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.

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

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?

I Would Give my Gallbladder for a New Droid 2

For almost a year, Hans has been looking forward to Monday, September 13th and I have heard about it at least once a day.  He has been planning for Monday September 13th, living for Monday September 13th, dreaming  of Monday September 13th. 

Monday, September 13th - D-Day: the day our Verizon contract could be renewed and he could get a Droid, aka Droid-Day.

Unfortunately for Hans, Monday, September 13th also ended up being G-Day, the day that I had to have my gallbladder removed.  We were up at 5 am, at the hospital by 6, in the gown by 6:30 and significantly drugged by 7. 

A Patient Man = A Lucky Wife

 

It's not too often that a fortune cookie is right. Now, had I got this one just a little bit sooner I probably would have heeded its' advice that time Clark told me I was a rabid beast. Anyway, I digress.

As you can see, I spend a lot of my time talking about how Clark drives me crazy, makes me want to move to a deserted island, pluck my eyelashes out and/or stick my ears in a blender. Maybe this is a bit extreme, but it's true... that's what I do. That's why this blog was created, to provide an outlet for wives to vent their feelings of frustration but also their feelings of happiness, appreciation and respect.

Oral Hygiene: Part II (But Who's Counting?)

Last week I was furiously cleaning the house (er, tiny apartment) in preparation of some friends coming to visit. Hooray, friends! I was through with the main living areas and, after poking my head into the bedroom, decided it could wait since, after all, it's not exactly where you entertain guests (unless we're that kind of couple who has those kinds of friends... which we're not). Just before our friends arrived, Clark decided to brush his teeth and floss, which as you know: I'm a really big fan of. I watched him walk into the bedroom with his floss pick, and then returned, fully dressed in "guest clothing" without a floss pick. Hmm... a mystery, indeed.

Marriage Vows say NOTHING about slush puppies

On July 4th Hans and I decided to take Gigi to a parade.  We had recently had a great time at the Memorial Day parade that ran the same route: a marching band, some uncoordinated majorettes, girls scouts and old dudes in cars, easy parking and in and out in 45 minutes!  I stupidly assumed the July 4th parade would be the same. BIG MISTAKE- HUGE.

The Elephant in the Room

The following is a guest post by the author/wife of My Husband is Crazy! If you missed her introduction, make sure you check it out! This is a good one!!!

After a long day at work, I just want to come home and relax a little. I never know what will be waiting for me on the other side of my front door. My crazy husband buys things all the time and hides them until he thinks its safe to show it to me. It is not like he buys little things. He has gotten into this fixation with life sized things. Tonight I came home, walked out on my back patio and saw this…

Guest Poster: My Husband Is Crazy

In an effort to introduce our guest posters, I have asked our first guest poster (hooray!!) to share a little intro with us. It was going to go before her post, but her post is so hilarious, and funny that I want you to get right to it. That said, please continue reading to meet our guest poster from My Husband is Crazy, and check back later this week for her post!! -N

My crazy husband Jason and I met on yahoo personals. It was true love, friendship, respect, trust and curiosity at first sight for both of us. We had our first date on a Thursday and our second date two days later. It was on the second date that he presented me with a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne and asked me to marry him. No joke. His actual words were "Where have you been for the last 10 years. I have been waiting and now you are here and I am not going to let any other guy have a chance to take you away from me. Marry me". Oddly enough, I pondered the proposal and shockingly said "Okay"! We eloped to Lake Tahoe 10 days later and have never regretted one of the craziest things either one of us had ever done.

When I Grow Up, I Want to be a Cougar

Allow me to preface this: this is not about my husband (hey, he gets a mention...!)

As a married woman, I can honestly say I rarely/never find other men attractive. I just don't. Why swoon over something you could never get anyway, when you can go home and get whatever you want, even if that is an ice cream sundae and a separate bedroom (I kid, of course). Well, last week I was doing my laps (I swim. You run. Nancy swims.) when out of the corner of my goggled-eye, I spotted the most magnificent creature ever created. I officially believe there is a God (hah), because I don't know how else a human like this would be created, certainly through nothing as gross as sex.

In One Beer - Cheese the Other

Last night while making dinner for Hans and Gigi (after coming home from work of course) I asked Hans (who was milling around in the kitchen enjoying a cold beer beverage) if he would please go to the basement and get me the bag of mozzarella cheese in the freezer, as I needed it for his dinner that I was lovingly preparing -for him by the way, did I mention that part?

