You might call Hubby an amateur hunter. He’s a good one, too — when he fixes his sights on a target, that target better just say its prayers.

Hubby: Say your prayers! (thwack!)

Hubby’s determination and persistence never let him down, either. He follows a trail with the patience of a man who knows what he wants and always gets his way.

Hubby: There you are… you little… (thwack!) HA!

Some hunters are satisfied with the ubiquitous deer head trophies mounted on their walls. Not Hubby.

Bonnie: Oh, yuck! Why is THIS on the wall?

Hubby: That was the biggest dang skeeter I’ve ever seen! Look at that sucker! It took a chunk out of me, too… but I got it! HA! (to the smashed mosquito wall-hanging) You thought you were great stuff, hunh? Now look at you! Laid low… by the KING!

What, you thought I was talking about big game, like moose or deer or even bear? Believe me: no venison hunter was ever as proud of his trophies as Hubby is of his.

Bonnie: Scrape it off!

Hubby: Not on your life. It’s a warning to those other skeeters out there. (to all the other skeeters) Hey! YOU! You want a piece of ME? YOU WANT… A PIECE… OF ME?

HUBBY: No way!

CO-WORKER: It’s true! Pit bulls can weigh up to 200 lbs!

HUBBY: I don’t believe it. Show me the specs!

CO-WORKER: Okay!

(He turns to his Google Search box and starts typing)

P – I – T – B – U – L – L     S – P – E – C – S

HUBBY: Geek alert! GEEK ALERT!

 
 
 
By the way: can you find the real pit bull? Not many people can on the first try, which is why stuff like this is useless because it’s impossible to enforce correctly.

And here are some real pit bull specs.

When the kids went out yesterday afternoon, Hubby and I locked the doors, turned down the lights, and … put in the DVD of Sin City.

Yowza! I’d heard it was violent and it was, but nobody told me about the Jiggle Factor. Let’s just say Hubby was enthralled. Lots of lucious boobalas and bottoms all over the screen–enough to make a forty-something housewife sigh as she remembers her forgotten resolution to work out regularly.

My favorite lines came from Marv:

Wendy: You sat there and took it… when you could’ve taken my gun away from me any time you wanted to…

Marv: Sure, but I thought I might be able to talk some sense into you. And I probably would’ve had to paste you one getting the gun and I don’t hurt dames.

We need more movies that use the term “dames.”

Hubby’s Greatest Moment:

(Carla Gugino makes her appearance as the lesbian probation officer/pharmacist, wearing nothing but a thong and a concerned expression)

Hubby: Hmmm. That girl needs to do some squats.

Hubby: How come you never write about me anymore?

Me: Oh, I don’t know, probably because you and I get along so well lately. The best columns come when I’m ticked off about something.

Hubby: (silent)

Me: Yeah. Even Mark Twain said something about how humor comes from unhappiness, and that there’s no humor in heaven, although I don’t know about the heaven part.

Hubby: (silent)

Me: Not that I’m comparing myself to Mark Twain. Or anything.

Hubby: So. The only way to get written about in a column is to piss you off?

Me: Uh, no, that’s not quite what I mea—

Hubby: (turning away) Consider it done.

Me: Gulp.

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she’s got to decide whether or not she’s going to keep the vow she made when she was young and naive, back in the days when her head was full of hearts and flowers and her love life seemed like a juicy romance novel.

That time had come for me. What I was doing wasn’t working any more. The only option left was to go back on everything I’d ever believed and enter a brave, new world of excitement, thrills and dangerous liaisons.

But would Hubby let me? (Read the rest of “Moo-ove Over, Danielle”)

It had been over six years since our last visit to Disneyland, and the kids and I could hardly wait.

Unfortunately, we had to wait with Grumpy.

“Aaaargh!” Lines! Nothing but… LINES!” blasted Hubby. “We’ve died,” he informed us. “And this is Hell.” (Read the rest of “Stuck in the Happiest Place on Earth”)

I do not believe that men are from Mars and women are from Venus. It’s absolutely impossible we come from the same solar system. (Read the rest of “La Difference”)

Sometimes a parent just knows.

When the doorbell rang, I just knew what nasty Halloween prank I’d find on my front porch. (Besides, it was dark and I could hear the perpetrator running away.)

I flung open the front door. My son screamed at the sight that awaited us. (Read the rest of “The Phantom”)

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.  And sometimes a fancy workout machine is really just an oversized clothes hanger.  At least, that’s what I insisted as an employee from Scratch and Dent Fitness installed one slightly used Hoist 200 into our kitchen/family room.

I’m a fitness videotape kind of gal.  So was Hubby, until a few Hoist brochures revealed this gender blunder to him.

“Come on,” I said. “One reason we bought this house was because it had a walk-in closet. How much more clothes space do you need?” (Read the rest of “Mr. Beefcakes Goes for the Burn”)