For As Long As We Both Shall Live.

There was a story featured on the news last week about an Oregon woman’s recent trip to the oral surgeon. She went in for a standard procedure, received general anesthesia and woke up with a very heavy, very foreign Scottish accent.

Her husband was quoted saying he’s having a hard time understanding his wife of thirty years, and that the last few weeks have been “very difficult”.

I pressed pause, shouted to Exchange Student that there was an emergency and could he please come right away; rewound and played the segment back for him.

“What a load of COCK!” he shouted. Only he was referring to the husband’s inability to understand his wife’s accent, NOT that this woman went to sleep sounding like an American and woke up sounding like Shrek.

I know exactly what that husband is going through. I can’t understand a damn word Exchange Student says. Never have. We’ve been married two years and it’s only getting worse.

"Don’t be ridiculous Erin, you can understand me just fine, stop exploiting me!”

“Come again?”

With a foreigner for a husband and no translator in house, you have a recipe for lots of misunderstandings: Directions, voicemails, marriage proposals….

How about when he orders out for Chinese? These are LITERALLY the greatest moments of my life. He is in a pure state of frustration, close to tears, as he attempts over and over to order General Tso chicken and some dumplings. I put it on speaker phone so I can laugh hands-free. Only after three tried and failed attempts will I put him.. and Dong, out of their mutual misery.

Never mind eating in, dinners out are an extra treat:

“Can you behave yourself tonight, ‘cause I’m not in the mood for that shit you pull.”

“What?”

Obligatory eye roll. Which I love. And it’s a good thing, ‘cause I get it a lot. He then buckles down for a long night of what he assumes will consist primarily of me forcing him to do all sorts of things he doesn’t want to. He’s bracing himself... annoyed IN ADVANCE. “Calm down Paddy, I’m not feeling that annoying tonight anyway.”

Strike one: I’m talking to the table next to me. He quickly realizes I've made instant besties with my fellow food snobs and he will now be required to participate otherwise risk looking like a mail order husband. Begrudgingly, he joins the conversation giving me the "I fucking knew it" look.

Don’t feel bad for him. He knew exactly what he was getting into. His cold, dark Irish charm is only endearing until about date #3. From there it loses out big time to obnoxious, louder, funnier, super slut Yank.

While I'm now eating off my new friend’s plate, he has in a matter of moments, become the most popular patron in the restaurant. Our new friends are planning the next couples sleep over and the restaurant owner is giving him a handy while spoon feeding him mashed potatoes. And for the rest of the evening I watch from the corner as the crowd, sitting cross-legged at his feet, listens to Exchange Student a he sips Guinness and tells tales from the old country.

I've lived in Minnesota almost my entire life; I have four and half friends. The half includes my financial adviser who gets paid to talk to me.

“This is horseshit! I’ll be at the strip club."

Just sayin.....

Let’s get this part over with – The Royal Wedding was fine. Just fine. Nothing more and nothing less. Kate, I think you're probably pretty great, but you’re definitely not spicy enough for me.

Pippa seems more likely to take body shots. But you and your thinning prince will make a lovely couple and have babies hanging out of you in no time. That’s really all the time I want to spend on it. You're beautiful and well behaved; therefore you give me nothing to talk about. Done.

While the rest of the world was wondering what the fuck Princess Beatrice was wearing on her head, Donald Trump was taking a nap. As he should be. Being a moron is exhausting.

Donny, it's so cute to watch you play dress up and compete for a presidential nomination.And you know what? Every other badly qualified candidate is very grateful. Thanks for making at least one choice in our upcoming campaign season super duper easy.

Also, are you mad that Osama took your spot light? Will you be demanding to see his birth certificate? I hope so. Do it, come on! It's so fun.

How many news anchors this week do you think mistaken Obama for Osama?I'm guessing a lot. Pay attention people!!! They're both dark so I know it gets confusing.

With all the pics of Osama flooding the airwaves lately, I had to wonder what this man did for his skin? It was perfect, flawless! He was also in really incredible shape, so lean. Pilates must have kept him fit. That and murder.

In other news: Minnesota has received national attention twice this week. America's Next Best Restaurant’s winner Soul Daddy is now open in the Mall of America. Sort of uneventful. And since I haven't been to the mall since 2009, it doesn't matter to me.

But the most noteworthy appearance was that of local musician Tim Mahoney on The Voice, as one my readers accurately predicted last week.

