Locked out.

Unfortunately I am notorious for locking my keys in the car. Sometimes I am lucky enough to lock my keys in the car with the engine still running, so not only do I have to beg, borrow and plead for someone to get me my spare, I also get to waste precious gas on a locked, parked car.

 

The other week I got to work, and was flustered and running late as per usual. As I rush to get out of my car, I drop my keys in the driver’s seat, hit the lock button on the door and slam the door. Mid-slam I realize my keys are going to  be locked safely inside the car. This would not be so annoying or embarressing if I only did it once or twice. But I espcially prone to this type of forgetfullness. And after a while, Clinton becomes annoyed.

 

To make matters worse this time, Clinton and I had a disagreement the evening before. So now in order to get into my car, I had to apoligize for my role in the disagreement. No sooner did I finish my apoligizing, then one of my coworkers offered to let me use their AAA card. I had apoligized all for nothing. I try to never admit fault in an argument with Clinton because what you say, can and will be used against you. “Samantha you admitted I was right and you were wrong. So that means I am right about everything.” This seems to be Clinton’s train of thought. He thinks that just because he is right once, he will be right all the time.

 

What he doesn’t realize is the few times he is actually right about something, it is because I let him be right so I don’t have to listen to him pout. The male ego is a funny thing. They spend hours propping it up, but a ten second conversation will instantely deflate the precious ego. And nothing is more pitiful then a man stroking his wounded ego. Someone once made a comment about him looking slightly pregnant, and even though he is now in fantastic shape, he will still stand in front of a mirror and critique his appearance. The sad thing is that he does this several times a day for extened periods of time.

While this is cute at first, over time it become annoying. I will call his name over and over again, only to realize he has zoned out in front of the mirror again. When did boys get so vain? 

My vain little boy. 

Shenanigans on Maplested Lane

Today is the birthday of one of my sisters. And so in honor of that I am taking a very lovely journey down memory lane.

Now I grew up in a household with four kids, limited space and the concept of sharing and hand-me-downs. Although fortunately being the oldest I was exempt from having to wear hand-me-downs. Instead I was the one who got to cast off my outdated clothing to someone beneath me. It was really the only privilege I could see that came with being the oldest.

But for the most part we lived in harmony and peace. Or at least we did when everyone was sleeping. During the day we could either be found playing together while carrying on at top volume or screaming at someone for violating a rule. Typically as the day wore on and we got bored playing nicely with each other, we would start to antagonize one another so that we could excite things with a physical altercation of some sorts. Usually it was for invading the sacred ground of someone else’s room or for not sharing the Barbie clothing. Or maybe just for not playing the game the right way.

And honestly you would think that growing up with that chaos would make me want to avoid having a large number of children. But the idea of a large family seems cozy to me. Don’t worry, I said seems. I understand that in order to have large family, you have to create the children through adoption or biologically and you also have to feed, clothe and house them. I think I would prefer to stick with my hypothetical family.

But at any rate, we had quite a few shenanigans growing up. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to mention that Ali was involved in quite a few of them. One of the activities that entertained us the most frequently was tossing Hillary out of our room. She would stuff her finger or toe onto the carpet just inside our doorway, and Ann and I would take this an invitation to drag her down the stairs or toss her down the stairs depending on our mood. This would go on for a while until either we got bored and simply locked the door to our room or until she found a pastime that didn’t involve carpet burn or falling down a flight of stairs.

A lovely example of our adult shenanigans 

There was the time that Ali and I spent hours tossing my Hillary’s stuffed toy into a tree to see if we could get it caught in the branches. And then throwing a ball into the branches to knock the toy out.  Only to repeat the whole cycle again. Now this might make some people question our IQ but it actually was a game of skill. Until my father came out and demanded to know just what in the world we were doing and to immediately knock it off before the neighbors start questioning their  child rearing practices.

Ali and I also came up with an elaborate story involving wolves and an abandoned field to scare Annelise to death. We got some sick sort of satisfaction out of tormenting her. Although why in the world she never questioned our oddly lacking in real world details story, I will never know.

