I’d have to say it was a pretty uneventful weekend. How was yours?Share on Facebook
Despite cracking the screen of my brand new laptop, spending 3 hours in the ER getting The Boy 4 stitches and Derek drinking Lemon-Lime vinegar in the midst of trying to pack an entire house…
My husband is a pack rat. If you know him, you are laughing right now, thinking, “pack rat is putting it nicely.” For heaven’s sake, the man would have his gall stones in a jar on a shelf in the basement if Dr. John had given them to him.
He is incapable of throwing anything out.
When my sister helped me organize the house about 3 years ago, she commented that she came across a picture of him with his first wife and his sister and her first husband.
“Do you want to see it?”
I’ll pass. OK, maybe I peeked. I was dying to see what the evil ex-husband looked like and slightly curious about the ex-wife.
Curiousity killed the cat.
So when we finally got into the “the-bastard-will-be-in-breach-of-contract-if-he-bails” portion of this house selling crap, I realized that curbing the beast was going to be more difficult than I could probably imagine. You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff he snuck past me and squirreled away in one of the TWO PODS. But I will not be thwarted this time. It’s a fire sale over here. Everything goes.
So when he went to work yesterday, I started on the kitchen. I could not poor those bottles of expired salsa down the drain fast enough. Olives (hate ’em)–gone. The water they are in is not supposed to be cloudy, is it? How about that cranberry sauce (using the “sauce” term lightly) in the can marked JAN2001? Edible when fresh? Debatable. Edible now? Not so much. I was very sad to see that 47 grams of carbs per serving go down the drain. We read “The Omnivore’s Dilemma.” It’s not like we are going to eat that can of Chef Boyardee ever again.
Anything canned and unexpired went into the donation box. Scandalous, I say. Double scandalous if your husband has been building up a food pantry in the basement that would make the Mormon’s pantry look bare. When the big one hits, I’m gonna be glad. Until then, I’m going to mock him incessantly.
K: I got rid of most of the stuff in the pantry.
D: Why did you do that?
K: One word for you. 1999. Or is that 3 words?
D: HEY. That food is still good.
K: How about this? At the end of the world, I’ll take a pass on a meal.
He’ll hold me to it. You can be sure of it…Share on Facebook
but can I just take a moment to say that when Don from Sony support called to say there was extensive water damage to my laptop and that the underwriters need a REASON for the water damage, it felt disturbingly like the time I was on the phone with the cell phone insurance trying to get a new phone and they told me I had extensive water damage after that one miniscule snowflake landed on a contact. Not to be confused with the time The Boy put my cell phone into the gin and tonic. I fessed up to that one. You think I would have noticed extensive water damaging behavior. I explained to Don that my laptop doesn’t even come near liquid, and he acted as if I was lying. Besides the fact that it is wrong, I have no incentive to lie. I have Sony laptop insurance that covers absolutely everything. Despite that, Don told me he would give me a day to think about it (I want you to go to your room and think about what you have done and no dinner for you, missy) and he’ll be calling me back for a reason for the “extensive water damage.” Also known as the “when-we-don’t-know-what-is-wrong-we’ll-blame-it-on-water.” I intend to tell him today that The Boy dropped the laptop into a gin and tonic.
Back to my husband, who is making JP2’s fast track to sainthood look like a leisurely walk in the park.
This weekend I decided that the reason my house isn’t selling is because of the 1970’s vinyl in the bathroom. I went to Home Depot and got some high class $18.88 vinyl to replace it. I got home and my husband flat out refused to pull up the old stuff. He wanted to just leave the old because it was too difficult. My MIL said she absolutely LOvED the old vinyl and said my bathroom looks beautiful. I don’t fault her for blatantly lying because ever since I became a mother, I realized that’s what mothers do for their children. My FIL did convince my husband to buy me a $30 hoe-like contraption that I insisted they take back because who has $30 for a hoe?
Until I started the project. That I worked on for 1 1/2 hours while the children slept (I’d like to take a timeout to give God a shoutout for that brief moment of sanity) and still isn’t done.
MY HUSBAND WAS RIGHT, I WAS WRONG, THAT’S WHY I WORSHIP HIM.
Getting 30 year old vinyl to do anything is like getting any 30 year old man to do anything. If it isn’t his idea, it ain’t gonna happen. So now I have my work cut out for me today. Thank God for the $30 hoe.
or maybe it was the Irish Lottery scheme I was running. But my husband reset the modem and I have a new random IP address that does NOT keep me out of my blog and every other important website in my life. I would like to say that 6 days without internet access has resulted in a sparkly clean house or only clean clothes but it is not so. We are 90% done with the repainting, rescreening, redooring of the porch though. The project that was supposed to take 2 days. huh.
My husband came home from a work-related conference yesterday with 3 free packets of Starbucks coffee and a free 2 week subscription to Netflix.
The Starbucks does not surprise me as I’m sure there will be a Starbucks on every corner in heaven AND hell. In heaven, there will never be a line, the barista will be a male model and my Caramel Macchiato will have–and this is going to wig you out–caramel in it. And it will taste exactly the same every single time.
In hell, Starbucks will always have a line, you’ll always find yourself holding an infant in a heavy-ass infant carrier, trying to keep a toddler from grabbing the coffee mugs found in the bin on the floor and throwing them over his head as fast as he can. The girl in front of you will be talking loudly on her cell phone, explaining to her best friend how her latest walk of shame resulted in a case of the clap, the cashier will not speak a word of English, even the limited English required in Starbucks (Coffee. Coffee.) Someone will keep stealing your drink from the counter because you are too busy trying to keep the kids in order and when you finally get your Caramel Macchiato, it will be decaf and have no caramel in it.
But Netflix? If you knew my husband’s line of work, you, along with me, would realize that Netflix is apparently now officially everywhere. He was so very excited and showed me how to order movies from their website.
I didn’t have the heart to remind him that we have no DVD player. You know where it is. In storage.
His father doesn’t even feel guilty.
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K: You wanna go upstairs first and get ready for bed? Or are you ready?
D: No, I gotta brush.
K: “Brusha, brusha, brusha, With the new Ipana.”
D: Where the HELL did that song come from? What the hell is an Ipana? Why do you insist on singing that song every time you ask our son to brush his teeth or when you brush your teeth? Where did you learn it?
K: I don’t know. It’s the song they sang when we were in school to get us to brush our teeth. Right before they would give us those pink tablets to chew on so we could see how effective our brushing was.
My husband rolled his eyes. I knew he was blaming my behavior on a lack of public school education.
Who knew? First that I have been singing it wrong all these years and that it’s a toothpaste from 1915. But the jingle is just so CATCHY!!Share on Facebook