Back when my husband, The King, started to write his weekly segment for this little website, I promised him he could write about whatever he wanted. I promised to not censur him.

And so with that little prologue, let me present you with this week’s installment of King Friday.

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So last night we watched this “great new show” on tv called something like “One Week to Save Your Marriage” or “How I Cheated on this Bitch 5 Times and Now I Want Forgiveness”, I cant remember which. Either way, its “great new show”-ness wore off in about 5 minutes. I know this because that was how long it took before our own argument ensued.

The King: thanks for cleaning the bathroom. Did you clean the floor too?

Isabel: no (angry)

The King: I guess the floor of the bathroom is technically not part of the bathroom itself. (snide)

Isabel: (fill in some hormonal grumbling here)

The King: What?

Isabel: I didn’t think it was that dirty.

The King: Is that why you picked the baby up off the floor and washed his hands after he crawled in there?

Isabel: its covered in your urine.

The King: Right. And that’s dirty. And that is why we clean it. Weekly.

Isabel: Well if my standard of cleanliness is less than your standard, why should I have to rise to your level?

At this point, I am really wondering why Isabel isn’t a world class lawyer. Her argument is so strong and poignant, that I am without response.

Isabel: It pisses me off that when you clean the kitchen, you don’t put away the pot holders.

The King: Kinda like cleaning the bathroom without cleaning the floor? Or washing dishes and leaving them wet all over the counter? Or putting dishes in a sink that is literally 2″ from the dishwasher? Or folding laundry and not putting it in the closet? (I am getting so angry at this point that I can feel the hairs on my head popping out of their follicles.)

Isabel: whatever, turn the show back on.

So, what do you think? Should one person have to be the chore boss of the house? Is a job half-done, really done? Should we hire a maid to do something that we should really just do on our own without causing a fight or even being asked? Seems like relationship 101 here… Adding a kid to the equation makes it tougher, I know. But I know its possible to clean a 5′x5′ bathroom very well in under 10 minutes, floor included.

Am I crazy? (I promise to put away the pot holders.)

-kk

An e-mail exchange yesterday between The King and I:

The King: Dude, I found a brand new stainless steel tampon vending machine on a second use website for $25. How cool would that be in the powder room????

Isabel: Um, very cool?

The King: Seriously. You could put chewing gum in there, or something else. I guess you could even put tampons in it. It looks like it’s in brand new shape. Would it be weird? I thought it might be kinda cool. What else is tampon shaped that we could it in there shomehow?

Isabel: (not sure how to respond) Candy bars?

While you are thinking about what other items we could sell our friends and family via the tampon machine in our new powder room, let me present you with proof of my lunch yesterday with another fabulous Seattle blogger.

So, did you come up with something else that is shaped like a tampon that we could sell from our in-home tampon machine?

Or better yet, did you come up with a way to tell The King that this really isn’t a good idea?

I usually tell people the reason I started to blog was because it was a way to talk about my miscarriages and my pregnancy before we were telling people.

But that isn’t really 100% true. The real reason was this:

I’m a complainer, and I needed a secret place to complain. A place where other people wouldn’t hear me complaining and like me any less. I wanted to be able to bitch about my family, bitch about my coworkers, bitch about the people at church. Heck, even bitch about my friends and my husband.

That’s right. I was going to keep this a secret, even from The King. I thought about it for a while. I came up with what I would call it. I came up with what I would call myself and what I would call my husband. Of course I didn’t feel like it was right to not tell my husband about it. So The King was let into the secret.

I got excited about this new endeavor, even before I hit “publish” on my first post, my first post, which wasn’t that bitchy at all. But the second post, well it was a little bitchier, and towards a family member. So that was good. The third day of my blog experience just happened to land on my anniversary, so I had to post about our wedding. I was honoring The King’s wishes and not putting our faces on the blog (that would change later, of course). But then I got right back on the complaining band wagon and posted about my friends.

I think this was about the time that The King told me that he didn’t like my blog. He said I made myself out to be something I’m really not. He said I didn’t come across very nicely on it.

I started to think a little more about what I wanted to blog about. I accepted that eventually someone I knew in real life was most likely going to find my blog. And when that time came, I didn’t want that to be a horrible experience for them or me. I didn’t want to put anything out there that would come back to bite me later on.

So far none of my family or close friends have found my little corner of the internet. There is Marci, the one friend that I told about it (but she lives in a different state, so it’s safe). And of course there are the two sisters I know from high school who stumbled onto my blog. One of the sisters was in my grade and the younger one I worked with for years after graduation. I pretend they don’t read it. If I remember they read it, then I think about it too much and I get freaked out. I mean, they remember me when I looked like this:

Dad, just take the damn picture so I can get out of this stinkin’ robe and get my party on.

And even when I looked like this, for a few years in my early 20’s:

(yeah, I’m the blonde one on the left.)

I try to pretend that these two sisters don’t hate me and that they won’t forward my blog on to my dad. I mean, they know where he works and I’m pretty sure their sister sees him on a weekly basis. I also like to pretend that they won’t ever run into my ex-husband and give him the URL. (I was very happy when the younger sister told me she didn’t remember his name, or even what he looked like. Phew.)

