Another day in the neighborhood

Last night was a difficult night. My DH (evil, evil man) put a movie on at 9:00 p.m. Of course, I had to watch the whole thing, since it was chock full of 80s music, and I spent the entire time trying to figure out which band it was. DH had a much easier time since he previously owned the CD (cheater!!!). Anyway, it had been a while since I had seen Gross Pointe Blank, and it was better than I remembered it being. A bit odd, like all John Cusack movies, but it also had Joan Cusack in it, and I love her! [Side note, didn't she have a really short lived sit-com a long time ago? Personally, I'm too lazy to google that right now, but I'll check later.] Plus DD refused to go to bed, which she had done for the last 2 weeks. "Check on me." "Check on me." "I want to sleep in your room." "Check on me."

So, after the movie was over and DD finally passed out from sheer exhaustion, it was nearly mid-night. DH was asleep within 3 or 4 minutes of his head hitting the pillow. I, unfortunately, tossed and turned, and got up to dim the light in DD's room and turn off the desk lamp in DSs' room. Sleep did, eventually, catch up to me. And then I saw the light flash by the bedroom window. I woke up and heard a heliocoter flying by. At this point, DD woke up, too, and said that she had a bad dream. I picked her up and listened to the helicopter for while. It continued to circle above, so I looked out the window and noticed that it was flying quite near us with the search light on. Around and around and around it went. I thought briefly about turning on the TV to see if there was something going on, but I was tired, and I figured there had probably been a police chase of some sort and they had pulled the car over near by. I brought DD to our room and she settled down between DH and me. Luckily, the boys (all of them) slept through it.

This morning, I managed to wrangle myself out of bed. I turned on the news (Channel 11, like usual), and low and behold there was a map with a nice little star over our apartment complex. Turns out that the helicopter was a police chopper, and they were shining on our complex. There had been a carjacking at one of the gas stations near us. The carjackers where people who lived in our complex, and their victims turned out to be, not only another man who lived in our complex, but the father of one of their friends. They were caught when they tried to return the car.

Here are the thoughts that crossed my mind:
(1) We live with a bunch of criminals.
(2) How absolutely stupid were these carjackers to bring the car back to someone who would recognize them.
(3) Hey, how old were these carjackers and where are their parents?
(4) How sad that we live in an area where we don't know our neighbors and would never recognize them if we ran into them somewhere else.
(5) How mean is my husband to find ways of robbing me of my much needed sleep and then complains when I hit the snooze button for hour before getting up?

Literally

DH and I have a communication problem. He's a punster and I'm a literalist.

We were cruising along in the mini-van one sunny afternoon with the rugrats napping in their car seats, when this all came to a head (figuratively, not literally--there weren't any heads in the street for us to drive towards.)

You see, he had mentioned something about carpet shampooers (You can check out the archives of his blog, as I refuse to inflict such harm onto any poor, unsuspecting readers). I in turn, gave him "that look."

DH: "Don't give me that look."
Me: "What look?"
DH: "That look. Just laugh. It eases the agony"

That was followed by an hour of pirate jokes.

DH: "What's a pirate's favorite subject in school?"
Me: "When would they have time to go school, between plunders at sea?"
DH: "No, the answer is aaaaaart."
Me: "What about aaaaarithmatic. Seems like that one would be more helpful for calculating their money captured, versus their costs in travel, not to mention life insurance policies, in order to find out if they are more profitable in different locations. Although, I suppose aaaart could come in handy for them to recognize whether the aaaartwork they were stealing was valuable. But I think that would fall under aaaaart appreciation, as opposed to the applied aaaaarts."

He refused to talk to me for nearly 15 minutes. Until...

DH: "What's a pirate's favorite vegetable?"
Me: "Gads."
DH: "Wrong! an arrrrrtichoke!"