Extreme Makeover: Wedding Vows Edition

Look at us: So young, so innocent, so clueless.

Today is our 13th wedding anniversary, which got me thinking about the traditional vows we made. They were romantic and all, but knowing what I know now, they didn't really touch on major issues we face in our marriage. These are the vows I should have said:

I, Ivy, take you, Hubs, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold in bed at least 3 nights a week (and on your birthday). I vow to love you with all my heart, in good times and bad ... such as when you're listening to hideous '80s hair bands.

For better or for worse, I will wash the whites in a timely manner so you do not run out of undies. For richer and for poorer (but still able to afford frequent trips to Disney World), I am forever yours.

In sickness and in health and in times when we're just sick of each other, I promise to love your badly written Facebook posts, honor your need for peanut M&Ms, and cherish the made-up words you use in Boggle. 

From this day forward, I will only talk during movies and TV shows when I have really insightful observations to make. Finally, my beloved husband, I promise to not touch Robert Downey, Jr.,  until death do us part--at which time, all bets are off.

Girl, You Must Be Field Trippin'

Daughter and I just spent three days in Colonial Williamsburg for her fourth-grade class trip. I passed the background check (I guess an unnatural obsession with Rick Springfield doesn't make one unfit to care for children), so her school let me be one of the chaperones.

It was a great trip. You just can't beat living museums for educational value. Recreations and actors in authentic costumes performing activities how they were done in the past really bring history alive. The colonial wigmaker guzzling a Big Gulp and sporting a cleavage tattoo kinda brought me back into the 21st century, though.



Daughter at Jamestown Settlement



I learned a lot--and not just about colonial times. After more than 20 collective hours on a bus with a bunch of fourth graders and sharing a hotel room with three little girls, I learned that:


• I love kids--as long as they're my own
• Bus bathrooms are an endless source of fascination for 10-year-olds
• All chaperones are not created equally (apparently, laziness isn't detected during the screening process) 
• I may or may not be smarter than a fourth grader, but I definitely have better hygiene
• Some people shouldn't reproduce; if they decide to pop out kids anyway, they shouldn't inflict the results of their crappy parenting on others (i.e., you screwed 'em up, YOU take care of 'em)
• In fourth grade, "boyfriend-girlfriend" means never talking on the phone and never, ever being seen together in public (basically the kind of relationship some grown men would kill to have with their girlfriends)
• My stress level is inversely proportionate to the percentage of charge left on my iPhone

"There Once Was a Man From Nantucket ..."

You probably came here hoping to finally see that dirty limerick in its entirety. Seriously, whenever I'd hear that limerick on TV, they would never finish it. Took me years to find out the whole joke. And, let me say, it is NASTY!

But, I digress.

I entered a limerick contest and want to share my entries with my loyal reader(s) for two reasons:

1. Who doesn't love limericks?
2. I haven't written a post for a while, and I figure this'll buy me some time.

Disclaimer: This is a PG contest, so don't expect the foulness we all know I'm capable of.
Disclaimer 2: I know I ended a sentence with a preposition, but "of which we all know I'm capable" sounded too stickupmybutt-y.

Here you go. Multiple entries were allowed--and the alternative was cleaning my house--so I entered multiple times. You might wanna cover your nice chair in plastic, because you'll probably pee your pants laughing.

Clean limericks just don’t make the cut
So give me a limerick with smut
‘Cause the naughtier blokes
With their off-color jokes
Always make this old lass bust a gut

~

He wooed her with flowers and kisses
But still she remained quite dismissive
Til a blue box from Tiff’ny
Gave her an epiph’ny
And changed that near miss to a missus

~

Young girls, don’t get down in the dumps
When the little boys treat you like chumps
For when you’re all grown
Those boys hearts you’ll own
With the help of lipstick and some pumps

~

I'm an editor. Fear my red pen.
Your mistakes bring me feelings of Zen.
And when my corrections
Are met with objections,
I say, “Kiss my asterisk, then!”

~

I drink to the troops who protect me
I drink to the men who respect me
I drink 'til my liver
Fills up like a river
This good will has just about wrecked me


If I win the contest, I'll tell you all about it. If I lose, I'll tell you all about it in a pissy, resentful manner.

UPDATE:

I didn't win the contest. I'm pretty sure the judges were intimidated by my astonishing wit. What are you gonna do, right?

To the Middle School Jezebel Who Broke My Son's Heart Today

There. I feel better now.

Black History Month

Copyright: someecards.com

As a black person, I have mixed feelings about Black History Month. It's one of those things that arose from good intentions, but seems to do as much bad as good. Black history is history. Every day we use items, eat food, read words, sing songs, etc., that came from the mind of a black person. And, like nonblacks, black people have made positive and negative contributions to our history--American history.

So, why do need a month to celebrate black history? Why devote a measly 28 days (with a bonus day during leap year) to acknowledge what black people have done for this country? Doing so implies that it's ok to ignore those contributions throughout the rest of the year. Doing so implies that blacks still hold second class citizenship status here. Those who hate blacks aren't going to like them more during Black History Month. If anything, it causes resentment in bigots.

I understand the need for Black History Month because, sadly, there are still people who consider the black race inferior. I even see the need for Affirmative Action (as long as there are employers who would deny a qualified black candidate a job solely based on his skin color.)  But, you know what? I don't want to be hired because I'm black any more than I want to not be hired because I'm black. I don't want my kids learning about Martin Luther King, Jr., Booker T. Washington and Rosa Parks in February--I want them to learn about black history January through December.

Don't treat me special because my ancestors were mistreated. Just treat me fairly. I'm no better or worse than anyone else because of my skin color. Sometimes I'm lazy, sometimes I'm generous, sometimes I'm bitchy, and sometimes I'm pretty brilliant. I'm also black--all the time, which has nothing to do with my other aforementioned traits.

I'm perfectly aware that some white people who claim to think I'm wonderful would open up a vein if their son were going to marry me. Black History Month isn't going to fix that.