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Saturday, November 19, 2005

Toilet Humor

Last weekend was busy, this weekend we are going into the city to an art exhibit of dead people (BELIEVE ME, I WILL BE DISCUSSING THAT LATER!) But back to the busy Weekend:

We hung this sign

and fixed this toilet

That is right, I helped fix the toilet. I TOUCHED the toilet people! With my bare hands. I reached right in and fiddled with it and fixed it. Well, we fixed it. It took one and a half hours and we were on the brink of divorce at several points, but we did it.

The fights started in the toilet-part aisle of Home Depot (hereinafter "the evil empire"). Anyone who ownes a home has been through the 4 stages of Home Depot. First is excitement, then comes dependence, then comes hatred, and finally, acceptance. We are finishing up the hatred phase now. We have grown to hate going to home depot. The very nature of a store that you need to go to every. single. damn. weekend. can drive you insane. But I digress.


First we argued over what might be wrong with the toilet. The argument was irrelevant because neither of us knew what was wrong with the toilet, or how to fix it, or what parts would be necessary even if we could pinpoint the problem. Finally, a sales person told us that we needed a $2 flapper. Which we bought.

Then we bought the stuff necessary to hang the sign. Another fight errupted over the need to purchase a level. I (normally very frugal when it comes to stuff I think we don't "need") felt the level was necessary to hang the picture. He (will spend every dime in his possession on the most irrelevant and frivilous things, like ugly leather flip flops he will never wear and never return but cost $50) did not want to purchase a level. It was at this point where it became apparent to me that he did not know how the level really worked or what exact role the level would play in the hanging of the picture. I explained it to him, he (now understanding) agreed with me. Crisis averted.

The next fight ensued when we started to put the brace brackets on the back of the picture and I, using the level, lost my patience with him when I realized that he didn't understand what I wanted him to do and snapped at him. He then lost his patience with me. I told him he was being too sensitive, he told me that I was being mean...and let's just say it degenerated from there.

We regained composure and maintained a tense detente throughout the drill usage, which I explained to him in a patient way through gritted teeth, and to which he listened patiently, through gritted teeth.

When the sign was hung, we adjourned to the deck for a drink of soda and a post fight discussion. The fight was dissected and it was determined that he feels a little insecure at my Bob Villa-like prowess and I am a little offended that it bothers him that his wife is better with power tools than he is. There were several I am sorry's on both sides, alot of hugging and some kisses.


We had such a good talk that we decided to fix the toilet. Dinner plans be damned...this will just take 5 minutes. Well we fixed the flapper, and in the process somehow broke another part of the toilet. After an hour of fiddling and tinkering, and running upstairs to the second floor bathroom to study the working toilet, we determined what the problem was and fixed it.

I have to say, the feeling of fixing something yourself, of figuring it out on your own, with just a pocket knife and your wits...TOTALLY GREAT! I think this whole figuring out how to fix the toilet only serves to further prove the already foregone conclusion that my husband and I could kick ass on Survivor. Once you have faced a toilet, facing Boston Rob is nothing.

Plus, I have almost been able to block out that my bare hand was in the toilet tank. Ewwwwww...

"what's that you ask?...What did we do this weekend?...Oh, well we had a plumbing issue that we had to figure out and fix...oh, it was, no, we don't have any training, just kind of figured it out on instinct" That's just how we roll.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Getting the Smackdown at Work

I'm new to the wife thing. I have the basics down, it's really now just a matter of perfecting the nuances. Frankly, I find myself in circumstances that I could not have predicted and am not entirely prepared for. I just feel my way through, and learn as I go. For instance:

My husband called me at work to let me know that the head of his office had invited some of the guys to play a pickup game of basketball. My husband is extremely athletic and is therefore, very good at basketball. He is going because he loves to play any team game known to man. LOVES. IT. I thought it was good for him to go because it never hurts to hang out with the boss...but my husband has never been what you would call a "networker". (Which is actually part of his charm, he is one of those guys everyone just in "oh, your husband is so nice, we just love him!"-every secretary, lawclerk, coworker he has ever had)(And, yes, it gets annoying). But I digress.

So he went, and when he got home, he had a black eye. Apparently not everyone played nice, and he got a vicious elbow under the boards. I was horrified. He, oddly, seemed almost proud of it. He then proceeded to tell me all about the game, black eye not playing a remotely prominent or exciting role in the evening. He ended up guarding his boss, and played hard, but not too hard. Made a few good plays, and then layed off. Again, this is the nature of my husband, it has nothing to do with the guy being his boss. He could probably outplay most of his friends, but never does. He just likes to be out there and have a good time, never lets the competition get out of hand.