At some point Ali and I also decided it would be a brilliant idea to mix all of nail polishes together. This resulted in one toxic mess. That also got on our brand new carpet. Needless to say it is impossible to remove bright pink nail polish from baby blue carpet. Annelise and I used this nail polish concoction to paint our barbies and make them more beautiful. However when our beautification did not turn out like we had hoped, we would try and coerce Hillary into trading one of her pretty barbies for our barbies with the bad make overs. So then we would have new barbies to ruin.

Not that I got away without torment. My sisters had me convinced that I had a tail for a good portion of time. Sadly that is not the case. I just have a deformed tailbone

 

Smurftastic

The dirty little secret that no one tells you about painting is that it is not as easy as it looks. Sure it is only so difficult to paint a small ceramic figurine at those little paint and fire clay shops, keepsake box or some other trinket. But when you attempt to actually paint something that is life size and not easy to maneuver. The tables are turned.

I thought it would be brilliant to buy some unfinished furniture and finish it myself. After reading several blogs on painting, I ought to be an expert. Everything looks so glossy and blemish free, that what could be easier? Spray a couple of coats of paint, followed by a clear glaze, and voila, you have a gorgeous finished product.  Well clearly these step by step videos and blogs do not show how long it took the demonstrators to become adapt at the art of painting.

First there is the whole act of getting the  furniture to a location where the paint will not get on anything worth damaging, and a place where the fumes will not kill your brain cells. Moving furniture from one location to another is not that complicated when there are at least two people doing the moving. Or if you are not easily beaten by five year olds in arm wrestling. My upper body strength or lack thereof, is embarrassing. This complicates moving furniture from one place to another. I am constantly having to place the piece of furniture down, to give my arms a rest. Or risk dropping it on my feet and crushing my toes. So after about 15 minutes I  finally get the furniture to a safe location : my back deck.  My rationale for risking getting spray paint all over the deck is that the wood needs to be re-sealed anyways….this will just prompt me to speed up the process. All though after this painting debacle, I am not sure I ever want to touch anything that requires brushing, spraying or sealing a wooden surface again.

I am finally at the stage where I can shake my paint cans and start spraying. Now I have diligently read the direction that are in size .10 font on the back of the spray can. And I have come to the conclusion that it is probably really not necessary to “vigorously” shake the canister for two minutes.  So I shake the spray paint for a good thirty seconds or until I get bored. Whichever came first. Big mistake. I start to coat the furniture with the paint only to be greeted by a beautiful watery black color. Perhaps I should have followed the suggested time for mixing the paint a bit more closely.

What I thought would take an afternoon has now turned into a two weekend project. And during this time I have gotten to look like a splotchy smurf. I even managed to coat my hair a gorgeous shade of blue. All of this has taught me that when something is expensive to have done by a professional, it is probably because it involves a good bit of attention to detail, and skill. And honestly I don’t have the attention span to become a skilled painter. One coat of paint is about all the interest I have in painting something. When that item requires four to five coats, I start getting pissed off.  Why didn’t anyone prepare me for this?

Also, anytime I see someone use painter’s tape on a commercial. It looks ridiculously easy. How hard can it be to stick some blue tape on a flat surface? The answer is incredibly hard – to get the tape to stick in a straight line anyways.

I am really not all that handy around the house.  Don’t get me wrong, I can clean, cook and fold laundry like the best of them, but when it comes to actual home repairs or improvements, I usually run for the internet and it’s wise recommendations of service providers.

But I do realize that paying someone to do basic tasks gets expensive and makes me feel helpless. However if you looked at my track record with household duties, you could see why hiring a professional might be worth it in more than one way.  I have recently become addicted to blogging (I was trying to replace my trashy reality TV addiction). And while perusing all the sordid details of suburbia on various blogs, I came across many blogs dedicated to DIY home improvement. Considering I only owned a hammer and didn’t even own a screwdriver, DIY home improvement seems incredibly daunting. But I succumbed to the old thought: “If they can do it, so can I.” So I advise staying tuned this year to see if I burn down the house, destroy any walls, or fall through the roof. Any of these are sadly probably pretty realistic possibilities when I am left to my own DIY devices.