I often wonder what will happen if anyone finds my blog. Will they even read it? I know a few of you have told me that your friends in real life don’t even read your blog. Will they immediately go searching for things I might have said about them, or pictures I might have posted? (Another reason I love the blacked out eye look.) Will they think my time spent on the internet is lame? Will they think that this site, something that I am very proud of, isn’t worthwhile?

Frema asked me a few weeks ago why my site is anonymous, why I don’t share it with my family and friends. I really didn’t have an answer for her. I mean, like I said earlier, I try to not put anything on here (anymore) that would piss people off. I try to be nice, yet truthful, about my feelings towards people in my life.

The only reason that I can think of is that I have talked about my miscarriages on here, and only a few people in real life know about them. And it’s been so long since they happened and so much has happened since then, I really wouldn’t want to have to rehash them.

But really, I guess it’s deeper than that.

This is my corner of the internet. This is where I fit. This site is mine, and I don’t have to share it with my sister or compete with my best friend. So for now, I’m not going to forward the URL to my Dad or my Grandma, or even my close friends.

Maybe I should tell one person and slowly let it spread. Maybe not.

But for now, it’s all mine. And I like it that way.

So tell me, do you keep your blog a secret? Why? And if it’s not a secret, do you wish it were?

A conversation that took place in our car on Sunday.

The King: Look at the underpass. It’s covered in bird poop.

Isabel: Why do you always point that out to me? I don’t want to see it. It’s gross.

The King: There is a ton of it. It’s like guano.

Isabel: What in the hell is guano? That isn’t even a word.

The King: It totally is. It’s bat poop.

Isabel: You just made that word up.

The King: No I didn’t. I know about because I’m an Eagle Scout. You’ve never heard of bat guano?

Isabel: Of course not. Because it isn’t even a real thing.

The King: You’re retarded.

Isabel: You are.

• Since we don’t have a grocery store to go to in downtown Seattle, I’ve been ordering our groceries online. This works great. Except for last week when I ordered enough groceries to make 4 different dinners for us. One ingredient for each of the dinners didn’t come. So I have a yummy spaghetti recipe to make, but no speghetti. And a tomato risotto, but no tomatoes. And what’s the point of a calzone if you don’t have olives?!
• I went to a baby shower on Saturday for a friend who is having her 3rd baby girl. I bought the baby lots of black shirts in all different sizes. Screw pink, a girl needs some black in her life. My best friend May made some awesome Battlestar Galactica onesies for her. Something about Save the Cylones. I don’t watch the show, but the mom loves the onesies. I may have heard mention of “baby best shower gift ever!”
• The King and I had our first night away from our Sweet Babboo on Friday night. More about that over at my other blog.
• I found a really creepy card at Hallmark last week. It said something like “I miss you so much. Please mail me a lock of your hair”. Then you open it and it said, “with your head attached”. Of course I bought it and mailed it to a friend that’s going through a really tough time right now. She thought it was equally creepy. I hope she understood it was a joke. If not, maybe we shouldn’t be friends.
• I have recently realized that Babboo has never played in grass. In fact, I’m not sure that he’s been within 5 feet of grass. This is urban living at its best. Maybe (when it stops raining) we’ll take the kid over to a park. Or just a friends house. I feel a little guilty about this. And I’m not sure why.
• I am sick of the rain. I am ready to see the sun.
• The King and I are trying to get some vacations for the year planned out. We want to go to a beach, but aren’t sure about taking the baby there. We can handle the heat. But can he?? Is there a cool beach area in America that we should look into, like North Carolina or Florida? Or should we just go to Mexico? Or Vegas?
• I will stop with the bullets already.

The King was in LA for FIVE days last week for business. And by “business” I totally mean living the Entourage lifestyle on the company’s dime. He may/may not have even (literally) run into someone famous. But that’s his story to tell. Maybe next week, King?

And if you want to read my interview with the always lovely Carrisa, you can check it out here.

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Let me just say that if you are in the Los Angeles area, you should be eating at the Geisha House on Hollywood and Cherokee. It is hands down, the best sushi that I’ve ever had. Try the Spicy Tuna with Crispy Rice or the Cowboy Roll. Its like raw fish candy. The front door is a little daunting even for someone as comfortable with themselves as I am. (Read about my Rod Stewart experience or my public nudity.)

The line outside and all the fancy cars and people on phones is a bit much. But once you get inside, you are whisked away to, well, a bar that resembles just about any other bar in the Hollywood area. With a couple of girls dressed as Geishas wandering around.

Its not the staff you are watching though. Its the crowd. Lot’s of people that are probably someone, but not someone enough that you will recognize them, as well as lots of people that think they are someone but are even less of someone than the previously mentioned someones. Fun people watching. And the food. Its really worth sitting in what is basically the middle of a dance floor complete with blaring music and live DJ. Dinner for 6 was something to the tune of 600-800 bucks, but who cares. I wasn’t paying.

Next time I’ll get a plate of that Crispy Rice and just gobble them up like french fries. Maybe even get some to go.

Viva Hollywood.

-k