Tag: Señora

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5782.238

“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.”

Caution the following is NSFW – Not Safe for Work – and more than a little randy… You have been appraised, proceed at your own risk.

It has been a great summer for watermelons.  On the way to the golf course is a vegetable stand, and I have been stopping there about once a week to buy us a specimen of this most wonderful of summer delectables.

Tonight as Señora partook of this treat  she moaned around  the red, luscious, juicy fruit,  “I hope I die eating watermelon.”

To which I replied, “I hope I die eating pussy.”

Not missing a beat Señora shot back, “At least I will know where to find the body.”

And yes Señora approved.

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Choice is Good

I have two frequent muses for my silly, little blog.  One is Señora. Most of the time she is okay with being my muse, sometimes she is tickled, and on occasion, she will arch one eyebrow and give me that look. After two bouts of the the brain fever known as matrimonitis I have gained enough “wisdom” to seek Señora‘s approval before releasing stories involving her into the wilds of cyberspace.

My other muse is The Wee Dog, aka Princess Lily, our 7 kilogram rescue dog. A year or so after we adopted her, on a whim – and on sale – we had her DNA tested.  She is 3/8 Bichon Frisé, 1/4 Dachshund, 1/8 Pomeranian, 1/8 Pekingese, 1/8 Shih Tzu and 100% adorable except to squirrels, rabbits, moles and especially chipmunks.

Señora and Princess Lily are essentially surgically/psychically/telepathically connected. Neither one of them can stand not knowing where the other is, generally they are in the same room together.  As revealed in True Confessions, I, by spells, have my roles to play in this ménage à chienne. For reasons known Continue reading “Choice is Good”

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5782.227

“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.”

Today Señora was going to meet a friend for lunch. Normally when I see Señora around the hacienda she has on her I-have-five-loads-of-laundry-to-do-and-10-rows-of-corn-to-hoe outfit. When she came down to our little gym area to say goodbye to me she had put on a nice dress, fixed her hair and put on some makeup.

“You be sure to tell Roberts I am more than a  jealous of her, you getting all duded up like that for her,” I declared.

Before I could completely finish my thought, Señora ejaculated, “Bullshit…I brush my tooth every day for you!”

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Open or Closed?

Señora and I are having an ongoing “debate”.  After visiting the bathroom for a “meditation session”, do you leave the bathroom door shut or do you open it?  My opinion is that you leave it shut to trap the “aromas” therein, allowing them dissipated in due time.   Señora repeatedly opines that it is better to leave the door open to allow the “aromas” to dissipated quicker.

We keep a candle in there, but the problem with those is that I forget I have lit it.   I suppose that is a minor fire hazard, but mainly they are burning up very quickly.

On a semi-related note, did you know that there are soaps that are solely for decoration, that they are not there for the washing of your hands?

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Matrimonial Log – Star Date 5782.202

“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.”

Just to put this in context, Señora and I are fast approaching our 9th wedding anniversary.

So… I am sitting on the porcelain throne in the downstairs bathroom this morning reading a few pages from Rabbi Joseph Telushkin‘s delightful book, Words That Hurt, Words that Heal.

Interrupting my meditations and reading, there is a banging on the bathroom door followed by,  “Are you in there?”

In reply I said, “Of course I am, it is 0932 and I have had two cups of coffee.”

Señora goes on, “Do you want to get married again?”

To which I answered, “Will I have more privacy in the morning if we do?”

Apparently that was not the correct response.

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I Taught Señora a New Cuss Word

I taught Señora a new four-letter word.  Well I might have had she been home.  All couples have their origin stories; our tale involves a lot of off-color words.

What got me scandalizing the neighbors Saturday was that one of the rear drive wheels of my new Toro lawnmower came off.  This mower is so new that just yesterday my check to pay off the credit card I charged it on cleared. I had ordered it online from Home Depot as they did not have it in stock at the Chesterfield store.  When I unboxed the mower I was glad to see Continue reading “I Taught Señora a New Cuss Word”

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Clint Eastwood Saves the Day

Today I was doing some honey-dos in the guest bedroom.  While I was busy in there I decided I wanted to watch the final round of this week’s PGA golf tournament. Thing is we have not had a house guest since before the pandemic lock down so it has been that long since that TV had been used.  First I had to load our current streaming service onto this TV, then I discovered the Roku menu was not working.  I diagnosed the problem quickly – for me – as the batteries being dead in the remote controller.  Opening the back of the device I discovered I needed two AA batteries.  Problem was we had used up the last of the package a while back.

Remembering the oft repeated line Continue reading “Clint Eastwood Saves the Day”

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Pobrecita

Robin would not let me take a picture, but she looks like the victim of spousal abuse!  The reality is that is not my style, and I am not near brave enough to do such a horrible thing.  I am  convinced she would make Lorena Bobbitt look like an angel.

We had her son’s dog, Osho for a  few days.  Osho is absolutely convinced that my conjunction-function in life is to take him on walks.  Of course, if I take him I cannot leave The Wee Dog behind.  All of which is fine, but two dogs on leashes can be a bit of a chore.  They are generally pretty good walking together, but occasionally they will each discover odors needing investigation that are in opposite directions.  I end up feeling like the proverbial wishbone.

Normally, Osho wants to go around dark-thirty, just after we feed him.  Monday was a nice day so I thought I would do it earlier, as it was warm and sunny.  I asked Robin if she would like to tag along, both for her company and so we could split the two dogs between us.

All was fine until we started to enter the garage.  Robin saw what was left of a decorative gourd in the garden she could not leave, so she handed me Lily’s leash.  I took it, and was promptly entangled with both dogs.  I managed to get Lily unwrapped who decided she had to head for the door leading from the garage to the kitchen immediately.   Unfortunately, Robin was headed  towards the trash can just beside that door in the garage.  Before I could act or say anything, Robin tripped over Lily’s leash.  I am not sure I ever saw anyone fall quite so fast – despite what Galileo espoused.  She had no time to put her hands in front, partly because she was carrying the gourd.  She landed directly on her nose, skinning her knees.  All I could think of was her two back surgeries.  She was obviously very shook up.  Just to be on the safe side we went to urgent care.  She  was basically fine, but she has been very sore for a couple days.   I was fully expecting a raccoon mask that is so common when the nose receives such a blow.  Her nose is bruised and her left eye looks like mine after one of my karate matches (back in the day).

We are both thankful that is was not worse.

And so it goes.

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Rev. Joe’s Random Thought #9,163

yeah I know you did not ask!

Señora and I were together in my pick-em-up truck this chilly morning, running errands. I’m not sure how it got started, but we got into a playful contest trying to out “smart-ass” each other.  After a few minutes of this Señora threw her hands in the air  towards the headliner of my vehicle mirthfully conceding, “you win, you are king of smart-asses.”

All of which got me to wondering, does that make me the better smart-ass or the worse smart-ass?

Inquiring minds want to know, and me too.