Don’t. Touch. My. Head. Pillow.

How many of y’all have head pillows?

And how many of y’all are like “WTF is a head pillow?”

My husband was confused the first time he heard me mention a head pillow. We had just moved in together and were getting adjusted to each other. The sleeping together part wasn’t fun, honestly. I liked my space and couldn’t sleep all that well with someone else in the bed — sleeping with him is like sleeping with a radiator, he took up space, and he snored.

The confusion came when I snatched a pillow out from under his head after he went to sleep. I was doing schoolwork late and he was asleep when I went to lay down. And what did I see when I got in bed? The bastard had taken one of my pillows. Specifically, my head pillow.

You see, I require at least four pillows to sleep. I need a base pillow, and that pillow can be soft or firm or whatever. Doesn’t matter, because it’s just the base, and its only purpose is to elevate me. And then I need my sleeping pillow, which needs to be able to be folded in half when I’m sick and need a little extra elevation so I can breathe better. Next, I need my holding pillow. You could call this the grown up version of a stuffed animal. Last, I must have my head pillow. It is a pillow that is old as fuck and should’ve been thrown out years ago, so it’s soft and squishy and has no form. It goes over my head to block out light, noise, and to add some weight, which I like for whatever reason.

Ideally, I would have two more pillows, but depending on what my husband takes, I can’t always make this work. First, I would have the leg pillow that goes under my legs and second, I would have a barrier pillow that I put between me and my husband or kids, whoever is sleeping near me. 

So, when I saw my head pillow under his head, I wasn’t very pleased. How was I supposed to go to sleep when this bastard had my head pillow under his head? I tried to ease the pillow out from under his head at first, but his giant cantaloupe head made that impossible, so I tried to do the sheet pull. You know, where people pull sheets out from under food and plates and stuff on a table. It didn’t go all that smoothly, so he woke up.

He groaned. “What are you doing?”

“You had my head pillow,” I hissed.

“Your what?”

“My head pillow. Get your own pillow, it’s on the floor next to your side.”

He did as instructed and went back to sleep. The next morning, he fussed over me snatching a pillow out from under his head.

“I brought my pillows into this apartment,” I said. “So they’re mine. I don’t share pillows. Especially my head pillow.” I don’t care how petty it made me sound. I frequently had insomnia, so a good night’s sleep didn’t happen often. And I sure as hell didn’t have a good chance of sleeping in less than optimal conditions.

He asked what a head pillow was, so I explained, and he still acted confused and said he had never heard of such a thing. I told him it didn’t matter if he had never heard of it as long as he didn’t touch my pillow again.

I had my first head pillow for 15 years. I don’t know how old the pillow was when I first got it from my grandma’s house, but it was perfect. When I was 30 and struggling with sinus issues, my doctor suggested replacing my pillows every six months. It’s possible that pillow may have contributed to my issues.

And then BG came along and threw up on my pillow. I couldn’t get it properly cleaned, so I had to throw it away. It was a sad day. I found another head pillow, though. And while it wasn’t perfect, it worked well enough. Unfortunately, she threw up on that one, too. And then another. (Reflux issues. I eventually learned to cover our pillows with beach towels when she came in.)

I finally settled into a new head pillow, but then BG stole it out of my room and started putting it on her head. She wanted a head pillow, too, and cried when I tried to take it back, so I let her keep it. Little Man also decided he wanted a head pillow and tried to take another of my pillows that was squishy enough, but I put my foot down and said no. He’s a mouthy little tween and less likely to tug on my heartstrings than BG. I got another pillow for him, but he’s still eyeing my head pillow.

Last night, my husband messed up. I came to bed and found my head pillow under his head again. He wasn’t asleep, but I was tired and cranky from the lack of sleep, so I roughly jerked it out from under his head.

“Don’t. Touch. My. Head. Pillow.”

He laughed and laughed. I told him if he touched it again, I’d smother him with it before I tried to go to sleep, which made him laugh even harder.

If y’all don’t have head pillows, what sleep habits do you have that others think are weird?

That Time I Thought I Was Going To Jail

This is a repost from over 4.5 years ago — with some light edits — so this will probably be new to most of you. A post I read yesterday about prank phone calls made me remember that time I thought someone from the sheriff’s department was on the way to pick me up.


I’ve been told that I’m a pretty vanilla person on this blog before, plus I’ve openly boasted about having never gotten a speeding ticket. As such, you might be surprised to learn that there was a time when I thought I was going to jail.

Back when I was 26, I tried marijuana for the first time. The boy was away (which I feel obligated to say, so the possible judgment is knocked down a tad), and my sister was home for the weekend. She is a marijuana aficionado and had been for quite some time. She made many, many efforts to get me to try it over the years, but I always declined. Not because I’m a goody two shoes (only partly), but also because I figured I’d look like an idiot considering how the three times attempting to smoke a cigarette went. (If you have asthma that you know gets really bad when someone else is smoking around you, trying smoking anything isn’t a great idea.)

I finally gave in. Peer pressure. It took a long time to get pressured into it, but by golly, it happened.

