The Red Light Districts of Europe

There are numerous red light districts in Germany as well as in the Czech Republic.

Guess where my husband Alex is! Well, I'm not saying. Still, I felt obliged to tell him that he was in the middle of hubs of prostitution in the countries he's working in at present. Of course, he played dumb and said "Oh really?". Yeah, like he doesn't know.

Alex is gone for a month. Actually, it's over a month. Harry is miserable. He waited at the back gate for the last two evenings for his dad to come home. During the day, he's moped around the house and not even wagged his tale once. Believe it or not, a squirrel ran across the front lawn right in front of him and he didn't even bark. This is Harry the Squirrel Killer I'm talking about.

Honey isn't feeling any happier about Alex being gone either. She's been lying in Harry's bed all day, forcing Harry to lie on the rug. (He would be too afraid to climb into her bed.) She is depressed and not interested in playing either. Of course, Honey wasn't playful to begin with. She's been in a bad mood for a few years now, sort of like me. Being depressed does not affect her appetite though. That's sort of like me too come to think of it.

And speaking of me, I'm not real happy about this trip either. I know I called him Turtle Man in my last post, but I really didn't mean it. Alex does not look like a turtle. When he's not here, I miss him. So I am sad too. Here is a photo of me looking terribly sad. Makes you feel bad doesn't it? Well, the truth is, I'm not sure I was sad so much as ready to spray Diet Coke across the table trying not to laugh at some lame joke. But it looks like a sad picture so I thought I'd use it.

The truth is I wouldn't put on my Tahitian pearls and lace blouse and put out china, silver and crystal if Alex isn't home. I barely get out of my robe.

So if Alex decides to leave his little family for an Eastern European prostitute, I will certainly let all of you know. And we will show you the "mad" photos which are much different from the "sad" photos.

Turtle Man

Alex got his passport renewed a while ago.

We all know that passport photos are just awesome. They use the best photographers at Walgreens! In fact, I may go to the guys there for some glamor shots.

I thought his photo was fairly good, compared to other photos I've seen. The DMV does sometimes take wonderful shots for us too, but they usually tend to make a normal person look like a deranged serial killer, baby rapist, and total degenerate.

When Alex grabbed his passport before he left, he looked at his image upside down and said "Jesus! I look like a turtle!" I protested that he looked nothing like a turtle but then I began to see what he was talking about. My husband does look like a turtle in this photo. I can admit this because in real life, my husband looks nothing like a turtle.

After laughing until my sides hurt, I tried to tell him that he really didn't look like a turtle. (I would never hurt my darling husband's feelings if I could avoid doing so.) The problem is that in this picture Alex looks exactly like a turtle with his head poked out of his green shell.

If I took a passport picture that made me look like a turtle, I'd never leave the country.

Have a nice trip, Turtle Man!

The Lady With The Crack Ho Hair

First of all, I'm not wearing pajamas.

My husband is leaving me for more than a month. Because I'm not going to get dressed or comb my hair, or even leave the house the entire time he's gone, I thought I'd get started with the hair right now.

Alex will be on the other side of the world. I don't want him to get homesick and be missing me too much. So I thought I'd give him reason to be glad he's looking at nicely turned out foreign women rather than his wife with the crack ho hair.

I'm also wearing sort of an ugly "outfit" on purpose. I have cute outfits, but I'm not going to wear them before he leaves. See this way, he can go to my blog and not feel very sorry that he's away from his pitiful wife in the tacky polyester clothes with the crack ho hair.

He will probably go to nudie bars in foreign countries and drink beer. I don't care. Alex may even join good looking foreign women for drinks or even meals. See I'm not the jealous type. I don't care.

I'm not cooking another meal before he leaves either. I don't want him missing my home cooking. This will undoubtedly piss Alex off a little but I don't care. It's for his own good. He won't be thinking of that wonderful Marsala with the noodles. He won't be missing my Vietnamese pork chops with the jasmine rice and shredded carrot and apple salad. He won't be missing the homemade raviolis. He'll be very happy with the meals he gets at the 5 star restaurants he frequents. I don't care.