"Are you serious?" he asked.

Please Stop Breathing... On Me.

If there is anything I care about in this world, it is good oral hygiene. I am a tooth-brushing fanatic who loves to floss and swish mouthwash. If my teeth get ever so yellow I experience a melt down, drive to CVS, and proceed to whiten my teeth for the next 14 days until they are unnaturally white and possibly fluorescent. For some, these kinds of obsessions result from a traumatic tooth experience as a child, but for me, it's just a neuroses that I cannot shake. I think I have always been like this - at least I cannot remember NOT being like this. My dentist even goes so far as to tell me to brush my teeth less. Yes, it is that bad. I suppose it could be worse...

Dishwasher - Half-Full or Half-Empty?

My New Communication Approach- Flow Charts

Earlier this week, I asked Hans to empty and fill the dishwasher while I put Gigi to sleep. As usual he told me he would "do it later."

I decided to choose my battles and let it go. I also decided that I would not remind Hans of his promise to "do it later," as I often do. Some may call this nagging, but I call it a necessity because Hans has hopeless ADD and literally forgets everything. It is not at all annoying. But reminding him gives him the out to say "Jeez, I am going to do it, stop nagging me," which leaves me with nary a leg to stand on!

Puke Puddles

The other day, I came home to a small puke puddle/hair ball on the floor, which officially marked our cats first hairball - all grown up! By the time Clark got home, it was all cleaned up, however it reminded me of a time when puke puddles were a thing of uh... frustration.

Our dog, Sassy, was pretty sick last spring. OK, not "sick" so much as "suffering from severe anxiety." You see, Clark had just returned home from overseas and then we got the brilliant idea to adopt a cat. Considering Sassy had only limited contact with cats, and had never met Clark, this was a pretty top-notch-genius idea. The end result was a sick/panic stricken dog who couldn't be calmed by any means. We tried, but the more we tried, the worse it got so finally we just let her be and knew she would come around.

...But Can Your Computer Cook Dinner?

As you may recall from my meltdown about eating at the table, I never played video games or watched TV as a child. As an adult I have discovered TV and love it, but I absolutely get tired of sitting in front of it and more often than not when "my show" is over, the TV goes off and I go about my business - whatever that may be.

Clark is the opposite.

My dear husband could play video games until his eyes rotted out of his head, and then wold insist on installing special braille keyboards, joysticks, controllers and the like, so that he could continue demolishing the online world of aliens and communists. He has logged so many hours playing video games that I think he may actually have some stock options associated with Xbox, Best Buy and possibly EA Games. When his duty station was changing he left his $2,000 gaming computer behind "because it crashed" and bought a new $1,000 one overseas which he told me was a real bargain and might need some upgrades (which is did not, has not and will not). The former works perfectly and is now residing at my parents house; the latter sits on my ottoman when not in use.

Out of Sight - Out of my Mind

Many thanks to my sister for reminding me to share one of the most classic Hans stories of all time.

Hans is a computer guy. He is also a hoarder, messer, leave things all over the place-er.

When we lived in our first apartment, we would go many rounds about the cords, hard drives and memory sticks that covered every surface of our house. The kitchen table, the counter, the coffee table, the sofa- literally everything.

One day, I handed Hans some computer thing that had been sitting on the kitchen table for over a week. I didn't know what it was all I knew was that I had seen it enough and it needed to go someplace else. I handed it to him and said,

"Please go put this away, right now."

The Million Dollar Idea

I am neurotic. Not "pull my hair out over misplaced socks" neurotic, but certainly "put the toilet paper on the right way and change it if it's wrong" neurotic.

It all started when I first started living alone in college. (If you ask my mother - please don't - she'll tell you this began long before college and is a serious problem but to that I say "pshaaa!") That year, living in solitude, I came to appreciate the beauty of complete control over organization, form and [lack of] clutter. The years of throwing out unnecessary stuff began around age 19 and have continued ever since... roughly 6 times a year I will purge closets, drawers, cabinets, shelves; the only thing I find more satisfying is a visit to my chiropractor followed by a nice cool glass of pinot grigio.

Psha, Who Needs AC?

As you may recall from The Rabid Wife Reforms post, Clark and I got into a little spat over leaving lights on. Well this recently came up again in reference to our electric bills. Hold on, let's back up a little...

