Yeah yeah yeah... I realize how much of a hypocrite this makes me sound like, but I have reason to believe my husband, Clark, has a secret blog. About ME!
Just now, we were lying in bed and Mr. Clark had the gall to say something about "would you like it if I shared that on a blog?" and of course he got that guilty "I really do have a secret blog" face. Which tells me he MIGHT HAVE ONE! Then, when I pushed the issue he got an even more guilty face and insisted that he's a "terrible liar" and I "would know if [he] had a secret wife blog." But his sheer denial, and refusal to discuss the matter and/or prove me mistaken has me concerned.
Ladies. This ain't ok.
For Nancy (yours truly) to write about Clark, is one thing. Because I, Nancy, am always right. I win the Head of Household competitions all the time, am a kick-ass-fuckin-cook and am pretty good at Jeopardy. Clark, on the other hand..... nope.
Maybe I'm just fired up, but I think we have something to be worried about here. I fear there may be entires floating around out there about the time I drank too much wine and tried to seduce Clark who did NOT have as much wine. Or the time I threw a fit about not having any olive oil left and needing to use vegetable oil. Or the time I demanded we have children because I'm getting "old" (and was denied) asap.
I beg you to search the interwebs. If you find a husband blog written about his supposedly crazy wife, let me know.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The Magic Oven Drawer
It’s not every day that Clark cooks dinner for me. Not that he can’t, but cooking is something I really enjoy doing so usually I cook and Clark cleans – it works out wonderfully!
Not so long ago, we moved into a new house. It’s a pretty small house, but bigger than our apartment was so it’s a win overall. However, one major flaw in the house is the proximity of the stove to the smoke detector. Without fail, the smoke detector goes off at least once a day. On the bright side, at least we know if there’s ever a fire in our house we will be safe; on the down side, we’re all going slightly deaf and considering throwing the damn thing out (which would then make it all very un-safe).
Finally, we decided that we should run a cleaning cycle on the stove to get rid of cooked on crud; hopefully eliminating the excessive smoke that plumes from the oven on a nightly basis. While we were preparing the oven (removing pans, etc.) Clark asked me how the drawer will get clean.
“What drawer, honey?”
“The drawer that we broil things in.”
“Oh, you mean the broiler pan… we can’t leave it in, we’ll use a Brillo pad.”
“No, the other drawer, the one underneath the oven.”
At that point I look at the stove, excited to find out we have a hidden warming drawer that I didn’t know about before. Searching for one, I get disappointed. All we have is the storage drawer that we keep extra baking sheets in.
“I don’t know honey… maybe that was a stove in different apartment.”
At which point Clark opens the storage drawer and says “no THIS broiler drawer! This is where I tried to cook something, but it didn’t get hot enough so you took over. Don’t you remember that night?”
Being a bossy pants, I try and take over every time Clark cooks, so unfortunately I couldn’t recall that particular evening. Frazzled I racked my brain and asked what we had that night. To which Clark replied “I was trying to cook meat but maybe I forgot to tell you that, so you made pasta.”
“Honey……….. what ever happened to what you were trying to cook in here?”
“Um…………. Oh…. Whoops.”
Our entire oven, storage drawer and all received a thorough cleaning that night.
Monday, December 13, 2010
An Apology
Dear Readers,
We're sorry.
Really, we are. We didn't abandon you. In fact, nearly daily Debbie and I would chat about how we "Really need to write" but you see, it was nearly impossibly and here is why:
We confessed. We told our husbands about Ugh. and all of a sudden, it lost its luster. It was like we finally confessed to them that we had been sleeping with the pool boy and all they said was "hey, that's pretty cool." It didn't feel dirty anymore, and so we just kind of retreated. It's like... what fun is naughty underwear if all your husband really prefers is Hanes cotton with a high waist?
Murderous rage took over. Shortly after confessing to our husbands a funny thing happened: we wanted to kill them (Dear FBI/law enforcement - this is a joke. Please don't arrest us. Our husbands are finneeee). Everything that Clark and Hans did reinforced the belief that all women should move to a deserted island and men should only be imported once a year for breeding purposes only. It went like this: Husband did something stupid, wife threatened his balls, husband did another stupid thing, wife threatened divorce, husband chuckled and walked away to play video games. For both of us. You'd think that this would have given us some great fodder for posts, but in fact, we were so enraged that we couldn't write for fear that if we wrote, each post would look something like this: thatfuckingdouchebagbetterwatchhisballstonight.