There are several scenarios that cause Clinton to shudder at the thought of me picking up a hammer or a paintbrush. Or god forbid a power drill.  There was time I put a plastic cutting board inside the oven and couldn’t figure out why I smelled plastic burning.  I also learned that if you wash an ink pen with a load of white dress shirts, those white dress shirts will come out of the wash sporting gorgeous new black patches.  Our walls also sport several scars for misguided attempts at the art of hanging pictures.  I can never seem to get a picture to hang with the first attempt of putting a nail through the wall.

This was the chaos of moving (never again)

Unfortunately for Clinton’s sanity I hate measuring or doing prep work. For example, if you are going to hang curtains, you should probably measure where each end of the curtain rod needs to be and mark that spot with pencil. I preferred the less meticulous and less time consuming method of simply guestimating where each end should be. The problem with this method is that sometimes it would work and sometimes it wouldn’t, and when it didn’t, the process became more time consuming then if I had just measured out the right distance.  But I prefer to think of my guestimating as an art, and if there is chance that it will cut down on the amount of time required to complete a task then even better.

Clinton is afraid that I will carry over my disdain for being meticulous into the painting arena and our walls will give off the impression that we turned a five year old loose in our house with a bucket of paint.  Apparently before you can paint, you have to take everything off the walls and then tape all the edges. Well at first this didn’t sound so bad. Taking everything off the walls is certainly easy enough. And how hard can it be to stuff some tape on the walls. Clearly I had no idea. You have to get the tape right up on the edge, and make sure it is in a straight line, and that is securely stuck to the wall.  This sounds exhausting. You literately have to tape every edge in the room. Talk about time consuming and tedious. It is really necessary??  According to anybody who has ever painted, yes it is. So I can see why Clinton might be a little apprehensive about my painting techniques.?

And I picked hanging blinds as a relatively easy project. However upon closer examination, blinds are deceptively tricky to manipulate. First of all the directions are written in a way only an engineer would understand. Which is the first problem. They are assuming that I can read and hang at the same time. That is a pretty big assumption. Why can’t they just draw me a picture of the steps? It doesn’t have to be a fancy picture. It can be stick people. Just draw me a stinking picture. And while you are at it, explain to me how in the world you get them into the correct position and get them to stay there.

Do they offer master’s degrees in home improvement because I might need one?

 

Say Yes to the Dress!

So I think I am finally able to say “yes to the dress.” This comes after I probably tried on over 100 gowns in almost ten different bridal shops. And let me tell you, there is nothing fun or magical when you are trying on your 95^th gown.

During this whole process I learned that I listened to others way to much. Everyone felt entitled to give me their opinion and then they expected to follow their expert advice. Of course the members of my bridal entourage had an opinion. But so did the sales clerk, and the random other dress shoppers, and casual acquaintances in my life.  Everybody had an opinion and advice. And I actually welcome their opinions and certainly their advice, because sometimes it helps me re-evaluate a decision. But what I can’t stand is that most people think that their expert opinions are ironclad and I am a damn fool not to follow them.  I am sorry that is horribly offensive to you that I am not getting married in a church. And I know you think I am going to look back and curse this decision, but if we want to get married outside under some trees like a bunch of heathens then so be it. It isn’t your soul that is going to be sent to damnation. 

And people like to scare you into following their opinions by promising that you will regret not heeding their advice.  But at the end of the day, I am getting married to my bestfriend. And there is no way I can control every little detail, so I ought to just enjoy the day and bigger meaning behind it.  Everyone says you don’t remember your wedding day because it passes in such a blur. So why would I obsess over which white wine to offer. 

I am too nice to tell people to politely back the **** off. So I just smile and nod and act extremely grateful for them forcing their opinions down my throat.  But in the back of my mind I am getting more and more nervous and anxious about my wedding. There is no way I can please everyone, and frankly I am not that interested in catering to every single whim some of my more eccentric guests might have. So I ask Clint, can’t we just run away and get married with just us and immediate family?!!

