Happy Halloween My Ass

There is nothing happy about halloween when you are practicing celibacy.

My Halloween Costume.

My evening commute was a total ordeal, but it gave me an opportunity to reflect upon my marriage. Initially, I decided to stay faithful to my husband for two or three months, and then launch myself into a series of steamy adulturous affairs. But, if I have an affair, I will blog about it. And now that my husband knows about this blog, he will read about my affair and know that he has been cuckolded. Then, there is a strong possibility that he will either (a) divorce me, (b) kill me, or (c) post my old fat photos on facebook.

I thought I wanted to divorce my husband as soon as possible, but I realized something as I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic - if I divorce my husband after less than six months of marriage, everyone will assume I am a flighty, crazy woman. Damaged goods. No one wants to date damaged goods.

So, I have to stay faithful to Ralph as long as possible. My goal is to make this marriage last at least two years. 18 months. A year at least. Ok, definitely 10 or 8 or maybe 7 months.

Halloween is a slight problem. Halloween is my favorite holiday because it gives me the perfect excuse to dress up in a trashy costume, get drunk, and hook up with a stranger. But not this year! This year, I will be almost sober and chaste. If I want to be chaste, this means I should probably not wear the Slutty Nurse costume that I bought last week.

I have to wear a different costume.

A costume that says "I am lousy in bed."

A costume that says "Please do not buy me any drinks."

A costume that looks like this:





For Halloween 2010, I am dressing up as Wendell the Cactus.

Bottoms Up!

Ok, it's time to wrap up this Gas-X storyline. I never intended to let it go on for this long. Actually, I don't recall writing the entry that started this series of posts. I've been taking diet pills this month and there have been some troubling memory gaps.



That said, let's conclude The Flatulence Chronicles. After far more suffering than I care to remember, I finally took the damn pill after breakfast this morning. I didn't want to - I hate pills (except diet pills! because they make me gorgeous!) - but I was a very brave cactus and I took my medicine.




Now, it is time to elevate this humble blog's content level and move on to more serious matters: like Halloween candy! I think after all my tribulations this week, I deserve to consume at least 4000 calories on Saturday.

Also, I think I need a hobby. Stay tuned.

I don't know.

It has been brought to my attention that it is probably safe for me to take the Gas-X because the pills are in some child-proof packaging and ... well... my husband has the emotional maturity of a child, so it is highly unlikely he could actually find a way to tamper with the pills and not leave behind some evidence.

But I don't know. It still feels too risky.

Has anyone ever read the information on a Gas-X packaging? It's so funny, I'm almost enjoying my plight. My favorite bit: "Use for the relief of pressure, bloating, and fullness commonly referred to as gas." (If I have to explain the humor in this, you should probably not be reading my blog.)

Still Smelly and Bloated.

We live in a cynical world.

Relief has arrived. When I came home from work, hark - Gax-X! I started to weep (50% joy, 40% relief, 10% from shock that someone is actually reading this blog).


Then, through my tears, I saw something truly horrible: my husband. He Who Shall Not Be Named had bought me the Gas-X. This means I cannot take the Gas-X because the Unbearable Husband probably poisoned the pills. Sigh. Ever since I stopped putting out, Ralph has been bitter and cranky and plotting his revenge. I don't trust the bastard.

p.s. Who told my husband about this blog? People, come on. Is nothing sacred?

p.p.s. Husband, I still hate you and I'm not going to edit my anti-husband comments, even if they do make you feel sad and think about divorce. Divorce is the new black.

Really Bad Gas, Help Needed.

Beloved and Respected Readers:

I have a problem. For the past three weeks, I have been suffering from the most paralyzing and horrific gas imaginable. I need help. I need Gas-X. But I am too embarressed to go to the drugstore and buy some. I don't want the clerk to know I have Gas. It would destroy my reputation.

I tried to buy some Gas-X this morning. I went to the drugstore and started to fill up my basket with Decoy Purchases - lip balm; candy; some new pens - in other words, a bunch of crap I don't actually need but this way, the clerk thinks that I am running errands and I am also picking up some Gas-X for my boyfriend. (I also deploy the Decoy Purchases Technique when I buy tampons).

But I couldn't do it. I bought the Decoy Purchases but there was a really cute guy in the Gas-X aisle. He was looking at the laxatives (probably for his Super Model Girlfriend). Icould not let Really Cute Guy know that I was responsible for the farts in Aisle 7. So now I am home, bloated, smelly and miserable.

I thought about buying some Gas-X online except then it will show up on my credit card history. What if I become a celebrity? What if I marry a celebrity? Gas-X is the sort of credit card purchase that could ruin my life.

Will someone buy me Gas-X as an early Christmas present? Please, have mercy.