Divorce Rates and Brain Tumors

The Good Doctor found this article from the Daily Beast about how likely your marriage will end in divorce.

He emailed it to me a day after I said, "What if I do have a brain tumor? Would we try to have another kid so Emmy has a brother or sister before I die?"

And he said, "Oh no. Pregnancy could aggravate your tumor. Besides. Emmy would have plenty of half brothers and sisters."

Then he spent the better part of an hour rinsing cough syrup from his hair.

That's how we roll. Especially when I have the cough and congestion from hell coupled with a raging headache. But it was an interesting article full of references to marriage studies. Most suprising was the rate of gay and lesbian divorce rates compared to straight couples. I would've thought it'd be far lower.

Anyway, I took the quiz at the end and it said 1% and 5%, so we're in the low and average range. But I'm obviously not one to follow rules, despite my regimented upbringing, so I'm not too worried.

What I am worried about however is the headache that has been coming 'round every so often for the past 6 months. Immediately I've jumped to the worst case scenario: me, bald, hooked up to an IV with tubes comin out me nostrils. Paler than Edward Cullen.

So I went to the doctor to deal with my cold and to ask her about these weird new headaches. She said four things essentially cause them: stress, caffeine, sleep deprivation, allergies.

I work in TV news, so stress is a routine part of my system. I don't drink that much caffeine. I get plenty of sleep. Thanks Asian Grandma. But allergies?! That's a new one to me, as in, I've always had them, but never knew they could be linked to headaches.

So I'm trying some generic nasal spray to see if that helps with my post nasal drippage and headaches. Otherwise I will have to start a headache diary. It will read:

Dear Diary,

This headache is a MotherFather!

Later skater,

Vicky

P.S. This is where I got MotherFather. Toyota: Brilliant campaign for the Sienna. The Good Doctor, Emmy and I would love to star in the Prius video. Hip Hop Hybrid. Cuz we roll hard.

My Type

The Good Doctor. Obvi. If you didn't already get that from this post and this post and that post. To loosely quote Outkast: He's my one and only forevah evah evah. Forevah evah evah? Forevah evah evah. And he's good at lots of things.

But come on, being married and monogamous and all the other m words doesn't mean you can't recognize hotness. Remember Number 9? I'm still looking for that motor skills ho. I will SHOW HER some motor skills.

Hotness comes in strange forms for me. But I have to tread lightly here. Not because I'm worried about being outed for recognizing hotness this week while on employment duties. And telling my friends who were all, "Umm, really? Hmm." That's the least of my concerns. I just don't want to be put in a WWF hold while being tickled within an inch of my life by The Good Doctor's other hand.

And really, is it so wrong to say other people are cute once you are married? I mean, I think honesty is the best policy, so I always tell The Good Doctor when I run across hotness. "I would totally hit that. 9 o'clock. No, MY 9 o'clock."

Kidding. It's much less polite than that.

No really. I do always tell him when I think someone is good looking. I'm a sharer. An over sharer even. But I definitely don't hide things. It's not in my nature. If I do think someone is goooood looking, The Good Doctor is the first to know. And be sent a Google image link of said person if said person is on the Internets.

What I do like is a smartie. Nerd smart. With glasses. I am thinking of cutting all Vitamin A out of The Good Doctor's diet so his eyes will age sooner and he will need glasses. He looks HOTT in glasses. No talking. Just look at me and smile.

And boyish. Not weird 12 year old boy-ish but devil may care boyish. Non-hairy arms and a nice sensible haircut. And short fingernails.

I'm not one for the gruff and grizzled. Although I will make an exception to say Mike Rowe is lovely to look at and listen to. He is a man's man and woman's man all in one manly package.  

And lanky. Some women go for the muscles. Now, I'm not saying if Daniel Craig showed up on my doorstep chins would not drop. But The Situations of the world need not apply. Brain muscles are so much sexier. 

And eye contact. Not stare me down like it's an interrogation. But pleasant, look-me-in-the-eye-not- boobs contact when you're talking to me and saying intelligent interesting things I have not heard before. Who doesn't think that is refreshing and appealing?

Inevitably when I meet people like that who are not wearing the wedding ring, I immediately think, "Why are you not snatched up by some ladyfriend?" And then I think, "Is my gaydar on the fritz? You can not be this cute and not married. Unless you are gay. Hmmmm."

So I told The Good Doctor about all these things I was reminded of and how he had all those things way back in 9th grade, on some nascent level, buried under the forest green "No Fear" hoodie and baggy basketball shorts when he was 6' 5" and 165lbs. Yes, I will dig up that basketball picture of Skeletor and post it here.

Happily I married My Type. I just like to point out to him that are others of his kind out there. In case Number 9 tries to bust out some motor skills in my vicinity.

Talker

That's what we call a story that may or may not be all that newsworthy, but one that people just can't seem to stop talking about.

Right now, in many circles, that would be the Tiger Woods drama. The literal car wreck we keep reading about because every day some other text or voicemail or Tiger and Co. statement seems to surface.

So I get an email from a lovely friend about a late night conversation she and her husband had about the situation. And no, it wasn't me and The Good Doctor. We don't have have late night conversations. We have me diving into bed with freezing hands and feet and him valiantly absorbing my subzero heat- seeking extremities as they bury themselves into his available crevices.

Conversation: 

Wife: we all know what kind of man tiger was. he only dated hot women and women who were models. and he went through them like underwear. so, if you know you like hot models, why bother getting married. just lead the playboy life you love leading and don't ruin anyone's life or marriage.

Husband: my theory is tiger married for the reason 90% of all men marry. he wanted children. and as the saying goes, you can't turn a ho into a housewife. so, he went out there and found the perfect woman that was going to make the perfect children, the perfect mother, and the perfect wife.

W: you think that's the only reason why men marry?

H: yes, ask every man in this world and 90% of them will say the same thing.

W: so you're saying that tiger planned to cheat on his wife the entire time? and that he never intended to become a loyal husband?

H: yes, he's the kind of man who wants to have his cake and eat it too. of course, i don't know the guy, and i can't speak on his behalf, but considering what all men talk about, i'm willing to bet that that's what tiger wanted all this time.

Back to me now. Thoughts?