I'm always thinking of Alex's well being. Now is that a good wife or what!

The Chicken Car

My husband Alex loves a bargain.

Well, I do too for that matter. When I find some Coach pumps at 35% off, I jump on them.

Where Alex and I differ is in our determination of what constitutes a bargain.

A number of years ago, Alex had a friend who was moving out of the area. He wanted to sell his 1978 Datsun for the ridiculously low price of $500. I asked Alex how many miles it had on it and he said about 200,000. Wow! That's a lot of miles.

Yeah, it is, Alex agreed. But his "friend" had assured him that the car "ran great". I asked what color it was and Alex replied, "Pale yellow. It needs a little body work though." Uh huh. So I remarked "Alex, it sounds like a hooptie."

Alex scoffed and told me I was just being stuck up. At the time, he had a new Mazda Miata and he needed a bigger car for some things. Arguing with my husband after he's made up his mind about something is fruitless, so I went and poured myself a morning Bloody Mary.

Alex called his friend and said, "I'll buy it!" and his friend drove the car over to our house. When I looked outside, I could hardly believe my eyes. This was the ugliest, most foul, and stupidest looking car I had ever seen. Alex paid his friend for the car, got the pink slip and drove his friend back home, asking me if I wanted to "test it out" with him. I shook my head no and waved him goodbye and poured another Bloody Mary. (Don't be so judgmental. It was close to noon by then.)

When Alex got back, he mentioned that the car had a couple of little things he would have to fix but assured me it's really a great little car! I asked if the rust would be easy to fix and he grinned and said "Not a problem!". I said I'd rather be caught dead than to be caught riding in that piece of shit car. Alex started pouting and saying that I'd change my mind after I took a ride in it.

Since I hate it when he pouts, I said fine. Let's go. Getting into the car, I noticed something really funny. The car smelled like chickens. Now don't get me wrong, the smell of fried chicken is lovely. This was the smell of dirty live chickens or maybe dirty dead chickens, or even dirty dead chicken feet. It reeked of chickens. I nearly gagged.

Alex still grinning got in the car and took a look at my face and said "What?" I asked him if he had noticed that the car smelled. Alex assured me that he would wash it and "clean it up" when we got home.

No matter what he did, he could never get rid of the chicken smell. The bad thing is, when the car smells like that, people who ride in the car smell like that too. One ride in the chicken car was enough for me.

Alex gave the chicken car to charity about 3 weeks later. Some bargain!

An Eye Job, A Nose Job, And A Toe Job

It's been an expensive week.

Alex, my husband, the same hard-looking dude who is in the photo, had something wrong with his eye.

He went on a business trip and silly me told him to go to "urgent care" when he arrived at his destination. He said he was fine. When Alex got home from his trip, his eye was still red. I said "You've got to get that looked at," and he replied "Oh it's a lot better now." Alex left on business trip number two a couple of days later.

By the time Alex got home, his eye was looking bad. He said it was fine, but actually came home a little early from work because it was hurting. This was worrying me. I don't want him fooling around with anything he has two of. That includes eyes, testicles and kidneys, arms, legs and such. Alex is more inclined to think that the only things worth worrying about are the things you only have one of.

I convinced him to go to the doctor the next day. The only problem was, Alex wanted to go to an optician. I was really thinking an ophthalmologist was more in order at this point because he had quite severe pain around his eye. The optician said he had an infection and gave him antibiotic eye drops. One day later, he was still at home and even looking and feeling worse. Again, I said "Call an ophthalmologist." Alex said "Naw. I'll just call the optician." He went back to the optician, a very nice guy, who said "Uh oh. This is not an infection. There is something inflamed in the iris of your eye. You need to see an ophthalmologist." Uh huh. Just like I figured two weeks ago.

Alex went to the MD. He was diagnosed as having "acute Iritis" (pronouced earitis) which can be very serious, in fact, you can lose an eye from it. Never mind, with steroids, other drugs and emergency treatment, he should be fine.

Frankly, for a smart man, my husband can be something of an idiot.

