Archives for category: hubby

The other day I asked Brian if he would have a picture of our sweet little Lexi drawn for me when I got home. He never asked why I wanted this and he didn’t need to. I had no reason. I just felt compelled to ask for a drawing of my hippo-faced dog.

Here’s the result:

I was impressed.  Super impressed actually! The more I look at it though the more it looks like she’s a criminal on the loose being searched for. Is it just me or does this look like a police sketch of some suspected murderer or something?

Then I got to thinking, if Lexi were a criminal, what would she be wanted for? The most obvious one that comes to mind is hamburglary. She would be the canine equivalent to the Hamburglar. Her problem is she looks more like Grimace.

This post really has nothing to do with anything. This is what happens when you don’t sleep well the night before and you wake up with a clogged-full-of-wax right ear. My apologies if you’ve actually made it this far…

Oh this room…

Can you even call it a room when it’s just a glorified storage closet?

This is the next area in my house that’s being tackled. Not that the whole house isn’t a mish-mash of colors and patterns and random stuff here and there, but this room is particularly bad.

Between an OU dog bed, pink stuffed hippos and stemmed crystal candle holders this room is just a mess. A big mess.

I have a vision though.

And this functionless, mustardy storage closet will soon be home to a man cave. A small man cave, but a man cave nonetheless.

Now before you think, “Hey Angela–that’s really nice of you! You are a super cool wife and your husband is so lucky to have you!” this is all really out of selfishness. Don’t get me wrong, I am a super cool wife and am also SUPER nice, but I want my own tv. So I can watch DVR’d shows or do The Shred without him needing the tv to play his precious PlayStation 3 or to watch really bad SyFy movies.

So I will keep you updated on the progress.  I hope to have cut the mustard, the mustard wall color that is, and have it painted next week sometime. Baby steps people, baby steps.

Wish me luck!

Friday night I hopped on the treadmill as I do every night because I’m super healthy and in super shape! I just mentally block out all of the chocolate chip cookies and pizza I ate this weekend. And also the lack of movement that took place.

After I got off the treadmill I walk out and can’t find my husband anywhere but I hear this unusual noise coming from our room. Turns out this unusual noise I was hearing was our vacuum. You can understand my confusion because that noise is rarely heard in my house, let alone when said noise is attached to my husband somehow.

He was being the wonderful husband he always is and was vacuuming to help me out with the cleaning. Isn’t he just the best?

Here’s where the problem comes in. I have a mild case of OCD. It comes and goes and only flares up in certain instances. Unfortunately it chose to rear its ugly head while Brian was vacuuming.

I actually told him to not worry about vacuuming and that I would do it. Not because I was being sweet but because my OCD inhabited brain was thinking, “He’s not going to do it right.” “What if he misses a spot that I always get to?” “He won’t remember to do this part of the house.” Why…WHy…WHY brain, why?

A man was vacuuming and I put an end to it.

This has to be a sign of the Apocalypse.

I love, love, LOVE punching my husband. It’s a daily occurrence in our house that I punch him at least once a day.

Now, don’t get me wrong, my hands are the size of a two-year olds and I only punch his arm. So basically it’s like a toddler is gently poking him. I think he secretly loves it, except for that rare occasion that I actually connect and hurt him. Those are the times I love it most!

This weekend I may have gone a little far. We were wrestling–yes really wrestling–and I went to poke him in the clavicle (Ladies this is a GREAT defense move if you ever need it) and my nail, which happened to be more like a talon at the time, GRAZED his neck. Barely touched him.

I made him bleed.

And now he has a scratch there and every time I look at it I laugh. Hysterically. I did trim my nails to get rid of the evidence.

Just know that if this post happens to be deleted it means he’s pressing charges.

Last weekend Brian went on a last-minute ski trip to New Mexico with his friend Eric. Lauren, Eric’s wife, and I were stuck in Oklahoma to have a girl’s weekend. Ugh-what are two girls to do with their husbands out-of-town? Eat and watch HGTV of course!

But this post isn’t about eating or food. How do I always manage to turn everything into food and eating?

Back to the topic at hand…

While Brian was enjoying this view

he was also missing me terribly.

He was missing me so much in fact, that he thought of me in a gas station on the way home and got me a present I’ll treasure forever.

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

BOOM!

A child-size t-shirt of a mystical, white horse. If that doesn’t scream New Mexico, I don’t know what does! And child-size? My husband is adorable isn’t he?

This shirt to me is very reminiscent of the infamous Three Wolf Moon shirt from Amazon. Am I right? But this one has lightning which makes it infinitely times more cool than the Three Wolf Moon shirt.

I’m going to wear this sucker until holes are bore into it. Finally a t-shirt I can wear to nice events like weddings and work parties. Thanks honey you really out-did yourself this time!

