Slutty Goats

Clipart provided by Clker.com

My husband and I both suffer from insomnia. This typically leads to him pestering me about sex, and me lying on the couch like a vegetable whining about being tired.

We have some very interesting conversations late at night.  A few nights ago we started talking about Bengay, which somehow lead to the topic of men putting Bengay on their balls.  I just had to Google it to believe it. I Google everything and I do mean everything.

I especially love Yahoo questions and answers though. This is what I found when I Googled, "Do men really put Bengay on their balls" (They do by the way)

Question: 
"When I put bengay on my balls, it hurts. Is that normal?"

Best Answer (by arkleseizure):
"Normal that you're putting it on (no) or normal that it hurts (I don't think normal has been established, as people don't generally do this)"

Other Awesome Answers: 
"Burning, yes....putting it on, no"

"Try putting some of your rectum. It might help you forget you have it on your balls"

"Why would you put Bengay on your balls to begin with? Usually it's used for sore muscles and clearly your balls are not a muscle".

As if the conversation couldn't possibly get more intense, we started watching Animal Planet.  Slutty goats is what happens when the husband and I try to watch an evening of educational programming together.  I'm not even sure they were actual goats but they had horns and were ramming each other and the husband said, "Wow, talk about some slutty goats.  Look at that one.  She doesn't use the old 'I have a headache excuse'.  She's ready to get some."

I have some issues with this.  For one, I highly doubt that female goat has five children to take care, a mounting pile of medical bills, and an autoimmune disorder that affects her sex drive.  However, I could be totally wrong and if I am, i'm deeply sorry. I'm sure goats have their own set of problems.  And yes, I just Googled, "Common goat problems" in case you're wondering.  It turns out goats don't have it all that great either.  They often have twins.  Egads! No wonder they suffer from chronic urinary problems.

I feel your pain goat, I do.  If you weren't a goat, and didn't smell so horrifically funky, and I could get it in writing that you wouldn't take a dump on my couch, I would so have you over for some coffee, scones and girl talk.

Weekends with Peanut Layne

Well, it's official.  I'm the worst blogger in history. Yep, I am.  I'm lucky if I blog once a week at this point (on a good month).  Not to mention it takes me forever to moderate my comments so please don't feel bad if it takes me a month or longer to approve your comment.  It's not you, it's me.  ALL ME.  It's called laziness and it's contagious in our house.  I'm behind on writing blogs, reading blogs and commenting on blogs (geesh, do you think i've said the word "blog" enough?) so that's my goal for this week (to actually get blogging stuff done), along with losing 50 lbs. That's not too much to ask is it?

So, what has been going on in the Peanut Layne house you may be asking? Or maybe you're not asking at all, but who cares, because i'm gonna tell you anyways!  This weekend has been super exciting. Ok, so no, it hasn't.  Last night (Friday night), the husband and I put the kids to bed and partied, and by partied I mean we sat on the couch (separate couches because I need room to stretch out my legs, and the hubby hates the smell of my Bengay lotion) and watched a National Lampoons marathon on VH1.  The husband made a Dutch Bros coffee run which was super sweet but I knew exactly what that meant...he was going to expect sex for his good deed.  Yep, I saw right through his random act of kindness.

Before the sex the husband started complaining about not having any junk food in the house.  He had this brilliant idea to take some tortillas (I think they've been in the fridge since season 3 of Weeds...you know before the series turned to shit) and spread butter, cinnamon and sugar all over them.  He insisted I help him eat them, and since i'm not one to turn down sugar, I agreed.

Within about 10 minutes of eating the sugary tortillas of death, my stomach was gurgling and angry with me.  Just what you want when you're about to have sex.  I didn't have the heart to tell my husband that the entire time we were having sex, I was concentrating on bowel control.

Today the party continued as I had to run to Winco to buy groceries.  As I was walking out of Winco, I dropped our pizza face down on the parking lot ground.  Gross.  I got home and handed it over to the hubby and told him to check it for hypodermic needles before tossing it into the oven.

Speaking of the hubby he ditched me tonight so he could go a local pizza place/bar and watch a UFC fight with his buddies. Our 8 y/o daughter asked me as he was leaving, "He's not going to one of those root beer places is he? Cause those are really bad."  After I finished laughing I figured I would take this time to catch up on chick flicks but come to find out the husband set a bunch of parental controls. DAMN HIM!  Of course I hit the wrong button while cursing over the parental controls and it landed on Spongebob so my dreams of watching TV tonight have been shattered.

I wish I had more funny stuff but I got nothin.  My 5 y/o son said the strawberries I bought looked like butt cheeks.  The sad thing is, they kinda do.

A candy bar has many meanings

My husband made me promise i'd blog about this today and since I do make fun of him every single chance I get, I kind of owe him one. So this one's for you my hunk of burning love!

Yesterday I went grocery shopping. What a shocker that a mom of five spends three quarters of her adult life going to the grocery store. I'm on a first name basis with most of the employees. Pitiful really, but with two teens we go through food like toilet paper and considering we really were out of toilet paper (and napkins as that's our back up), I had no choice but to go shopping.  My hubby and I have this thing where we always buy each other a candy bar when we're at the store. It's kind of a way to say, "I love you" but also, "I really just want a candy bar for myself, so i'm buying one for you too so I don't have to listen to you bitch while I eat my candy bar in front of you."

Last night was pouring down rain and icky and my girls had soccer practice in the torrential downpour which meant that they came home smelling like wet dogs and asshole. I was so busy giving them baths and fixing dinner at midnight (kidding, it was more like 7), that I totally forgot about my hubby's candy bar that was stuffed down in my purse until the kids were passed out asleep. I walked into the bathroom and handed my hubby his candy bar (yes, while he was on the toilet) Is that wrong? We've been together for so long now that we are totally comfortable enough to hang out with each other while in the bathroom.  I know marriage experts tell you to NEVER EVER do this, but with five kids, this is one of our only options for quality alone time, so we're making it count, dammit! I also believe this is a sign of true love, or perhaps it's just completely repulsive and sick, but either way, it's really not a big deal to us.

This is the conversation that took place after I handed over the candy bar:

J- Oooh, I think someone wants to get some tonight.

Me- NO! (oooops, did I really just say that out loud?)

J- (hysterical laughter) OH I see. So this is the "I don't want to get any tonight so here's a candy bar instead?"

Me- Well, no. Actually it was a "I really just wanted some Junior Mints, and was trying to justify my purchase, but we can go along with your theory."

J- You really should blog about this.

Me- Why would you want me to blog about turning you down for sex? Doesn't that go against every code in the man handbook? You never admit when your wife turns you down?

J- Yeah, but it's pretty damn funny that you tried to buy me off with candy.

Later that evening I was curled up on the couch, wrapped up like a burrito in a warm, fleecy blanket of wonderfulness, when my persistent hubby decides to climb on top of me and dry hump my blanket covered behind.  Do all men do this or am I just the lucky chosen one who gets dry humped on a daily basis? Anyways, I immediately shout out, "Babe, get off! I'm gassy", which was totally true as I really was gassy after dining on spicy turkey dogs and barbeque chips just a couple of hours prior.  J slid off of me onto the floor laughing. "I know, I know" J said. "Let me guess? You are gassy, bloated, constipated, your cooch is most likely bleeding and smells weird, your fibromyalgia is acting up, your legs hurt and are way too hairy because you haven't had time to shave them, and your vagina looks like something straight out of the Jungle Book.  Did I miss anything? Oh and you have a headache. I almost forgot that one."