That Should Trick the Robbers

Happy New Year Friends!  

As I like to begin my year filled with hope and optimism,  and spend the second week filled with disappointment and self-loathing, I like to make a long list of generally unachievable  resolutions.  I thought I would try a smaller, simpler list for 2015:

Home Reno Part I, or, Totally my Fault

This post is for my friend Lana who was complaining at brunch this morning that I hadn't posted anything since May 2.  May 2!  

So, Lana, this will get very confusing for all of us but let's pretend we are time traveling so it seems fun not irritating. 

My Neck Hurts Too, Unless Yours Doesn't

Last week I mentioned that my neck was sore.  Could be meningitis or could be that I slept weird.  Each equally likely, I'd say.  The words were barely out of my mouth when PHD says, "My neck is sore too."  He proceeded to go on and on about what the pain was like, where it was, what caused it, how miserable it was making him. I told him he was making that up so that he wouldn't have to listen to my my neck story.  This caused the neck complaining to increase exponentially until I ran away and hid in another room.

Today is your what?

I have a birthday once a year. November 5. Every other year PHD remembers it. The next year he makes up for forgetting the previous year. Then he forgets that he has forgotten it, ever, and

My brain was protecting me from that memory

I had completely forgotten about this. Shortly after we returned from Florida, and I had the first inkling that we might not be the class act I imagine us to be(Redneck), our  front doorknob gave out.  I guess it was old and tired of turning all the time so it quit doing that. Sometimes we couldn't get into the house and sometimes we couldn't get out.  It was a fun little adventure for about a week. Especially the time I was stuck on the front step in -35C weather. PHD finally took out the doorknob and decided it couldn't be fixed. 

Here is yet another example of how differently we handle situations. I thought we should go to Home Depot and get a new doorknob, you know, one that turned, and maybe even locked.  Here was PHD's solution:

When I suggested that a tea towel jammed into the hole in place of an installed doorknob was less than ideal, he looked at me like I was insane, "Are you worried a tiny robber will stick his hand in and unlock the deadbolt?"  I said, "No, I am worried that I need to explain to you why it is ridiculous to use a dish towel as a doorknob."  What I was really worried about was that in that moment, I couldn't think of a single valid reason why we couldn't just use the towel to plug the hole. PHD has broken my common sense.  So I went to bed and had dreams about eyes peeking in the hole, or things slithering in. 

He did put in a doorknob about two days later.  Since then, I have figured out why you can't use a dishtowel as a doorknob.  The missing doorknob is just the beginning.  Next maybe you think the front lawn is a good place to keep a spare toilet, you get a gun rack in your truck, or maybe you get a goat as a pet. It all starts to seem reasonable.

It's a slippery slope people.

And that's why I am an excellent wife

For some stupid reason, possibly a combination of a solid marketing strategy and slight peer pressure, I signed up for a bootcamp twice a week.  (Screw you Groupon.  No, wait I didn't mean it Groupon, I am displacing my anger.  I actually love you.) So, for the month of August, on Tuesday and Thursday nights I drag my sorry butt to bootcamp at 7 pm. On the nights that I can't think up a good enough excuse to skip out. Because I don't like to vomit, I usually eat dinner when I return from bootcamp. 

On Tuesday I cooked a beautiful chicken dinner in the crockpot.  It took every ounce of my willpower to leave the house for bootcamp that night.  As the skinny little troll of an instructor (who is young enough to be my daughter, also not helpful) devised various forms of abuse for an hour, I thought about that chicken waiting for me. I also thought a lot about how stupid bootcamp is. Mostly about chicken, though.

