welcome to shark week, hosted by mike rowe...

...also known as "oh, I wish Mike Rowe was here!" as I bust out some rather lame posts the rest of this week that, in some circles, would have you thinking I've jumped the shark here at ...for a different kind of girl.

Shark query number 1 - Is it lame and/or unacceptable to link your very own blog within your blog? Hmmm.

Shark query number 2 - Haven't things around the old ...for a different kind of girl been a little shark jump worthy of late?

Mike has checked with the experts on these two matters and while they differ in their opinions that you're swimming in shark infested waters in a full-body chum suit by linking your very own blog within your blog, they are unanimously in agreement that things around the depths here haven't been shark jump worthy. Close, they say. Maybe like baby sharks. I trust them, of course, because they're the experts in this field and I imagine they've seen some amazing shark jumps.

But, because I love Mike Rowe (even more so when he takes his shirt off when I ask my TV screen if he'd be comfortable showing me his hairy pectorals...mmm. and check it! in this one, he's shirtless AND leaning on a shark's jawbone!!), I aim to bring the shark to the surface this week with little bits of nothing that, while not full on post attacks, make me happy, and because I assume what makes me happy makes you happy (you like it when Mike gets comfy, too, don't you!?), I bring you Episode One - 'This Marriage Is 'FIN'-ished!"

A couple weekends ago, my husband and I were lounging on the couch, doing what we do (him telling me how hot I am, me telling him how lucky he is to be married to me) and watching VH1 Classics on the cable. Mostly the music videos were serving as a soundtrack to our conversation until "Come On Eileen" sprung up, causing me to perk up and start "to sing just like our fathers."

"I really do not like this song," my husband had the gall to say.

Stop the presses!! "WHAT!?" I yelled. "I've been married to you how long and you're just NOW telling me you don't like 'Come On Eileen'?"

"I thought you knew this," he responded.

"I know you don't like chocolate syrup (and I married you anyway), and you think I'm amazing, but no. No, I did not know you didn't like 'Come On Eileen,'" I said. "Would you like it if I put on a pair of dirty overalls and did a jaunty jig around the living room while singing it? And I'm talking JUST a pair of dirty overalls, mind you. The kind that would make your thoughts, you'd confess, verge on dirty!"

After not even a moment's thought, my husband said no. It was then that I pondered telling him to pack up 13 years of marriage for the sake of a one-hit wonder and get his Dexy's Midnight Runner's hatin' ass outta my house.

"I do kinda like that "Tarzan Boy" song, though," he confessed, thus redeeming himself and saving our marriage in one fell swoop.

Then we got down to monkey business on a sunny afternoon.