Happy Slutoween! Or, Carebear-Palooza.

Happy Slutoween, everybody! Hope you all had a fab weekend. We had our annual par-tay here at the house, despite the atrocious snow storm that rocked much of the Northeast. Snow, schmo. We just wanted to play some beer pong.

As I sit here, I'm still dressed in my carebear costume. Because let's face it, one of the perks of working from home is making your own dress code. And fuck it, I'm going to dress like a carebear if I want to. It's halloween, after all, and I'm a grown up, so I can do what I want.

I just have to share a few photos of the amazingness that K came up with for these costumes. I am one lucky lady, because let me tell you that that man knows how to work a sewing machine. And he taught me too, so I was able to help a LITTLE this time:

Me, K, and our friend R: K did ALL the hand stitching!

Carebear amazingness. (Sans creepy mask)

Carebear tummy bump.

The butt is by far the most amazing part. Thatswhatshesaid.

I am one lucky lady to have a man who is willing to dress up like a giant carebear for her. A good time was had by all, and I managed not to spill beer OR dip on my tummy. Added bonus: the carebear mittens function as potholders AND beer openers. SCORE!

30-year-old carebears

I have been a very busy bee, my beautiful babies. After I got over the Mad Cow Disease, K got it. Whomp, whomp. We've been sickies. But we DID manage to begin the long and arduous journey towards the completion of our HALLOWEEN COSTUMES. (And by "we", I mean "K" did most of the work, and I watched.)

Here are a few snapshots of the process:

The beginnings of Love-a-Lot's ear.

K, sketching out a clover for Good Luck bear's tummy.

Bedtime's tummy!

Our workshop, complete with model.

So, you guessed it: we're going to be carebears! So what if we're almost 30 and K is 6'6"? I might just make him wear the bedtime bear costume around the house so I can give him the carebear stare all day long. Stay tuned for pictures of the completed costumes after the Halloween party!!

The Husband Test

I've had a bipolar week, okay? Awesome happy high on Saturday, and THEN... yesterday. I was on my way to return the keg from the par-tay and go see my sister for dinner after work when I pulled out of the driveway and my car started smoking.

Of COURSE this would happen on a day that K is traveling for work. Fucking awesome.

I stopped the car, popped the hood (yes, I can make it through that much by myself) and called K, trying to keep my panic and yelling to a minimum.

Epic fail.

K: Hello?
Me: HELLO?? MY FUCKING CAR IS ON FIRE.
K (totally calm): What? Honey, calm down.
Me: HOW CAN I CALM DOWN?? MY CAR IS SMOKING. IN OUR DRIVEWAY.
K: Oh shit honey. Okay... where is the smoke coming from?
Me: THE HOOD!? HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW?
K: Where exactly? Can you tell?
Me: Under the giant black plastic thing!!
K: The valve cover?
Me: YES.
K: Okay, well why don't you check the oil--just see if you need to put a little more in. You should be okay until I get home.
Me: Well how the fuck do I do that?? I'm already fucking late. This is so FUCKING STUPID.
K: You pull out the dipstick, it should say 'engine oil' on it.
Me: The yellow one?
K: I'm not sure. Does it say 'engine oil' on it?
Me: NO. It doesn't say ANYTHING.
K: Okay, well pull it out-- and let me know where the oil line is between 'FULL' and 'ADD'.
Me: It doesn't SAY add. It just says 'Min' and 'Max'
K: Um... okay. Well where is the line at?
Me: I don't know! It's in between!
K: Are you sure you're checking the right dipstick?
Me: How many fucking dipsticks are there??
K: Well it should say 'engine oil' on it.
Me: WELL IT DOESN'T.
(long pause as I survey the hood...)
Me: (sheepishly) Wait. I found another one.
K: Does it say 'engine oil' on it?
Me: Yes.
K (patiently, resisiting the urge to say "I told you so"): Okay. Well pull that one out.
Me: It's at 'Add'
K: Okay, well you just need to add a little bit of oil and then you should be okay until I get home.
Me: (freaking out) WHAT? I don't know how the hell to do that!! What the FUCK, THIS IS SO STUPID. I FUCKING HATE THIS. I'M ALREADY LATE, AND NOW I JUST SHOULDN'T GO.
K: Honey, you can do this--it will only take a minute.
Me: I HATE THIS!! FINE! WHAT DO I DO?
K: Okay, the first step is... go upstairs.
Me: FOR WHAT?
K: Sit down at the kitchen table.
Me: (grumbling)
K: Grab a carebear, give it a hug.
Me: (starting to snicker)
K: You're not doing it, are you? I don't even think you're actually hugging a carebear.
Me: (finally cracks a smile) Fiiiiine. You know, you're the only person who can actually calm me down after a mood like that, right? I was like Home Depot Crabby times ten.
K: Well it's not easy to do.. but I try.

And there it is, folks. The Husband Test. To see if your boyfriend will make a good husband someday and figure out how to get you out of a Home Depot angry mood while you are screaming at him. K passed with flying colors, he knows carebears are my weakness.

The Big Surprise

You thought I was kidding, didn't you?

So tomorrow is K's 30th birthday. I don't think he ever reads this (much to my chagrin), so I'm pretty sure I'm safe in divulging details to you guys. And if you are K, then you better stop reading right now or I'll give you a noogie.

For the last several weeks, I've been planning a surprise party/BBQ for him scheduled this coming Saturday. I FORGOT how stressful it is to plan a party like this! I mean, it's hard enough to have a party at your house (with the cleaning, getting food together, keg, etc.) without having to worry that some of these things are going to give away your secret (where the eff do you hide 30 burgers, enough cheese and crackers for 8 people, a keg and a helium tank??)

I'm still trying to figure out a way to get him out of the house on Saturday. People are coming over at 3, so I figure if I can get him out of the house around noon and go do something for a few hours, we can be back here at 3:30 for the surprise.

I'm SURE that he knows something is up. It's really hard to keep a straight face when he suggests we go on VACATION this weekend and I have to stumble on my words and make up a reason why we CAN'T go this weekend. Like that I have an imaginary doctor's appointment that I absolutely cannot miss. People stop asking questions when they hear 'pap smear.'

But even if he does know something is up, there are still little details that he won't know about. Like the present that my sister, brother in law JB and I all pitched in and got him. Or his surprise guest. Or the fact that I have five giant carebears sitting at my kitchen table with birthday hats on right now. This is not a joke people. We are serious about birthdays in this house.

So while I vomit from the pressure of trying to keep this party a secret, stay tuned for the details of how this shin dig works out. And wish me luck! :)