I've been a bit moody lately since I'm starting to wean the kidlet. My hormones are raging and I don't have the greatest self control in the best of times... so you can imagine.
Lob on the insane work stress and I'm just a ball of fun to have around.
It's not like I'm out slicing tires or beating up neighborhood kids...yet... but I'm not on Santa's 'nice' list either.
Throughout this, hubsters has been his usual self. Kind, caring, tender, loving, sweet.
In a brief moment of clarity...very brief... I asked him why he stayed with me when I'm crazy.
He hugged me and said he loved me through thick and thin and proceeded to buy me dinner from my very favorite fast food mexican joint.
Based on his reaction, all I have to say is this...
THANK.
GOD.
FOR.
STOCKHOLM SYNDROME.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Creepy Crawly Fear...
A spider the size of my head (admittedly, I exaggerate its size... a little) scurried across our bedroom floor and under our bed the other night. I yelled for Chris, who was in the shower, "Honey, would you please come out and vanquish this arachnid?" which, once again for the sake of honestly, sounded like, "AHHHHHH spider! AHHHHH! *unintelligible* *garble* AHHHHHH!"
Sure, I could have smashed it myself but I'm terrified of spiders - which seems to be synonymous with being female. Plus, I was too busy screaming from my perch atop my dresser.
Chris slowly finished washing his hair and using the loofah to scrub his feet and I heard the water shut off.
SQUEEEEEEAAAAAAAK.
"Are you seriously squeegeeing the shower doors right now?!?!?" I yelled.
"As the person who installed these ridiculously heavy doors and is the person responsible to replace them if not properly maintained, yes. I'm squeegeeing the doors." He replied. SQUEEEAAAAAK.
"It could be a robber out here for all you know and he's had 7 minutes to beat me and loot the house" I yelled back.
"Meh. At least the shower doors would be OK." he said.
He finally came out of the bathroom and started to look under the bed. We don't have anything under our bed so it should have been fairly easy to spot the spider.
After a long pause he said, "Uh babe. I don't see a spider. You want to grab me a flashlight?"
I gave him a look. "There's no chance I'm getting off this dresser until you show me his lifeless body."
He left, found a flashlight, and returned. "Nope. Nothing."
"If he's not under the bed and no where around the edges...that means he's in the bed. I'm not sleeping in the bed tonight." I said.
"OK." he said as he crawled under the covers and turned off the lights.
I sat on top of the dresser for quite some time, debating whether or not to sleep on it. I finally caved but didn't sleep a wink the whole night. I made sure to hit Chris every 15 minutes under the guise of 'spider spotting'.
We still haven't found the spider... a fact I remember right before I close my eyes to sleep each night.
Sure, I could have smashed it myself but I'm terrified of spiders - which seems to be synonymous with being female. Plus, I was too busy screaming from my perch atop my dresser.
Chris slowly finished washing his hair and using the loofah to scrub his feet and I heard the water shut off.
SQUEEEEEEAAAAAAAK.
"Are you seriously squeegeeing the shower doors right now?!?!?" I yelled.
"As the person who installed these ridiculously heavy doors and is the person responsible to replace them if not properly maintained, yes. I'm squeegeeing the doors." He replied. SQUEEEAAAAAK.
"It could be a robber out here for all you know and he's had 7 minutes to beat me and loot the house" I yelled back.
"Meh. At least the shower doors would be OK." he said.
He finally came out of the bathroom and started to look under the bed. We don't have anything under our bed so it should have been fairly easy to spot the spider.
After a long pause he said, "Uh babe. I don't see a spider. You want to grab me a flashlight?"
I gave him a look. "There's no chance I'm getting off this dresser until you show me his lifeless body."
He left, found a flashlight, and returned. "Nope. Nothing."
"If he's not under the bed and no where around the edges...that means he's in the bed. I'm not sleeping in the bed tonight." I said.
"OK." he said as he crawled under the covers and turned off the lights.
I sat on top of the dresser for quite some time, debating whether or not to sleep on it. I finally caved but didn't sleep a wink the whole night. I made sure to hit Chris every 15 minutes under the guise of 'spider spotting'.
We still haven't found the spider... a fact I remember right before I close my eyes to sleep each night.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
If not death, arrest...
My husband was not successful in his sneaky plot to kill me by cleaning my car... but I discovered his back up plan.
Send me to jail.
At precisely 59 mph, my old, crummy tires would shake my car like a 50's exercise machine - which only goes to prove those things don't work, I'd weigh 80 pounds by now.
The crummy tires kept me from speeding, which was a good thing because I accidentally bought a car with a big engine.
How do you accidentally buy a car with a big engine? When you're super girlie and point out the car you like based solely on color and say, 'Aww! It's so cute!' as if picking out a puppy.
Anyway, after I wiped the oil slick out of my car, I found myself passing a whole lot of cars on the freeway. I looked down at my speedometer and gasped as I read... 84.
Not only did hubsters replace my tires, he mentioned he replaced them with racing tires. My subconscious summoned my inner Mario Andretti. And since my car was no longer shaking, speed snuck up without my notice.