Harry had a little place on his nose. It looked like a mole, but it appeared out of nowhere. We took him to the vet for his regular check up and the vet said "This could be a cancer growth." We decided to have the little growth removed when he got his teeth cleaned last week.

Alex had told the vet that Honey (our other dog) had bitten Harry on the nose, but this looked nothing like a bite. Harry had his teeth cleaned and his little growth removed last week. It is not a cancerous growth. Harry is fine. We take him in tomorrow to get his sutures out. Harry won't like it, but hey! It only costs about $1000 to have peace of mind. Right?

Fortunately, I only get pedicures. If you look closely in the photo, you'll see how pretty my red toenails look and they only cost $25 dollars to look this good.

I Got A Present From Fred

Fred is a funny guy.

If you don't know him, I would suggest that you go over and check out his blog at The Fred Effect.

Fred lives in Kansas with Tessa and Sean and about 10 assorted dogs and cats at any given time.

He is a generous and kind person, but he's also just a little quirky. He recently asked for comments to a post of his and said he would send something special to the person who left the comment he liked best. Fred selected me as the winner. I was thrilled of course.

The prize was to be a braid of Fred's hair, clipped right from his head if you can imagine. I honestly couldn't imagine. It sounded beyond romantic to me and just a little kinky, much like Fred himself. I am reminded of 19th century poets who sent such things to their lady friends. But see that's how my mind works.

Alex my husband said "That's creepy." When I asked why he responded with something like "yeah, it's like a serial killer asking to be sent something wet." That's how Alex's mind works.

Yesterday I got my locks of love in the mail. The braid is beautiful and the color of gold or a very expensive bourbon whiskey. I tied it around my wrist as a bracelet for a while, but my husband kept pestering me to take it off. I also tried it on the cat as a collar and I thought it looked stunning on him.

The cat was not impressed and rather than risk losing the braid, I took it off the cat.

I put Fred's golden braid in my jewelry box along with some other treasured items. Since my husband will be leaving for a month in Europe pretty soon, I will be pulling it out and wearing it as a bracelet while he's gone.

In other words, Alex is not the boss of me.

Heck! I may be buried wearing it. It's that cool.

Thanks Fred!

Gigolo's - Or How I Spend Time When Husband Travels

This guy is Jimmy.

Jimmy works as a professional "escort" in Las Vegas. He is one of the lead characters in a Showtime reality television series. The series follows five men who work as "gigolos" in Sin City.

Since I'm home alone, I started watching the show last night. (Well, of course I did. Don't judge.) I guess I was trying to see what other women were doing if they had husbands who traveled all the time. No, that's a lie. I just wanted to watch and see if these "escorts" were worth the money.

The men all looked a little "sleazy" to me. But then I think Las Vegas is sleazy too. It's not my favorite place. I'd rather go to Coalinga, California, for two weeks than to Las Vegas for two days.

There is something about these gigolo guys' hair that looks weird to me. (Too much gel-type product maybe.) I think they also all have fake tans. Now that's just wrong on so many levels.

I was channel surfing and when I ran into this show, I was fascinated. These guys are all attractive enough, if you like the type. That's part of the problem. I really don't like the type. I prefer men who aren't prettier than me when we wake up in the morning. And I don't prefer waxed men. I like them better as nature made them, even if that is hairy, lumpy and without hair gel.

Every one of these guys seemed a little pitiful. They all had failed relationships and they were quite good at "pretending" affection for their clients. That's not particularly appealing, in fact, it is sort of sad. Also, there is something sad about anyone who exchanges affection for money. (And it usually is more because they need to than because they want to.)

One good thing about the show is that the sex was pretty graphic. But then that was one bad thing about the show too. The "clients" were mainly just normal average women looking for a "boink" from a pretty boy in Las Vegas. But there were some clients who were a little bizarre.

There was one lady who paid quite a bit more to fulfill her S&M fantasy. She put her gigolo's penis in a wire mesh cage for a couple of days. The dude went along with it because I guess the price was right. It just made me shudder.

Now, actually, that could be just because my fantasies have nothing to do with penises in wire mesh cages.

You can do it for love - you can do it for money. I'd rather do it cause I want to, Honey.