                                           My gorgeous ring! 

I can see he is trying to be ok with that, because he wants to make me happy. But I know he would like to have a semi-traditional wedding. So I decide to grow a backbone. I am going to get married and have a modest ceremony. And I will probably have to invite a few guests I don’t know. But I will be the one making the decisions and if anyone has any problems with that, I will show them where they can sign on the bill, because Clinton and I are paying for this ourselves. So if you don’t like how we are spending our hard earned money, feel free to contribute your money to whatever detail doesn’t meet your standards.

I realize I might sound a bit pyscho. Like put that lady in a padded room and that her throw a fit. But I finally had enough and I am going to put a stop to the foolishness.  And I promptly started this new attitude by going and trying on dresses by myself (this was mainly because where I was going was not convenient to anyone else on that day). But I found a dress that I truly loved and at a price I loved even more. And I got a chance to enjoy it before I shared it with a few people. And even if they had some critiques it didn’t matter because this is my dress. I realized that if I listened to every single person’s critique I would never find a dress I like. So I just have to hope that the dress I pick is able to appeal to the majority.

I will have to say, the members of my bridal party (and Kip) did keep me from purchasing some dresses that could only qualify as a hot messes. Because in addition to being unable to say no to opinionated acquaintances, I am also unable to say no to pushy sales people who stuff me in whatever dress they think they can sucker me into buying.  “Oh no that dress is top of the line. I know it looks like a nine year old went crazy with a bedazzler and some glitter glue, but it is just so hot.” You know if I wanted my dress to look like a creation by an elementary school student, I would probably just go pick out a dress at the local thrift store and drop it off at the elementary school down the street from my house.  But I still had a hard time turning the sales woman down. What is wrong with me?? I need to learn the word no.

But all that aside, I have found the dress that I can see myself getting married in. It doesn’t break the bank. And it is traditional enough to keep Clinton happy.  Even though he told me I could spend as much as I need on the dress, I can tell he is pleased that I kept it to a reasonable amount. Maybe we can use the extra money to purchase my basset hound………

Basset Hounds, Tongs, and bluntcard oh my!

Christmas still makes me so excited that I have trouble sleeping on Christmas eve. I also tend to wake up at some ridiculous hour on Christmas day so that I can be sure to encourage Clinton to participate in the enjoyment of Christmas with me.

This year was no exception as I was wide awake at 445 am and bouncing on the bed. I used my eager energy to run a brisk eight miles before arriving back to finally waken the sleeping beast. Clinton of course realizes that he is no match for me on Christmas and rolls out of bed without much fight. He shows what he considers an acceptable level of excitement in that he acknowledges the fact that it is Christmas morning and the fact that it is early.  He wants a shower and breakfast and then we can get the show on the road.

It nearly kills me though waiting for him to get ready. This man has never heard of a five minute shower. He could easily spend thirty minutes in the shower actively cleaning himself because he is so meticulous. He is very through and uses half a bottle of soap each time. We buy our soap in bulk at Costco and on the bottle it says “use quarter sized amount, should last for 75 uses.” However after three weeks we are out of soap again. So I am going to start monitoring his soap usage and become a soap Nazi. If he can’t make do with one quarter sized allotment of soap at a time then tough. I am tired of being in the middle of a shower and realizing we don’t have any soap, even though we just bought some two weeks ago. Clint likes to be clean. In fact if he could dip himself in a vat of sanitizing liquid he would. And I would have no objection to installing a giant sanitary vat in our bathroom if it meant I got more hot water and longer showers myself.

After Clinton finally exits the shower he decides he has to shave in order to be presentable. Here comes painstakingly slow routine number two of the morning. Clinton insists that if he shaves to fast he will cut himself and die. I insist he is being dramatic and shave slowly because he has a meticulous pattern he follows and wants to make sure that he does not miss any stubble.