So, we went out to the carport and smoked. Well, I did two small puffs of the thing and coughed terribly and said that I’d just have a drink. That ended up being way more vanilla than you thought, didn’t it? No silliness, pretty lame as far as a story of trying weed for the first time goes. I’ve had enough wild times with alcohol to make up for that. Of course, those are probably still pretty tame compared to most people’s stories. The wildest things I ever did that I can remember was dye my husband’s hair red and take a bicycle for a spin around the block.

Fast forward to three days later. I got a phone call, which I screened because I don’t often answer my phone when I know who is calling, let alone when I don’t recognize the number.  I looked up the number on the computer and it was the local Sheriff’s Department.

WTF?

I had a slight mental breakdown because I’m the paranoid sort, and dammit, I knew what something bad would happen if I tried weed, and then the phone rang again. I answered.

“Is this E?” the deep voice asked.

“Yes…”

“This is the Sheriff’s Department and we wanted to let you know that we have a warrant for your arrest for doing illegal drugs and will be by to pick you up at 4:00.”

Click.

I burst out into tears. I was going to jail for the rest of my life for doing that illegal thing one time, didn’t even get the effects of it, and I was going to be someone’s bitch. Noooooo!

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My husband was working in his office and I went in there, crying still. “I’m going to jail!”

“What?” He looked rather amused.

“They called and are coming to get me. They have a warrant! I’m being arrested!” I sobbed.

“Why on earth would the cops call you to tell you that they’re arresting you and give you a chance to get away?” he asked.

I didn’t know the answer to that question. I didn’t know how cops do warrants with stay-at-home-moms who pose no threat to anyone.

“Well they are!” More tears.

He took my phone and looked up the number to verify that it was indeed the Sheriff’s Department. “This doesn’t make any sense. Who did you talk to? I’m calling them to find out what’s going on.”

Just at that moment, the phone rang again. Same number. He answered it. “You do know that she has certain Constitutional rights and that you can’t just come arrest her with no proof of something that was done on private property,” he barked into the phone without saying “Hello.” Crap, he was going to make me stay in jail longer.

Then he shook his head and handed the phone to me.

“Hello?” I was shaking.

“We’re coming to get you now. Be ready,” the deep voice said.

“I’m sorry, I won’t ever do it again!” I pleaded.

And then, “Bwahahaha!” came a high-pitched laugh, one that I had grown up with, belonging to my sister. “Man, I got you!”

As it turns out, there is something you can pay for to mask your phone number and put in any number you want to pop up on someone’s caller ID. Combine that with a voice changer purchased in the toy section from Walmart, and my sister had gotten me for a mere $10.

I wanted to kill her, of course, but considering how happy I was over the fact that I wasn’t going to jail at the moment, I laughed. Later I realized how easily it would be for someone to fake being from the credit card company or whatever using this masking technique to rip you off. (So don’t trust the caller ID!)

For the record, I used to play a lot of pranks on people and still do, occasionally. My sister and I had been engaged in a prank war at that point. She certainly won with that one.


What’s the worst prank someone has played on you?

GIF It Up

Yesterday, my husband was messaging me while I was waiting in the car rider line. He was supposed to have a meeting at 2:30, but it was a bit past 3:00, and he was still waiting on the guy from work to call. Since I was also playing Words With Friends, I just sent over a gif to express my thoughts:

His response:

Later on in the evening, after I got home and he had his meeting, we got to talking about the school psychologist who needs his throat punched.

“What we really needed was that gif of ‘What kind of shit is that?’ that you sent over yesterday to let that asshole know how we really felt,” my husband said.

I agreed. “Yeah, or something like this.” I hurriedly pulled up a gif on my app:

“Except louder,” I said.

And then an idea was born: the GifPad. We decided that having a tablet dedicated to pulling up gifs to express our emotions at any given moment would be the best thing ever. Because who wants to use words to express their feelings, amirite? Really though, some of those gifs really get the point across, and do so better than one of us going on a 5-minute long rant about why the psychologist was an asshole and how unhelpful he was with the girl. Plus, there’s the benefit of humor. It’s funny, so other people are less likely to get all pissy. It’s like how Southerners add “bless his heart” to things after saying an insult, except a modern solution.

Here are some situations where the GifPad would come in handy:

When your tween mouths off for the umpteenth time, you could go with the Michael Scott “I’ll kill you” gif, but since you’d probably want to avoid a visit from CPS, this would work better–

When your dad, who knows you have liberal beliefs, sends you the millionth meme on why Donald Trump is America’s savior and why liberals are idiots–

When your mother-in-law has fucked her computer again, despite telling her many times not to download attachments in emails from people she doesn’t know–

When some asshole takes 20 minutes at the Redbox and reads through the description of Every. Fucking. Movie. and then walks away–

When your husband pisses you off and tries to initiate sexy time later–

When your doctor wants to discuss your health at your well visit, when all you wanted was to get your blood drawn and flee–

And when your kid’s teacher wants to meet with you to “discuss his progress”–

I could also use that one at least a dozen times per day when people don’t talk loudly enough for me to hear.

The GifPad will be also configured with gifs that express positive emotions, but I won’t be using that, because smiling awkwardly works just fine for me.

What situation would you rather use the GifPad instead of words?