Tim your face is so much rounder than I remember. Is that from the prescribed penicillin you're taking? For the.. ..oh, this embarrassing... for the herpes you've Napalm-ed all over the Twin Cities? I can't say that? Cause he's a hometown hero? Welp.

I remember you were hotpants in college. Who DIDN'T spend their exam week at Spring Jam drinking their way to the Sally’s stage? Every skank in waiting did. Any chance to catch the eye of Tim. Oh sad Mid-westerners, with our made up rock stars. What did I think? I'd seduce him with my irresistible tuna hotdish?

mm. I'll let you sit with that one for a sec...

Last thoughts.

Cameron Diaz. Could you stop being famous for twenty minutes? Thanks. Your such a shitty actress it actually hurts my feelings.

She was quoted in the British Independent this week stating she does not believe in the institution of marriage. I wish single people could come up with a better excuse for bringing their landlord to Red Carpet events.

And finally, freebie of the day:

Angelina Jolie is rumored to be producing a new movie about the life of Winston Churchill in which she will: Play. Winston. Herself. Okay GOOD! The sooner you can end your career and get back home the better. You have ninety kids who've never met you before.

It's Not Offensive If It's True.

I've learned a lot this past week blog bitches. Mainly that I have a lot to say. But I don't know the rules because I really don't read a lot of other blogs, mostly because they don't talk at ALL about me or about Brian Williams from NBC Nightly News, my on-screen news anchor boyfriend. So...

The feedback i've gotten from my first couple posts have varied from:
"You're Fired!" to "My mom hates your guts....."

When I called my sister to force her to become one of my followers she said:

"But aren't all bloggers self-obsessed ego slobs?"

"Yep! But don't be a dick, read my blog. What I have to say is really meaningful."

She agreed, but not before I promised to laugh really hard at the collection of Celine Dion photos she'd come across. She was excited, whispering and sort of crying- In Canada taking Celine's name in vain is a punishable offense.

"Okay deal."

Other feedback -

"Will your entries always be so nasty cause I don't know if I could read a lot of that over and over again."

UmYes. And you my friend are reading the wrong blog. And anyways Geoff you spell your name with a G which is really confusing.

You also might have a vagina.

My general concern is that I don't know the blogging rules. What am I allowed to say? What are the perks? Discounts on cases of wine? Do I post pictures along with my entries? I know there are other bloggers that do that with food for example:

"Here's a pic of the pube I found in my panini last week. Ga-roosss. But the triple cream Brie was to die for! Def going back!"

And babies:

"Emmy Apricot Von Triple Horn lounging in a rod-iron buggy crafted from the 1800's, just a typical tuesday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

That baby looks like an asshole to me.

I do appreciate the other suggested topics:

*My recent trip to Iowa. Don't get jealous, I take really important trips.
I have a laptop bag to prove it.

*My dog Nipples. I don't blog about dogs. Ever. Except she DOES have the same lady cycle as me, which is both gross and fascinating. We may circle back on this one.

*My English-as-a-second language/foreign exchange student/husband

and my favorite suggestion....

*Nazis.

Although tempting, I also like not going to prison and be dry-humped to death by my very sweaty, very large hand-ed cell mate.

So for the moment, I'm gonna leave that subject for another Sunday.

Plus, I cannot afford to go to prison. Not to say I wouldn't fit in. Cause I would. And not because I'm a valued member of my book club, I have a job and a very needy bonsai tree, but because I know I'd do really well in there.

I would EXCELL. Get out early on good behavior but stay. My new street friends would NEED me, and I them. Prison communities are a growing minority, and before we know it, us tax-evading but generally law abiding citizens will be out numbered. Make alliances now.

It will be kind of like the Hispanic migration of 1991. Out of no where they appeared in well organized Conga lines humming Gloria Estefan tunes and overnight took over entire neighborhoods. The next morning every Target carried 17 different Pinatas and the secretary at work who you've seen every morning for thirty years answers the phone "Hola Gringo!"

And no one was mad because they fed us so well.

If I'd known then what I know now, I would have invested a lot more than I did in nacho cheese.

Although I can't see how prison life would really fit into my wardrobe. I've tried the one-piece fashion jumpsuits; I looked more like a very loose, very well made scrotum than like Heidi Klum.

It's the same reason I can't smoke weed. What would I wear?? Earth tones don't look good on me.

I do promise to write about the exchange student I'm married to, he gives me endless material.

And he says Cunt a lot.

Which always wins.

So I'll keep going until you say stop. You remember Just the Tip. All you'll need to do is pull away before you're screwed, pregnant, and really mad at me.