Part of my route to work is on a freeway strongly monitored by the California Highway Patrol.
I see my future quite clearly...
'Do you know how fast you were going?' the cop would ask.
"Yes. 84. Anything slower would be an insult to the tire manufacturer. I've got racing tires." I'd say while pointing at my front wheel. "Now if you'll simply apologize for pulling me over, I'll be on my way" I'd say, impatiently tapping my fingernails on the metal of my door.
And that's when I'd go to jail.
Send me to jail.
At precisely 59 mph, my old, crummy tires would shake my car like a 50's exercise machine - which only goes to prove those things don't work, I'd weigh 80 pounds by now.
The crummy tires kept me from speeding, which was a good thing because I accidentally bought a car with a big engine.
How do you accidentally buy a car with a big engine? When you're super girlie and point out the car you like based solely on color and say, 'Aww! It's so cute!' as if picking out a puppy.
Anyway, after I wiped the oil slick out of my car, I found myself passing a whole lot of cars on the freeway. I looked down at my speedometer and gasped as I read... 84.
Not only did hubsters replace my tires, he mentioned he replaced them with racing tires. My subconscious summoned my inner Mario Andretti. And since my car was no longer shaking, speed snuck up without my notice.
Part of my route to work is on a freeway strongly monitored by the California Highway Patrol.
I see my future quite clearly...
'Do you know how fast you were going?' the cop would ask.
"Yes. 84. Anything slower would be an insult to the tire manufacturer. I've got racing tires." I'd say while pointing at my front wheel. "Now if you'll simply apologize for pulling me over, I'll be on my way" I'd say, impatiently tapping my fingernails on the metal of my door.
And that's when I'd go to jail.
Friday, July 13, 2012
He's Trying to Kill Me...
I had a flat tire last week and I asked Chris if he could have it repaired for me on his lunch break. When he came home with the car, it was washed, the tires were new, and the interior was glistening from excessive use of oily cleaner.
The next morning, as I tried to pull out of our driveway, my hands slipped on the greasy steering wheel and I bounced my back end off the curb. I wiped my hands on my pants and grabbed the steering wheel again, determined to regain control.
The light turned green at my stop light and I attempted to make a left turn.
Attempted.
Slide, slide, slide went my hands. Right before I crossed into oncoming traffic, I regained control by jamming my hands through the holes in the steering wheel, steering like Frankenstein with my arms oddly outstretched.
I thought I had things under control... until the sun popped out from behind the morning clouds.
The reflection was so strong from my dash, it was as if God took a mirror to the sun and was trying to fry me like an ant. I think my cornea's got sunburned.
Naturally, when I arrived home from work, I thanked my husband for being so thoughtful.
AHHHHHHHHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!
Front door slam. "YOU ALMOST FRIGGIN' KILLED ME" I yelled.
"What? Huh? What'd I do?" He asked.
"There's more oil in my car than in the ocean after the Exxon Valdez spill! I couldn't steer! Or see!"
"Me? No. Not on purpose." he said. But as he walked away, I saw his shoulders shake from laughter he was holding in.
Maybe it's time to change the beneficiary on my life insurance policy.
The next morning, as I tried to pull out of our driveway, my hands slipped on the greasy steering wheel and I bounced my back end off the curb. I wiped my hands on my pants and grabbed the steering wheel again, determined to regain control.
The light turned green at my stop light and I attempted to make a left turn.
Attempted.
Slide, slide, slide went my hands. Right before I crossed into oncoming traffic, I regained control by jamming my hands through the holes in the steering wheel, steering like Frankenstein with my arms oddly outstretched.
I thought I had things under control... until the sun popped out from behind the morning clouds.
The reflection was so strong from my dash, it was as if God took a mirror to the sun and was trying to fry me like an ant. I think my cornea's got sunburned.
Naturally, when I arrived home from work, I thanked my husband for being so thoughtful.
AHHHHHHHHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!
Front door slam. "YOU ALMOST FRIGGIN' KILLED ME" I yelled.
"What? Huh? What'd I do?" He asked.
"There's more oil in my car than in the ocean after the Exxon Valdez spill! I couldn't steer! Or see!"
"Me? No. Not on purpose." he said. But as he walked away, I saw his shoulders shake from laughter he was holding in.
Maybe it's time to change the beneficiary on my life insurance policy.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Just Like Dad...
The older I get, the more I become just like my father. We drive too fast, use the horn too much, listen to the same talk radio, drink the same cheap wine, and make the same inappropriate comments about the mentally unstable.
Seeing the slow progression feels traitorous to the 14 year old me who frequently screamed, 'I'll NEVER be like you!!!!' and swore the zombie apocalypse would happen before that day came.
While I'm exactly like my father in habits and ticks, I've got my own musical and fashion tastes. The 30 year age gap between my father and me assures those two differences will never change.
Sunday, as dad and I sat on the patio drinking cheap wine, enjoying the cool breeze and sunshine, he said, "I'm really liking that song on the radio"
"What song? Celine Dion?" I asked.
