Ours was the only car in the row to be shat upon. And this is just a hint of the extent to which we were shat upon. There were white shit bomb explosions ALL OVER the car. And no, we weren't parked under a tree.

Thanks for the tag, Weetzie! This one is similar to, but not exactly the same as, a book meme I did awhile back. All my answers are different now anyway.

1. Total number of books I've owned:

The I've confuses me here. Total number of books I've EVER owned? In all my life thus far? Sweet google that is too many to count. Currently on my small bookshelf there are about 75 books, mostly English major stuff like Fitzgerald, Faulkner, and EVERY NOVEL CHARLES DICKENS HAS EVER WRITTEN. (I guess you could say I went through a Dickens phase in college.) I also have many many anthologies, which is Latin for books for which you must sell your ovaries in order to afford, and from which you only ever read one 15-page short story. Such a good word, anthology. Makes literature sound so scientific. Wait, where was I? Oh yes, number of books.

I also have about 50 children's books. Mostly Dr. Seuss. I have EVERY BOOK DR. SEUSS HAS EVER WRITTEN. (Yeah, the phase thing again.)

Finally, I have boxes and boxes and boxes of books in the basement. BOXES.

2. Last book I bought:

Three Junes by Julia Glass. I've been wanting to read this one and the Redneck Valley Library doesn't have it. But Barnes & Noble is my bitch.

3. Last book I read:

Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. (Word, Weetzie.)

4. Currently reading:

Three Junes.

5. Five books that mean a lot to me:

a) The Hours by Michael Cunningham - Hands down the best novel I've ever read. Ever.
b) The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger - The best novel I've read recently. (Word once again, Weetzie.)
c) Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynne Truss - This book turns me on like only grammar can. And ooh, the British terms are so hot. Full stop, how sexy is that?! Seriously. SO sexy.
d) Marriage Shock by Dalma Heyn - Examines the effect societal expectations have on the role of Wife. This is a fascinating, liberating, and essential read. I give it to all my friends when they get engaged.
e) The Adventures of Kloggy - I KNOW, how cool is this? Thanks to mrtl for discovering it.

I love getting book recommendations. So if you've got some, now would be the time.

Lesson learned: When naked (because you just stepped out of the shower or whatever), do not cuddle to your bosom a cat who is clinging to a mouse toy. Because when said cat drops said toy to the floor, he will leap for it, using said bosom as a springboard, and his back claws will tear your nipple off.

Ouch.

(Google is going to make me regret using the word nipple, I just know it.)

a malt milkshake and breezy banter

From time to time I throw out our toilet bowl brushes and plunger because they touch dirty toilets and thus completely gross me out and must be replaced. I threw them all out on Monday and so on Tuesday I went to Walmart to replace them.

Two things you need to know - I hate Walmart and I am a bit embarrassed to be seen buying a plunger. A plunger is just one of those items that ANNOUNCES what you plan to do with it. Like condoms. Or tampons. I have no problem with strangers knowing I have sex and periods. But carrying condoms to the register (which I haven't done in years, thank google) feels like an announcement that I AM GOING TO HAVE SEX. RIGHT NOW. AS SOON AS I GET TO THE PARKING LOT, IN FACT. Same with tampons. LOOK EVERYONE! RIGHT NOW, AT THIS MOMENT, I AM MENSTRUATING. Even if I'm not, I feel like everyone thinks I am. I recover from these moments by reminding myself that everyone has sex and that periods are a natural and for the most part unavoidable part of womanhood.

But a plunger? A plunger says I DUMP SO MUCH SHIT THAT MY TOILET CAN'T HANDLE IT. (Actually, I just need a plunger because the plumbing in our house is somewhat pathetic what with the lack of water pressure and all. And see? Now I'm justifying the plunger purchase to all of you because I AM THAT EMBARRASSED about it.)

So of course I couldn't find the goddamn plungers at Walmart and was forced to ask someone where they were. "Excuse me, can you help me? I dump so much shit that my toilet can't handle it. And so I need a plunger. Where can I find them?" HARDWARE is where you find plungers at Walmart. FYI.