We are on a budget. A tight one. Things that we mutually agreed on (to save some cash) include: turning lights off, unplugging un-used cell phone chargers, turning AC temperature up to 76/78 when we weren't home so it wouldn't be blasting and would only kick in in dire situations/heat waves... you get the idea. Last week our AC died and we were flippin' miserable. The pets were waning and we were just sticky and gross. It was the first day of this disaster that Clark told me I was a rabid beast and stormed out, all because I asked him to turn the light off.

Everything IN the Kitchen Sink.....or the Bathroom Sink

Hans is absolutely adamant that he does not make a mess at our house. He thinks I am the messy one, and while I am not a clean freak (although lately I have started to become one thanks to a cocktail of vitamins and going to sleep at 8 pm) I am not the messer, simply because I clean up after myself these days. Whenever I complain about how he leaves stuff everyplace and never throws anything away (but rather leaves it on the counter next to the trash can) the ONLY things Hans has to throw back at me, is that I hang my purse on doorknobs. It has been the ONLY thing he has consistently had to complain about my messiness for the past 7 years, whereas I have a list nearly as long as Santa's naughty and good lists combined.

The Table: A Lesson in Patience

Growing up, my brothers and I sat at the dinner table every night with my parents. This was not a choice it was a rule that was only broken on the very rare occasion that we had friends sleeping over or lots of family over for a holiday (and in the case of holiday parties we were still expected to sit at a table, just in another room...)

Now, as a twenty-something wife and "someday mother," I have come to appreciate the kitchen table and understand why this place was so important to my parents. In this world of non stop electronic humming - from phones, computers, TVs and video games - the table is the last place in the house where a family of two (or ten) can sit, talk, relax and do all of this while actually looking at each other (I didn't make this up, check out this post on the Integrated Mother). This rudimentary piece of furniture has the potential to rebuild the grounds for communication, love and family. It is a tool that no family should be without and all families should gather at at least once a day, if only for a cup of coffee.

So why on earth would I consider turning the table into my own personal bonfire?

The Rabid Wife Reforms

Over the course of our relationship, Clark has seen me at every point of the spectrum. Relaxed, neurotic, sad, happy, insane, clinically depressed, mildly psychotic... He takes all of these emotions/mental states in stride and has learned to deal with me much as my mother has learned to deal with me (ignore, ignore, pacify, ignore, ignore). Well, over the past few days we had a series of events that led up to Clark leaving the apartment and me telling him to "never ever come back!" So you don't worry about it, let's just cut to the chase and tell you: it has a happy ending.

Dress My Family Up in Corduroy

In honor of today being my husband's first day at a new job, I am going to share a memory of a time he made me laugh so hard I nearly peed my pants.

To tell the story properly, I must first share that when I was 26 my father passed away unexpectedly on Valentines Day- just a few short days before Hans had planned to ask him for permission to marry me. Hans loved my father nearly as much as I did. At his wake we knelt together to say our final goodbyes and Hans held his hand and asked him then for permission to marry me.

Reduce, Reuse, Re-Drive Me Crazy

I grew up poor. Not living in our station wagon poor (that is a serious matter, have you seen that commercial? double ugh)- but having hydrox instead of oreos, and never seeing a Q-tip until i got to college because they were an extravagance that didn't make it into the shopping cart.

Thus I grew up treating paper towels like gold. Towels that you use once and throw away? What a strange concept- then you need to buy more? Why not just use real towels and wash them when you are done? Like the pilgrims and the pioneers?

This is why my darling husband, Hans, and I have inherently different feelings about the proper use of a paper towel. I did not know about this or his intensely annoying paper towel habits until after we moved in together, and by that point it was too late, because i REALLY HATE MOVING- so i wasn't going to do it again.

Welcome, Please Wipe Your Feet... Wherever.

Here we go, ready to launch the next greatest outlet for frustrated wives in dire need of advice. So, how will I introduce myself? Let's see... I'm Nancy, first-time wife, dog-mom, not a real mother (yet), sleep deprived, gainfully employed and full time husband caretaker, house maintainer, bill payer, dog-poop-picker-upper, grocery shopper, laundry do-er and chef.

Things I really enjoy include: wine under $15 a bottle, a home cooked meal, undisrupted sleep, a clean home, a full tank of gas, crime TV (a la Criminal Minds, NOT Judge Judy) and highly caffeinated beverages.

Things I really do NOT enjoy include: knick knacks, clutter, dust, sticky surfaces, pet hair on everything and mismatched socks. And herein lies the reason we are here today...