Oh, Christina!!  I am so, so sorry.  I just noticed that you linked to me to play a meme game!  I suck.  And so, to make up for not playing until a month and a half later (did I mention I suck?), I’ll play now.

1. Link to the person who tagged you (done above).

2. Post the rules on your blog (this is what you are now reading).

3. Write 6 random things about yourself (see below).

4. Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them.

5. Let each person know they have been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.

6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up

ONLY SIX THINGS?  Man, this is hard.  Okay.

I have a mole in my right eye.  Yes, a mole.  Yes, INSIDE my eye.  Apparently, it’s common among fair-skinned folk, and it doesn’t alter my vision at all, but my optomot optometri eye doctor was incredibly amazed that he got to witness this “common” condition.

When eating, I only eat one thing at a time.  This drives my husband crazy, especially when he cooks.  I don’t know why I do this, but I always do.  I will sit and eat one thing until it is entirely finished, and then I’ll move on.  When I’m being mindful of diet, I’ll start with the most low-fat food and work my way up to the gut-buster.

On that same note, my food MUST NOT TOUCH.  Oh, holy hell, if my food touches.. it is ruined!  Unless, of course, it is a southern breakfast.  Southern breakfasts are made to be combined. (What other use does a grit have?)

I have incredibly small wrists.  This is not so much odd as really just a celebration that I have ANYTHING incredibly small to my claim.

I cannot burp.  Even during pregnancy.  I’ve TRIED.  The best I can do is this weird sort of growling thing, where air is desperately trying to escape through my vocal chords.  But it’s not a burp.  And really, if you’re a girl and you burp.. I’m sorry, but it’s just not my cup of tea.

I sang backup for Bob McGrath from “Sesame Street” on his tour.  Seriously.  It was, like, my life’s acheivement.  We sang “Rubber Ducky” and “Sing” and other classics.  Life was good.  But he swears like a sailor.  For reals.

So most, if not all, of these can be found on my 100 Things About Me page.  I’m just not cool enough to have six new things to share, but I’m sure happy to play!

Six people to tag?  Hm.

The Fabulous Miss S.
Ra
Elaine
Steph
Miss Zoot
Michael

Of course, you don’t have to play, but it’s fun to!

So I was listening to Bob & Sheri this morning on the way in..

.. and sidenote: I LOVE THEM.  Y’all know I’m picky as hell about my radio dial, ESPECIALLY when it comes to morning shows.  I get so tired of hearing the giggly female cohost be vapid and airheaded on air, which is why I never fit well in the morning.  But Sheri?  SO FREAKIN’ FUNNY, SMART, AND QUICK WITTED.  OHMYGOD.  She would totally be in our Book Club.  Bob’s okay too.

.. oh, and I was sipping the Starbucks new signature hot chocolate blend, Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate, and let me just say THIS IS THE MOTHERLOAD OF KICK-ASS TASTE.  Seriously.  Fall is the time for salty and sweet foods (think: candy corn and peanuts, kettle corn, pecan pie with potato chips.. what, is that just me?), and this hot chocolate?!  OHMYDEARLORD.  Every sip makes me do the happy food dance.

.. anyway, the discussion in today’s Chat Room was about some might-be-fictional Guide to Being a Good Wife from the 1890s or something (I was too busy singing the praises of salted hot chocolate to really hear the intro), and one of the “tips” was to “crush the man’s spirit after the act of sex so he wouldn’t desire it anymore” and “try and start fights early in the evening as to be off-putting when it comes to sexual relations”.

(I put that in quotes, but I am totally summarizing.)

Of course, men were calling in left and right to say that OH-EM-GEE, their wives were doing that, too!  And they would actually FEIGN EXHAUSTION to get out of sex!  These women!, they’d exclaim.  With not wanting the sex!  Alas and alack!

I realize that, by penning this post, I open myself to a counter attack by some ignorant blogger as to how I’m just not doing the marital relations correctly and am making STUPID decisions and whatnot, but you know?  S’alright.  Because, DUDE, try walking in my Nine Wests for awhile.

One caller was just agog that his wife was pretending to be tired.  “She just stays home with the kids all day,” he complained.  “It’s a six year old and a four month old.”

Sheri, my hero, jumped in with, “Well, GOD, she is probably tired!  She just had a baby!”

The caller said, “Okay, but tired four months after the baby?”

And that’s when my head exploded.

DUDE.  Bryan and I went to bed at SEVEN-FREAKIN-THIRTY on Sunday night and we have a 10 month old.  Who is not even a handful.  The exhaustion I have at the end of the day is not even fully captured in the term “epic”; I can’t IMAGINE staying home with two kids.  It takes me a good three hours to shake Mommyness from me when I’m out on a date, and you just can’t be wearing Mommyness when doing the nasty.  There is a certain adjustment needed when you’re a mom, one where you have to learn to switch from Mommy to Sarah the Sex Kitten and back again as need be.  And when you’re tired?  Yo switch don’t work.

I’m sure Bryan would tell you that the frequency of our rendevous would definitely be worth improving, and I would agree. (Old joke: What is the one ingredient that will kill sex drive?  Wedding cake.) But there comes a point when you cuddle and play with hair and just generally LOVE eachother and that gets you by.

Also an interesting point brought up on today’s show: men are rejected countless times in the bedroom for exhaustion or headaches or whatever, but the ONE TIME a woman is rejected, she begins a downward spiral of self-esteem deflation.  Why is that?