The Sanctity of Marriage, Lawson Style

May 20, 2009

Up here in Maine, there's been a whole lot of talk surrounding gay marriage in recent weeks. And we all know that when there's talk of gay marriage we're also met with a great deal of information that deals with 'preserving the sanctity of marriage.'

Ahh the sanctity of marriage.

"What does that really mean," you might wonder? Or you could be thinking, "I would like more strong examples of the sanctity of marriage in action."

Well, without further ado, I give you:

The Sanctity of Marriage, Lawson Style

Last night, when Jared finally came home from work, that man was way beyond cranky. He was irritable and demanding, and if I didn't have a set of working eyes I would have bet money on the fact that I was talking to a constipated 90 year-old with a raging case of gout--not a level-headed 29 year-old who's been blessed with a very delicious backside.

Jared blasted through the side door sometime around 7pm, and before he even thought about putting his bag on its hook he was barking all kinds of commands at me. He was like, "Make me a dang sandwich you useless woman!" and "Get your sorry self to the grocery store this instant you big old thing!"

Or maybe it was like, "Oh bummer, I'm trying to make myself a sandwich but we're all out of turkey. I thought you were planning to grocery shop today, hun. I'm pretty hungry."

I really can't remember, but either way it was completely over the top.

He was grouchy, I was grouchy, and within fourteen minutes my husband was headed back out the door, on his way to my in-law's house--with the obvious intention of spreading nasty, horrible, and untrue rumors all about his wife.

Or maybe it was something about a Red Sox game, their big screen TV and the availability of sandwich fixins.' Again, raging case of pregnancy brain, I really can't recall.

Either way, upon his leaving, I was quite upset that Jared Lawson had failed to notice the bow in my hair, my adorable new handmade apron, the steaming hot apple pie, and my lacy thong underwear.

(Or was it a freezer burnt brownie and my Tasmanian Devil pajama pants?)

One thing is surely obvious: in this case, the details of this story are completely unimportant. I was angry, and rightfully so.

That's why I made a very difficult decision--to insert one of Jared's muddy hiking boots under the sheets, at the foot of his side of the bed. He passionately hates a set of sandy sheets, and I super hated his attitude, so the moment he slipped into bed, we could be mean and hateful together--you know, as a couple thing.

When he finally nuzzled into bed sometime around 11:30, that man was even angrier. He was all, "Amy! You put a BOOT in the stinkin' BED?! Do you even have any concept of how disgusting that is?!" Then he continued with a passionate "GEEZE!" as he hurled that very substantial piece of footwear far away from his sleeping area.

As if his overreaction alone wasn't too inappropriate to handle, that big, heavy, filthy boot landed right on the side of my face.

THE NERVE!

Of course I cried. A lot. And Jared was like, "Oh, I'm so sorry Amy. I never wanted that boot to hit you in the face."

And I was all, "Then why did you make it do that?"

And he was all, "I had a bad day, and it's way too dark to see anything. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm really sorry. Really, I'm sorry. Did I mention how dark it is in here?"

And then I fell asleep smiling--because dude, I totally won.

-THE END-

You know, after writing that story I've come to realize that maybe there is some measure of truth to the whole 'sanctity' argument.

You see, there is absolutely no way that two men could ever possibly achieve that level of sanctity in a marriage relationship. They're way too calm and forgiving--and it's all due to the lack of estrogen.

(And no, I will not share my actual opinion regarding gay marriage on this blog. But c'mon--you already knew that! I don't do controversy.)

Coupons and Boobs--Almost the Same Thing

May 19, 2009

I'm all out of excuses--as much as I hate to do it, a trip to the grocery store must occur today.

As far as food goes, we've been in a bad way for almost two weeks now, but I've got to admit, it didn't really hit home until this morning when I sent Jared to work with a brown paper bag containing nothing but an almost black banana, a ten dollar bill, and his overdue parking ticket.

Jared, if you're reading this: Bon appetit, honey! Now pay yer damn parking ticket.

I'm not 100% sure why I harbor such strong, negative feelings toward grocery shopping,but if I had to guess, it has everything to do with my sister. Now I love my sister Katy to the zoo and back, but man oh man, she's intense about her groceries.

She's the type who pulls up to the checkout belt with a mountain of food, four binders filled with coupons, and a pocket full of special cards and secret reward receipts. The cashier rings her up, scratches her head, and says, "Huh, that's funny. It says here that I owe you seventeen dollars." And Katy's like, "Well, according to my calculations, you actually owe me eighteen dollars. But don't worry about it, I wouldn't want to hold up the line."

Like I said, she's intense.

And really, really friendly.

When it comes to shopping, I simply cannot, and will never compare to Katy. When I go to the supermarket I'm usually like, "Get in my cart you stupid bag of four-dollar chips. You'll make me fat AND my sister could get you for free." And then I'm all, "Ugh! I hate you SO MUCH you overpriced pint of Ben & Jerry's! Actually, I hate you so much that you're not even worth taking home. I'm gonna eat you right here in the parking lot of this Hannaford store!"

And then I just keep stomping around, cursing at the cottage cheese, and the people with ugly haircuts and big butts and whatnot.

But I do love it when there are plenty of snacks in the house.

Now seriously Jared, GO PAY YOUR PARKING TICKET!!!!

Did you guys know that some parking tickets double in price when ignored for a month or longer? These things are unbelievably expensive (well for me at least), and of course it's a woman who works in the parking office, so I can't even show her my boobs for a discount.

Boobs are so much cooler than coupons.