I return from bootcamp mouth watering, looking forward to that chicken like no meal ever before. I arrive to a big mess in the kitchen, nothing new, and open the lid of the crockpot.  No chicken.  Some spicy tomatoes, but no chicken.  That can't be right.  Look again.  Stir it around.  Still no chicken.  They ate all the chicken and didn't leave me any...At least they put the lid back on to keep the empty crockpot warm...In frustration I scream "OH MY GOD!".  PHD assumes the kids have done something so says, "What?", giving away his location.  I charge down to the office and say, "The chicken is all gone."  He says, "Oh, you didn't get any?"  "No.  I.  Did.  Not..."  He starts laughing.  Laughing.  I, being an excellent wife, didn't call him an asshat.  I also didn't stab him in the eye with a fork but that was only because all the forks were dirty from them eating all my chicken.  And, I can't stab someone in the eye with a dirty fork. That would be unsanitary.  Still, the point is, I didn't call him an asshat.  Good job Me.

I just looked up Asshat in Wikipedia. The definition has gone missing. Probably a defensive move on the part of a husband somewhere. (You can't call me that, it's not even a word.) It used to be defined on Wikipedia as "a slightly trendier and less severe variation of asshole, graphically describing someone who has his “head up his own ass” (i.e., not knowing what’s going on): one is wearing one’s ass for a hat."  I can remember this no-longer-existing/pretend definition of asshat but I can't remember my own cell phone number about 93% of the time.  Good job Me. 

KISS the Sister Wife

PHD said, "I made a collage in my office.  Well, it's only 3 pictures, not really a collage.  You should go look."  I played it cool, freaking out on the inside.  The last time he hung something on the office wall it was a framed poster of KISS.  For those of you under 40, here is what members of the band KISS looked like:

Framed.  I thought he was joking so I hung a picture of the cast of Twilight over it to prove I got the joke and I could do one funnier.  Only he was serious.  He really likes KISS.  I haven't seen the Twilight poster or the KISS masterpiece since.  Now any wall hanging by PHD concerns me.  So what I did find wasn't so bad:

Not so bad, if you like to see yourself in three 8 1/2 x 11 photos. I don't really. Especially three photos that I had previously rejected as too hideous for even a teeny facebook profile picture.

I told him, "You don't need to stalk me, I live with you."  He said, "I liked those pictures and now I can pretend you are triplets...or, Sister Wives!!"  He kept looking at me as though he wanted me to freak out.  I don't want to be triplets but Sister Wives I can get into...We could divide up all the jobs I don't like, I could leave the house by myself on those days that the kids hate me and I would always have someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn't wait until I finish a sentence and say, "I don't think I was listening to one word of that", then laugh like (s)he just told the best joke ever. 

I should probably check Kijiji. Is that where you get a sister wife?  Kijiji may or may not provide the best quality of sister wives.   Probably a sister wife that looks like this:

  

Note: A whole week ago, I had a(n) (is it a or an? I think it's an. maybe not. H is confusing.) hysterically funny ending planned for this post.  It tied together all the pieces of this post, related to the title and was so surprising that you would have spit your milk on your keyboard. If you were drinking milk.  Only PHD started reading it over my shoulder as I was typing and then I couldn't remember my ending.  The ending that was hysterically funny.  Gone. I waited a whole week and it hasn't come back.  PHD actually erased all the creative thoughts in my head by reading my unfinished post over my shoulder. Jerk. 

Instead, here is a funny sentence from Tina Fey's book "Bossypants":

"This made no sense to me, probably because I speak English and have never had a head injury."

This sentence is very useful because in addition to being funny, it can be applied to this post, this blog and 90% of the things that come out of my mouth.  Thanks Tina.

Dog Down

This is our cute, anxious, not terribly brilliant dog:

This is our pool, covered:

Early one morning the dog got confused and went into the covered pool.  Turns out he can swim, up and down, and up and down between the edge of the pool cover and the side of the pool until PHD rescues him.  Could have been at least 15 minutes of laps for poor dopey dog.

Now the dog is even scared of this:

He wanted to go back outside but because the tarp was on the floor in front of the door, and it looked like the pool cover, he just stood beside it shaking, thinking, "What if I step on this and it turns into water?"  I am just guessing, of course, he could have just been thinking, "Shaking feels good."  He is a dog, after all, who knows what the hell they are thinking most of the time.