Finally his bathroom routine is done and it is present time. I would prefer to tear through my gifts like a ravenous wolf but Clinton thinks It is more civilized to take turns. So we painstaking take turns. And as I work my way through my gifts. I got a lot of lovely presents. And although Clinton refused to buy me “Humphrey” my basset hound. My sister did buy me a basset hound charm. And that charm is proudly displayed on my charm bracelet. I show it off to anyone that happens to be near me. Most people give me a puzzled look as to why in the world I would be so excited over a charm shaped like a basset hound. But it’s ok. They just don’t realize the beauty that is a basset.  But my favorite present of all was a set of tongs to use in the kitchen. I will not be just reserving these tongs for the kitchen though. They will become my personal number one Clinton annoyer. I will be amused for hours on end thinking of ways to annoy Clinton with these.

I also got this marvelous collection of postcards for Christmas that are known as bluntcards. Now if you have never had a chance to check these suckers out.  You need to go Google them right now. I have spent copious amounts of time clicking through all the different bluntcards that are out there on the internet. And let me tell you, each one is funnier than the last.

There is one particular bluntcard that I received that I will be photocopying so I can use it over and over. It says: “I am sorry you are feeling like such a pussy.”  I will be reserving that card for every hypochondriac I know. And for every person that whines to me. I hate whiners. I am sorry you stubbed your toe and it hurts. But I am pretty sure it is not going to fall off. Though if it does be sure to call me because it would be cool to see that. I am sorry you are nauseous and feel the need to discuss everything that you just regurgitated but let me remind you, you are the one who wanted to get pregnant so don’t expect sympathy over here. If you managed to get pregnant without realizing all the wonderful things that are going to happen to your body then you deserve a major kudos because this is the 21st century and the internet is everywhere and it is full of facts. I also would like to know how the people on “I didn’t know I was pregnant” managed to carry a fetus for nine months without every the slightest idea they were knocked up.  And for my last sick rant, if you get a head cold, it does not mean you are dying of tuberculosis.  I don’t want to listen to your cough. It sounds no different than anyone else’s cough with a cold.

So I would say all in all I got some pretty useful presents this Christmas. And Clinton even got me an electric mixer so my days of mixing everything with a spoon by hand are over. Looks like I am finally moving on up in the world. Good-bye pioneer days with nothing but a wooden spoon and bowl. Hello 21st century with electric mixer and cooking appliances.

Let there be light!

I love tacky Christmas lights. I love them a lot.  If I could cover my whole house and yard with Christmas lights I would. However there are several problems that prevent me from being able to accomplish this. The biggest problem is overcoming Clinton’s objections. He does not see buying Christmas lights and paying for the electricity to use them as the best use of our money. Something about paying for enough electricity to power our house for a year. Personally I just think he is being over dramatic. You only light up the displays at night. So at most that is only 12 hours a day, and that is only for one month. I think he just doesn’t want to be involved in the labor of getting the lights strung up. I am pretty sure I can hear him mumbling something about how being stuck up on a ladder for 8 hours is a surefire way for me to collect on that life insurance payout.

You see it is not enough just to throw some lights on your bushes and trees and call it a day. Oh no you have to actually come up with a design and theme to your light display.  And you need to cover every square inch of you house and  yard. Every visible inch needs to be flashing, blinking or lighting up with Christmas cheer. And don’t think you can scrape by with just doing the front of your house and ignoring the sides. The sides are some prime real estate.  There is also pressure to do it bigger and better then the year before. All this pressure can

In case you were wondering this is how we celebrate Christmas in my neck of the woods.

Your neighbors also contribute to the Christmas light debacle. Because if your neighbors do a big elaborate display, you do not want to be outdone. There is competition and no one likes to lose. And if you don’t decorate at all you look like a Grinch. And no one wants to be known as the Grinch. None of these arguments work on Clinton though. He would rather be known as a Grinch then have an electric bill with three zeros. So in the meantime I have to be content to gawk at other people’s fabulous display and going to target to caress all the many light displays I am not allowed to buy.

This makes me almost as sad as not being able to get my basset hound. I would love to cover every inch of my house and yard in tacky blinking, flashing and mutli-color lights. But sadly Clinton does not view this as the best way to show holiday cheer.