The Honor of All Honors

May 14, 2009

For some reason, probably fear of stalkers and candy swipers, it's all the rage to give every member of your family an alias on your blog.

Take the world famous CJane for example, she calls her husband Chup and her baby The Chief. Or Mrs. Furious--she likes to refer to her girls as Kid and Baby. And then, of course, there's me, Barbara Bettencourt Levinski. I pulled that whole Amy Lawson thing clear out of the sky, and I've got to say, for some strange reason, it just works.

More importantly, my husband LeBron and my son Amir-Rasheed feel far more secure when their legal names are kept under wraps. That's why I've been leaning on the 'Jared and James' thing for all these years--good old fashioned identity protection, that's what it really comes down to.

Welp, now that we have a little bun in the oven, the 'Lawsons' have one more thing to think about: What in the world will we name this child in real life? And more importantly, what will we call this child in blogland?

That my friends, is where you come in. Yes, you.

For the next seven days (so until Wednesday, May 20th at midnight), you will have the opportunity...no, the privilege...no, the HONOR of suggesting a blog name for this little muffin.

Here's how it will work:

1) Leave a comment on this post suggesting a boy name, a girl name, or both. Just be sure to designate which one it is.

2) On Thursday morning, after we find out if the baby's actually a boy or a girl, a fine panel of distinguished judges will select their favorite name alias suggestions.

3) We'll bring it to a 48-hour reader vote.

Now get your thinking caps on! Won't this be fun?

Suggestions go in the comment section...

The Pregnancy Diet for HOTTIES!

May 12, 2009

Last week I made the executive decision that I've been gaining weight a bit too quickly. Now you've got to understand that this wasn't a decision based purely on emotion, I actually ran the numbers. And the results? Not so pretty.

Basically, if I maintain my current rate of weight gain for the next 21 weeks of pregnancy I will ultimately come to outweigh my husband by 73 pounds, outgrow all of my maternity clothes, and have no option but to wear a 55 gallon drum and suspenders to church every Sunday.

And seriously now, what in the hell kind of shoes are you supposed to wear with a 55 gallon drum? Clogs? I don't think so.

I cannot, I repeat, CANNOT let this happen to myself.

Therefore, I have taken the initiative to change my life for the better and I've officially instituted the The Pregnancy Diet for HOTTIES! And yes, when you say it out loud, the word "HOTTIES!" should be enunciated with all sorts of pizazz. You're also encouraged to show the world your boobies...no matter what word you're saying.

This revolutionary new diet was developed in my in-house laboratory.

Yes, exactly. I made it up myself.

Over the last 4 years I've made up a number of diets, and honestly, it's been almost too much fun to handle.

First there was The Bowl Diet. Basically, I was allowed to eat anything I wanted as long as it could fit into a cereal bowl, with a 5 bowl limit per day. Let me tell you, with a little bit of drive and innovation, you'd be absolutely astonished by how many garlic & butter chicken wings fit into a bowl. I gained 6 pounds.

Then we had The Letter C Diet. In short, I could eat as much of anything I wanted as long as it started with the letter C. Take a moment and reflect on that. I gained another 6 pounds.

And then, of course there was The Low Sodium Generic V8 Dietary Supplementation Program. My most devoted readers might remember it. All you other beauties are cordially invited to click on that link up there (where you'll also learn about The Prune Diet, The Ice Water Diet, and The Jalapeno Diet).

But today, I'm not here to reflect upon past fun and failures, I'm here to forge ahead. So, without further ado, I give you The Pregnancy Diet for HOTTIES!

Step 1: Take a prenatal vitamin every day.

Step 2: Take 2 Flintstones gummy vitamins every day.

Step 3: Construct The Official Diet Chart for HOTTIES! as pictured below:


(I never said this wouldn't be technical)

Step 4: Eat whatever you want, as long as you can squeeze the description into the corresponding box. Yes, it's okay to write small. Yes, it's okay use abbreviations. No, it's absolutely never okay to write outside of the lines.*

*This is a diet you douchehead. Think hard--do you want to wear maternity jeans or the big, blue barrel we talked about? If you're not serious about this, then go get yourself a Super Value Big n' Tasty Burger with cheese, extra pickles and extra ketchup (far too long to fit inside of a box), shut yer pie hole, and be super fat. It' fine with me.

So far, by strict adherence to the plan, I've limited my weight gain to 1 pound in 2 weeks. I also managed to eat 3 whoopie pies for yesterday's afternoon snack, ingest up to 3,400 calories in a 24 hour period, and improve my overall happiness without bending a single rule.

What can I say? This plan works.

She's Skinny, She's Crafty, and No Matter How Hard I Try, I Just Can't Hate Her

May 11, 2009

How's that for a long and detailed title?

I'll be around today, so check back later. I'm too hungry to post right now.

In the mean time, never forget how much I love you--yes, I mean you Vanessa.

Vanessa Christenson is a woman who, according to that picture up there, has absolutely no trace of love handles. She is also my spicy Latina crafting muse. If you currently have (or ever did have) a uterus, you should click on over to her site. Men, don't bother--she rarely posts any bikini pics.

What can I say? That biz-natch can sew. And craft. And successfully make average women--including me--look and feel like big, fat, steaming piles of horse poo.

One thing I'll never understand about Vanessa is her love of thrift store sheets. I think I emailed her once and was like, "If you want to dress your kids in fabric that hairy old men might have had sex on top of, then that's your personal business. But dude, you're disgusting."

She emailed back saying something to the effect of, "Don't sell me short, I make clothes for myself out of those sheets, too."

I'd have to say, that was the magical moment where our e-friendship officially began.