

“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”

Although my overflowing fountain of creativity – that’s a yoke, son – at times has me wanting to send out a bus load of blog postings on some days, I generally try to keep it to one a day or less.  No need to overwhelm my extensive readership  with the mundane grumblings of a run-of-the-mill curmudgeon.

However… today I could not resist.  I am not feeling well and have spent most of the day in bed.  I have a memory of Señora at my bedside telling me she was going to the Valley (local area full of strip malls).  An hour or so later I needed a beverage and went down to the kitchen to find this dire warning on the kitchen counter from my loving spouse:

I Think I Have Been Insulted

And so it goes.

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5783.326

“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”

Last night I was lying in bed half asleep.  Señora was next to me watching the tail end of a TV show about Gilda Radner.  When the show was over she turned off the TV, and she leaned over to give me a good night kiss and hug.  During the hug I caressed her back and arms a bit, then I decided I needed to do the same to her hip and leg.  When I arrived there I had the thought, “she sure needs to shave her legs!”  That is when I realized The Wee Dog had weaseled her way in between the two of us.

And so it went with our little ménage à chienne.