I got in line, trying to hide the plunger as best I could in the cart. Eventually it was my turn and the cashier swiped all my items. But the plunger, which she had saved for last, didn't have a fucking barcode on it. And I had no idea what its price was. The cashier was a young thing who did not speak English well at all. This wouldn't have been a problem except that when she paged for assistance, no one knew what the hell she was saying and so no one came to help. She paged again. Nothing. The register light was blinking, the people behind me were shifting their weight impatiently, no one was coming to help and OMG people could see that I was buying a plunger! You'd think the people behind me in line would desert and switch to another register, but they didn't. The line just got longer and longer. I was just about ready to run over to hardware myself and drag someone back when the cashier down the row took pity on us and paged for help herself. Immediately someone from hardware called my cashier's phone. She picked up and said, "I need to know the price of...of..." and then she looked at me and asked, "What is this?"

"A plunger," I whispered.

"A what?"

"A plunger," I said just loud enough for her, and only her, to hear.

"A blooner?"

"PLUNGER," I said a bit louder, SO ashamed.

"PLOONBER?" It was like we were in that "Nuni" SNL skit. I said plunger and she said something else that sounded NOTHING AT ALL like plunger.

"PLUN-GER." This time everyone in my line plus everyone in the lines next to me heard me announce that I was buying a PLUN-GER, A THINGY THAT SUCKS SHIT.

"Plooonger," she said into the phone. But the hardware dude didn't understand her (big surprise). So she thrust the phone in my face.

I brought the receiver to my ear and said quietly, "Hi. We need a price check on a plunger." Notice the WE. I am not necessarily the one buying the plunger, Mr. Hardware Department Dude. WE need a price check.

"Red or black?"

"Red," I muttered.

The cashier grabbed the phone back from me and we waited for the dude to price check my plunger. Then he recited to her the 50+ digit UPC number through the phone. Very sloooowly. And she typed in each number and then repeated each number back to him. Very sloooowly. And guess what? Item not found. So they did the whole damn thing over again. Even more sloooowly. And surprise! Item still not fucking found. At this point, he apparently told her just to enter the price ($1.97), which she did and then hung up. But the register then required that she enter a name for the mystery item that cost $1.97. So she asked me to SPELL IT. I shit you not, she fucking asked me to spell plunger. I looked around for the cameras then, indeed I did. Because this does not happen in real life. This only happens when someone is making a concerted effort to embarrass you for a television show.

So there I was, spelling plunger IN FRONT OF EVERYONE while she typed in the letters. Very slooowly. P. L. U. N. She typed M instead of N and I corrected her. She deleted it all and we started over. P. L. U. N. (She couldn't find the goddamn N key so I hit it myself because at this point I was leaning over the register in a useless attempt to prevent anyone but her from hearing me.) G. E. R.

The register accepted this, and I quickly swiped my card and got the hell out of there, with the $1.97 plunger but without any remnant of dignity intact whatsoever.

Happy three year anniversary, Rob.

I've already blogged our story, so this post is a tribute to you.

25 little things I love about you

1. That certain facial expression you have in which I can see exactly what you looked like at 5 years old.
2. Your willingness to be converted to things you NEVER would have considered liking on your own, like country music, cats, and sleeping in.
3. That thing you do in the shower that cracks me up.
4. Your ability to do really hard math in your head. REALLY hard math. I love when we're meeting with our financial advisor and she's calculating interest or some such hard mathy thing and you do it in your head faster than she can on the calculator. That is so hot.
5. Sherry chicken, your speciality.
6. The fact that you have a better vocabulary than I do and I'm a damn English major.
7. That your vocal impressions of Christina Aguilera and Brooks & Dunn are dead on.
8. That you get just as pissed off at Bush as I do.
9. The pride with which you present to me your latest mixed drink concoction.
10. All the silly shit you do just to make me laugh.
11. Your musical talents, especially guitar.
12. The way you talk to and love on our cats.
13. That you call me on my bullshit.
14. That you watch tv with me. Even Desperate Housewives.
15. How you take on so much responsibility and always have a million things going but are never stressed. That calms me.
16. Your infinite patience.
17. The dimmer switch you installed in our dining room just so we could have romantic dinners.
18. That you thank me for little things like folding laundry or bringing in the mail.
19. That you can explain the answer to any question I have or anything I don't get. I can only remember once when you said "I don't know" and even then you came up with a damn convincing theory.
20. That you still grab my butt when you pass by.
21. How whenever a new Reader's Digest comes in the mail (yes everyone, we subscribe - shut up), you read me all the worthy jokes during dinner.
22. Please refer to tagline.
23. Your mind - you are honestly the most intelligent person I've ever met.
24. Your hands.
25. That I can trust you completely.

Baby, even John Stamos wouldn't be a better match for me.