We moved/Celebrated birthdays. Clark and I moved. That was a project. Debbie and Hans celebrated Gigi's first birthday, which was also a project (maybe Debbie can share the cupcake story, eh?). We were busy. You were forgotten.
We decided not to kill our husbands. Debbie and Hans got a professional organizer who has dramatically changed their life together. Clark and I are getting on just swimmingly in our new home. Again, nothing to really post about because they'd all go something like this: Husband took the garbage out, I made dinner, the end.
So... here we are. Back. Hoping that you may forgive us, and hoping our loving, charming, sweet husbands may give us some good ammunition this holiday season to use against them and entertain you all. :)
Much love,
xoxo,
Nanc and Deb
We're sorry.
Really, we are. We didn't abandon you. In fact, nearly daily Debbie and I would chat about how we "Really need to write" but you see, it was nearly impossibly and here is why:
We confessed. We told our husbands about Ugh. and all of a sudden, it lost its luster. It was like we finally confessed to them that we had been sleeping with the pool boy and all they said was "hey, that's pretty cool." It didn't feel dirty anymore, and so we just kind of retreated. It's like... what fun is naughty underwear if all your husband really prefers is Hanes cotton with a high waist?
Murderous rage took over. Shortly after confessing to our husbands a funny thing happened: we wanted to kill them (Dear FBI/law enforcement - this is a joke. Please don't arrest us. Our husbands are finneeee). Everything that Clark and Hans did reinforced the belief that all women should move to a deserted island and men should only be imported once a year for breeding purposes only. It went like this: Husband did something stupid, wife threatened his balls, husband did another stupid thing, wife threatened divorce, husband chuckled and walked away to play video games. For both of us. You'd think that this would have given us some great fodder for posts, but in fact, we were so enraged that we couldn't write for fear that if we wrote, each post would look something like this: thatfuckingdouchebagbetterwatchhisballstonight.
We moved/Celebrated birthdays. Clark and I moved. That was a project. Debbie and Hans celebrated Gigi's first birthday, which was also a project (maybe Debbie can share the cupcake story, eh?). We were busy. You were forgotten.
We decided not to kill our husbands. Debbie and Hans got a professional organizer who has dramatically changed their life together. Clark and I are getting on just swimmingly in our new home. Again, nothing to really post about because they'd all go something like this: Husband took the garbage out, I made dinner, the end.
So... here we are. Back. Hoping that you may forgive us, and hoping our loving, charming, sweet husbands may give us some good ammunition this holiday season to use against them and entertain you all. :)
Much love,
xoxo,
Nanc and Deb
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Facebook is Down… We are Through!!
Be forewarned, there is an unnecessarily long text/bbm exchange below that was pared down some, but difficult to alter too much without losing how fricken insane I am/was. Whatever… I have no problem admitting my mental defects :)
Last week, the ever popular social networking site, Facebook, went crashing to the ground. Many profiles were temporarily disabled; Clark’s being one of them. However, before this happened there was a series of other events…
I noticed that our cat, Kip, had become friends with Kralc on Facebook (yeah yeah, the pets are on it). Kralc? That’s a weird name. Clicking on Kralc’s profile, I noticed his primary photo was a hand, looking like Clark’s, holding a cup of coffee… our cups! What?! Who was this Kralc who has broken into my house, kidnapped my cat, and taken a photo of his hand?! Who WAS HE?! Oh… Kralc. That’s Clark backwards! Wait, what? Being a nosey Nellie, I poked around a bit and came across Kralc’s news feed, which told me he had just become a high rolling member of FrontierVille, or something stupid like that. Um…….. really?
Last week, the ever popular social networking site, Facebook, went crashing to the ground. Many profiles were temporarily disabled; Clark’s being one of them. However, before this happened there was a series of other events…
I noticed that our cat, Kip, had become friends with Kralc on Facebook (yeah yeah, the pets are on it). Kralc? That’s a weird name. Clicking on Kralc’s profile, I noticed his primary photo was a hand, looking like Clark’s, holding a cup of coffee… our cups! What?! Who was this Kralc who has broken into my house, kidnapped my cat, and taken a photo of his hand?! Who WAS HE?! Oh… Kralc. That’s Clark backwards! Wait, what? Being a nosey Nellie, I poked around a bit and came across Kralc’s news feed, which told me he had just become a high rolling member of FrontierVille, or something stupid like that. Um…….. really?
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