My Husband has a Secret Blog

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.

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?

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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...