hey, cherry. do you belong to the physics club?

Last week, Tool Man was out of town for work, doing whatever it is Major Tool Company representatives do when they leave their wives at home alone with the children while they're (finger quotes) allegedly (finger quotes) out pimping power sanders and drills. The bulk of his time away was spent in Chicago, where he attended three days of corporate meetings and various rah-rah sessions designed to pump up staff for the holiday quarter.

On Wednesday morning, Tool Man called to tell me his meetings were kicking off that evening with employees gathering for a series of trust-building activities and outdoor games. Before he could finish telling me that one of the activities was called "whirly ball," I was forced to interrupt him by screaming out "Team Building Exercise '99!!" directly into his ear. Sadly, my glee at this very appropriately timed pun was met with silence from Tool Man, who refused to watch the first season of Flight of the Conchords with me last spring, instead opting to mutter "That looks stupid," to which I responded, "Oh, yeah?! Well, so's yer frackin' Battlestar Galactica!" Then we got into a knock down, drag out fight that ended with some kissing and perhaps me begging for mercy and taking back what I said about Battlestar Galactica, even though I totally had my fingers crossed behind my back.

(BTW - I've since made him watch Flight of the Conchord clips that number too many to count mutha uckas, so he at least knows what I'm talking about, thus leaving him without an appropriate excuse for denying me the appropriate response of a "Ha ha ha," after my witty remark, though I should probably forgive him because, people, I still don't know what whirly ball is, but Tool Man came home bruised in places that only someone who is married to or in a consensual relationship with someone who has played whirly ball should see.)

(BTW: Part Deux! - It's my understanding that I'm responsible for the 84 kabillionth link to the Conchord's Business Time clip in a blog post. Took me awhile, so I gave you two versions!)

(BTW: last one, I swear - Bret McKenzie is the latest additions to my celebrity crush list, which also now includes Craig Ferguson, who really has nothing to do with this post, other than I find him and his accent magically delicious)

Anyway, where were we? Ah, my Tool Man and his team building exercises. OK. So, late Friday night, Tool Man made his triumphant (and incredibly bruised) return to me. While unpacking his bag (and grimacing in post-whirly ball pain), he tossed me a hat and muttered, "Here. They gave this to us at our meeting."

People! This hat is the far more kick ass equivalent of a Team Building '99 t-shirt, and Seth, my inner 14-year-old boy, and I were delighted beyond belief to have it! Seth and I carried on and on (shocking, no?) about how proud we were Tool Man was finally in the Wacker Club, and peppered him with many highly inappropriately-worded, yet very appropriately timed questions about what the club meetings involved, but once again, I (we) was (were) met with silence from Tool Man. That forced me (by then, Seth had bailed) to do what I often do when faced with someone who totally loves me, but just doesn't get me, and that is to bastardize quotes from my other delight, The Breakfast Club.

"So in wacking club, you talk about wacking? Properties of wacking?"

More silence. Perhaps my charms were really just bruising his ego in a fashion that matched his whirly ball bruises. Whatever the case, I tipped my new Wacker Club hat at him, stood to leave the room, and totally called him a wanker.

"I don't know any wankers, but I'm not going to run out and join any of their wacker clubs," Tool Man replied.

And that right there? That's all part of the foreplay with my Tool Man and me. I love foreplay. You can imagine what heppened next.

Awww yeah, it was business time (85 kabillionth).