"No. It's a guy. Really catchy" he said and started humming.
"George Harrison?" I asked trying desperately to remember which Beetles are still alive... and singing.
"No. Oh! Now I remember. Someone I Used to Know by Gotye" he said snapping.
I spit my wine back into my glass.
That's my current favorite song because... it's catchy.
"By the way kiddo, nice shirt!" he said.
Bring on the zombie apocalypse.
Seeing the slow progression feels traitorous to the 14 year old me who frequently screamed, 'I'll NEVER be like you!!!!' and swore the zombie apocalypse would happen before that day came.
While I'm exactly like my father in habits and ticks, I've got my own musical and fashion tastes. The 30 year age gap between my father and me assures those two differences will never change.
Sunday, as dad and I sat on the patio drinking cheap wine, enjoying the cool breeze and sunshine, he said, "I'm really liking that song on the radio"
"What song? Celine Dion?" I asked.
"No. It's a guy. Really catchy" he said and started humming.
"George Harrison?" I asked trying desperately to remember which Beetles are still alive... and singing.
"No. Oh! Now I remember. Someone I Used to Know by Gotye" he said snapping.
I spit my wine back into my glass.
That's my current favorite song because... it's catchy.
"By the way kiddo, nice shirt!" he said.
Bring on the zombie apocalypse.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Sleep...
I've never been this tired for this many consecutive months in my life.
Even in college, when my nights were spent in clubs and at parties... *cough* I mean, when I was up late studying, I still managed to sneak in weekend long sleepfests and recover.
When you have a 1 year old in your life, sleepfests are no longer an option.
Baby boy needs 6 hours of sleep each night to function.
I need 8.5.
That 2.5 hour disconnect reduces my brain function to... to... I can't even think of something because my brain quit.
I was told babies like sleeping. I'd punch the person who told me that but... I can't remember who it was. Heck, I can't remember my kid's name... or mine... most of the time.
On Sunday, my sister-in-law, who has no children, was talking about how she has been sleeping until 9:30 or 10 each day. I found myself hanging on every word.
"OK, so you put on pajamas, you crawl into bed, and you fall asleep. How does that feel? Do you get to sleep the whole night? What does sleeping past 5 AM feel like? What's it like to not be tired?" I quizzed dreamily.
Forget '50 Shades of Grey' or 'Magic Mike'. Sleeping is my fantasy.
Even in college, when my nights were spent in clubs and at parties... *cough* I mean, when I was up late studying, I still managed to sneak in weekend long sleepfests and recover.
When you have a 1 year old in your life, sleepfests are no longer an option.
Baby boy needs 6 hours of sleep each night to function.
I need 8.5.
That 2.5 hour disconnect reduces my brain function to... to... I can't even think of something because my brain quit.
I was told babies like sleeping. I'd punch the person who told me that but... I can't remember who it was. Heck, I can't remember my kid's name... or mine... most of the time.
On Sunday, my sister-in-law, who has no children, was talking about how she has been sleeping until 9:30 or 10 each day. I found myself hanging on every word.
"OK, so you put on pajamas, you crawl into bed, and you fall asleep. How does that feel? Do you get to sleep the whole night? What does sleeping past 5 AM feel like? What's it like to not be tired?" I quizzed dreamily.
Forget '50 Shades of Grey' or 'Magic Mike'. Sleeping is my fantasy.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Congrats! You've just lost 40K!
I've lost money before. I've dropped change. I've paid too much for auto insurance. I've bought things a week before they went on sale. I've made stupid money mistakes, but I've never lost 40,000 in one day...
until Saturday.
I received a letter from the County of San Diego about my house:
"Based on recent sales in your area, we have reassessed the value of your home. Your home has DECREASED in value by $40,000. Due to this large DECREASE in value, we are adjusting your property taxes accordingly."
First off, a hearty thanks to the county for writing DECREASE in all caps. The kicking me while I'm down thing is nice.
Second, this is the fourth letter I have received since I bought the house in 2007. The grand total DECREASE to date?
$150,000.
That's not a pie in the sky 'oh, the neighbors sold their house for cheap so I think my house value has dropped'. This is a solid 'the city has it on paper that I flushed $150,000 in four years'.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to suck my thumb and rock in a corner until the market bounces back.
This could be a while.
until Saturday.
I received a letter from the County of San Diego about my house:
"Based on recent sales in your area, we have reassessed the value of your home. Your home has DECREASED in value by $40,000. Due to this large DECREASE in value, we are adjusting your property taxes accordingly."
First off, a hearty thanks to the county for writing DECREASE in all caps. The kicking me while I'm down thing is nice.
Second, this is the fourth letter I have received since I bought the house in 2007. The grand total DECREASE to date?
$150,000.
That's not a pie in the sky 'oh, the neighbors sold their house for cheap so I think my house value has dropped'. This is a solid 'the city has it on paper that I flushed $150,000 in four years'.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to suck my thumb and rock in a corner until the market bounces back.
This could be a while.
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