Helllllooo...Can you hear me?

The dirt pusher is really getting on my nerves.

He never listens to me.

I feel like I can safely confide in my 10 followers because he doesn't read the blog... You would think that he would want to know every little thought that comes out of my brain...and when I'm talking smack about him...

I think tuning me out could be a coping mechanism for him....  I remember when he used to hang on my every word and think I was soooo interesting.  Even when there was hockey on TV...and who likes hockey anyway?  Even my Uncle JB knows hockey is uninteresting and he watches every sport known to man.  I don't even think JB's TV has channels other than sports channels...so he would know.

The dirt pusher used to listen to me and stare at me in awe.. thinking how I was the most interesting, intelligent, funny, witty, amazing woman to walk the earth.

Now a days the conversation goes like this:

Me:  "Hey dollface I call him dollface when I want my way don't you think when we build the new house we should just do ceramic tile everywhere other than the bedrooms...we could do heated floors...and we could make the kids move around the house on all fours with pads on their knees and hands...then I would never have to do the floors myself..."  I say this as I am looking in the mirror sideways... holding my shirt up... sucking in my gut...trying to convince myself that the WW123 plan is working and pretending I didn't eat a whole pudding filled maple donut that morning.

Him: "Damnit!" he says this without even a glance my direction...the Avalanche is playing and not playing well...as if I care...

Me: "Do you think it looks like this WW123 plan is working..I'm starving!"  Still sucking it in...

Him: "Oh... did I tell you the Yukon needs a new fuel pump?" The Yukon is a constant source of a huge pain in my ass.  We got this stupid gas guzzling machine to transport our family of 6 which is rarely going in the same direction anyway.  After a transmission, new tires, parts in the steering column, new tie rods and other parts I don't even know the name of....I'm ready to blow the damn bus to shreds..so I completely ignore any sort of convo regarding the piece of shit.  Oh...yeah and did I mention that a drunk driving motorcyclist hit it while sitting on the street?  It is jinxed and I want it out of my life.  I tell the dirt pusher to get rid of it...but he just knows he can fix everything that needs fixing himself...yeah..whatever...just don't talk to me about it...after all I refuse to drive the oversized POS anyway.

Me:  "What should I wear with these new earings I bought today?"  Very cute earings I might add...that I bought while shopping for a gift for someone else...but it was buy one get one half off...so it only made sense to buy something for myself too...

Him: *snickering* " I put the new mower together today...good thing I didn't wear my good shoes...or I could have scuffed them." He thinks he is clever using the same sarcasm I use on him...and he says this as he chuckles and takes his ball cap off and wipes his bald ol' head with the same hand.  I'm thinking he is cute here...but I would never let on.

Me:  "Oh good....I know how you hate that I can start the old mower and you can't." *smirk*

Him: "Your boobs look good."

I'm pretty sure this means that he likes the idea of the ceramic tile throughout and thinks I should shop more...