And now PHD is turning into an anxious dog dad.  "Is the dog outside?  Where's the dog?  Did you let him out?"  So every few hours to alieviate boredom (my own) I yell, "Where's the dog?  I haven't seen him for a while. Is he swimming again?"  PHD starts to shake. And run from the living room to the back door. Up and down the house. Up and down. 

There you have it.  Scientific evidence that dogs and owners do start to look alike. Well, act alike, anyway.  And it's not really scientific but close enough.

Goodbye H1 or Rename the Husband Contest Part 2

For those of you that have been married for more than 7 years, you may know that it is unusual that your spouse does something completely unexpected.  After that many years, you usually know him or her well enough that there are few surprises.  This is not a bad thing; regardless, you may understand my excitement right now.  After 15 years of marriage, I caused my spouse to start making a new facial expression.  He started making a face I have never seen before. It all started with this post:  Rename the Husband Contest. First he read the post then made the face.  At first I thought it was a mad face, but he said no.  I thought maybe it was a puzzled face.  He said "What face?" Then he made the face again.  Every time I excitedly told him about a new suggestion, he made the face.

Anyway, I had lots of creative submissions and lots of laughs over the contest.   

And the winner is:  PHD...or maybe SMac.  

I spent a week going back and forth, trying each one out, asking H1 what he liked better.  He said he didn't care, really.  (What? Maybe I will stick with H1!) He made the new face equally at each suggestion so I finally decided both names are winners!  I will mostly call him PHD which stands for Plumber, Husband, Dad.  If he does something that displeases me I will call him SMac, sort of his initials but sounds like "smack".  Congratulations Michelle you obviously have a gift for naming Blog Husbands - you win twice!  You win the dubious honour of Naming the Blog Husband. Unless you want my broken iPod.  Let me know!  

Thanks for playing everyone!  My next contest will be "Name PHD's Facial Expression".  I just have to get a picture of it for you.  Stay tuned!

Rename the Husband Contest

Today, November 11, is our 15 year wedding anniversary.  (Yes, I was a child bride.)  I figured the date would be hard to forget, because for one, it was 11/11/95 and two, it's Remembrance Day.(It is still possible to forget, though, and if you  think you can hear  "Oh *$#@!" as you read this, H1 is also reading this and realizing he has forgotten. ) Little bonus - always a stat holiday on our anniversary.  Look how young we were:

Recently, H1 figured out how to access my blog.  He thought it was all very funny , particularly Finger Knitting, and SOS Batman , however, he didn't care for the name H1. In fact, he has threatened to start looking for W2, a couple of times. I think he's kidding. Just to be safe, and in honour of our 15 years of wedded bliss, I will do something to make him happy.  I will hold a "Name My Blog Husband Contest".  (If you thought I was going to say something else, you need to get your mind out of the gutter.  Or not.  I am just recognizing  you as dirty!) If you are the one person reading this blog that doesn't actually know him, here's what you need to know about him (and thanks for reading my blog, One Person that doesn't know us):

He is very charming, funny and interesting.  He is from Nova Scotia. He does things like build Lego tables with/for the boys.

He is a plumber, and runs his own business. I tell him what to do all the time and he ignores most of it until he thinks I am not paying attention. 

He is also a bit accident prone. He once got his head stuck in a house, his upper arm impaled to (impaled on or impaled to? Not sure.) his work van and falls down on a consistent basis, especially if there is a puddle of water in which to land.

Lately, he is obsessed with marbles.

That's all you need to know to get started! Whomever comes up with the best name wins!  No, you don't win anything good like an iPod, unless you want one that doesn't work (see Where's All My Stuff? ).  I will pick my favorite name and use that from now on, or start calling him by his real name, whichever I like better.   Fun!