So get this, my husband and I were having a nice little evening last night. We caught up on Fact or Faked (which has now made me question the moon landing. Nice try Neil Armstrong, nice try.) and then watched The Sing Off. My husband absolutely loves a cappella. He would be in a group if someone let him. Granted he’s never sang in public before or had voice lessons or sang in a choir or anything but I’m sure some group would let him in. Are you listening Straight No Chaser??

That show is so fun and it constantly gets songs stuck in your head. Well, Monday night’s show had a group singing Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance.” I had it stuck in my head and so I was singing and dancing. Doing a wonderful job if I do say so myself. I was mimicking them singing and dancing, or at least that’s what I thought I was doing. My husband stopped me after about two seconds.

Him: “What are you doing?”

Me: “What does it look like? Dancing of course.”

Him: “You look like a robotic dinosaur.”

Me: “Whatever! You just don’t know what I’m trying to mimic.”

Him: “Well it looks like you’re trying to mimic a robotic tyrannosaurus rex.”

Well if I’m trying to mimic a robotic tyrannosaurus rex then he must be one heck of a dancer. I still haven’t heard the end of it. That’s why I put laxatives in his dinner last night and he’s home in bed.

BOOM! ROASTED!

The “it” in this case is furniture.  As you are well aware if you ever buy anything from IKEA it inevitably has to be put together.

We bought a buffet (or a sideboard or a place to hide all my junk mail and pens and just junk in general) and obviously it had to be put together.

The dogs were useless, which is nothing new.  The whole not having thumbs was their excuse this time.

[Again these pictures are on my cell phone and again I’m not sorry about it.]

I wouldn’t trust a dog who consistently wraps her head around table legs anyway.

And this one…this one was a great manager. She’d come in and check on our progress every so often and then go lay back down and sleep for an hour. Sounds like a typical manager to me!

The construction process always begins so innocently…

“Eh, a few pieces. This should take an hour-tops.”

Then you open the accessory bag.

Welcome to my nightmare. (Hi toes!) Well, technically it’s not my nightmare, it’s my husband’s nightmare. He won’t really let me help him since I’m so accident prone. Case in point-I somehow got a really bad papercut during this whole process.

I don’t think there’s anything manlier than a man holding a drill.

That “hour-tops” turned in to about three hours. The doors just weren’t cooperating and I had to keep my husband calm otherwise the buffet may have ended up in a thousand pieces. 

TA-DA! Finished product. I can’t wait to hide stuff in the doors AND to have the top of it covered in junk mail. 

I give it two months before it starts to fall apart. Tops.

My husband is a, how do I put this delicately, a weirdo.

He has this huge hang-up that if my head or any of my body parts touches his precious pillow he will throw a fit.

So you know what that means, right?

Every time he does something to irritate me I run into the bedroom and rub my head all over his pillow. (Or I at least threaten to do it.)

Here’s the thing people, it wouldn’t be a big deal to me except (and this is a BIG except) he lets the brown dog cozy up to his pillow. The same brown dog that licks herself, sheds, and has dirt in her fur.

Ex-squeeze me?

How am I dirtier than a dog?

“Well she’s comfortable. I don’t want to bother her,” is his excuse.

I may be wrong, but I’m pretty positive I am cleaner than the dog.

Oh well, he’s got to leave the house sometime…

A conversation with my husband last night:

Me: Have you ever thought about what would happen if you went blind while you were in the middle of driving somewhere?

Him: I can say without a doubt that that thought has not once crossed my mind.

Me: Never? Not once have you been driving and you thought, ‘hmm I wonder if I went blind right now what would I do?’

Him: Never.

Me: I mean really though, what would you even do? Would you get a ticket if you caused a wreck? I’m pretty sure a police officer isn’t going to believe the whole ‘I was suddenly struck blind and can’t see’ defense.

Him: This is the most irrational fear ever.

Me: Really? You mean like a grown man being afraid of a little mouse?

Him: Really? Like you being scared to call anyone EVER?

Me: …

Him: …

Me: dangit.

Ok, I’m just going to say it: My husband dream cheated on me.

I woke up furious at him for absolutely no reason. I let him know of course. It’s unacceptable!

And the fact that he did it in my parent’s house.  While we were all there.  Sleeping. 

It’s just inexcusable. Oh he tried to play dumb this morning.  But I know. HE knows.  

And I won’t even tell you who he cheated on me with. He would be embarrassed (actually I would be the one embarrassed)

I just keep telling myself–“it’s just a dream. You can’t actually be mad at him…”

But I am.  And I think he owes me a.)an apology and b.)something nice from Ikea or Anthropologie.

My (dream) life is a rollercoaster. I’m just along for the ride.