After he finishes telling me all about it, I realized I am faced with a situation here, and I don't really know what to do. Someone has played too rough and my husband now looks like Rocky on a bad day (and Thanksgiving is coming up for the love of God!)

Me: Who gave you the black eye?

Him: This guy at work.

Me: Did anyone say anything? Did this guy say he was sorry?

Him: It happened during play, I don't think the guy noticed. Why?

Me: What is the guy's name?

Him: Why?

Me: I am going to call his wife and tell her what he did. He shouldn't be allowed to play that rough.

Him: We need to have kids soon so we can refocus your attention...

Me: Seriously, I know. (long pause) So what's his name?

Tuesday, November 15, 2005


You know the Monday night football theme song "Are you ready for some footballlllll?!?" Simply put, no. I am not ready for some football. Sure, there are times when I enjoy laying on the couch and dozing off while my husband intently watches the game. I mean, I AM American aren't I?

But here's the deal. The Monday night games?...yeah, not so much. The thing is, Monday is the work week. A whole different mode. I'm tired, and I have a whole week ahead of me until the next weekend. Monday night is not conducive to getting yourself all worked up over a game of any kind, let alone football. On Monday, you can't be bothered with the inconsequence of some sporting event...there are marketing reports to present, motions to write and argue, the work week is shaping up stressful people. Mondays are not for fun and games.

Now Sunday...? Sunday lends itself to a lazy afternoon in front of the TV with friends and beers and some type of wing/nacho/pizza combination. You're relaxed on Sunday. Nothing pressing to do, no where to be. Just a bunch of friends rooting for their favorite team, enjoying sport and eachother's company on a lovely relaxing afternoon.

But getting back to Monday. The whole Monday Night Game is an example of poor planning. I mean, the game goes past midnight for the love of everything holy. And so in homes all over the east coast happy couples are having the following encounter:

me: (sleeping quietly) ZZZZZZZZZ....ZZZZZ....ZZZZZZ

him: (watching the game on low volume so as not to wake his beautiful new wife who has to get to work early tomorrow).....

me: zzzzzzz...zzzz....zzzzzzz

The Philadelphia Eagles: Doing something in the last 2 minutes to blow some type of lead. (I'm a little hazy on this since I was, you know...SLEEPING!)

him: (yelling) WHAT THE...? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? SON OF A B...!

me: (shooting straight out of bed, startled)...Who? What? What? Are you ok?


Then, when my heart stops beating furiously from being woken from a sound sleep by yelling, I can't get back to sleep until well past 2 am.

NOTE TO NFL Executives: For the good of all newlyweds, let's stick to Sundays boys...ok?

Friday, November 11, 2005


I previously posted that my husband has a great job and that I am secretly jealous of him. We are both lawyers, but his job is WAY more fun than mine. Also, he gets WAY more days off than me. He knows this irks me and so he doesn't ever rub it in or talk about it really. Which is fine, nice even. But here's the thing. He knows I get annoyed when he has stupid days off, like the aforementioned ELECTION DAY. I mean, who gets election day off?!? So he waits to tell me until the last possible second...which is normally the night before his day off.

Behold our conversation this morning as we get ready for work:

me: Why are you wearing Khakis and a buttondown? (he normally has to wear a conservative suit with a white shirt and tie.)

him: I felt like going casual today.

me: Why are wearing Khakis and a buttondown? (repeated in exactly the same manner so that he understands I do not buy this for even a second)

him: Well...

me: Do you have today off?

him: I am going to work today but...(trailing off)

me: But what?

him: It's Veteran's Day.

me: And you were going to tell me this when?

him: The office is closed...But I'm going in, so it isn't really a day off.


him: This is why I don't like to tell you...

The kid has a point, but can you believe it? TWO DAYS OFF THIS WEEK!

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Sweating out Election Day

Anyone who knows my husband and I will probably think this post is about how the two of us held our breath on election day, praying that the good and wholesome Democrats swept the evil, arrogant Republicans. And while that is true (and the democrats did sweep the republicans), this post is about so much more than that.

It is about the fact that my dear, sweat husband had election day off. And I did not. It is true. The man of my dreams has the job of my dreams. He gets every holiday known to man off. And sadly, I get only Yom Kippur off, which is really irrelevant to me because I am Catholic. But alas, this post is not really about the fact that he has a much better job than I do. This post is about my husband's day off. So let me get to it.

A year ago, we bought a beautiful, quaint, historic home in a beautiful, quaint, historic town. It was beautiful, quaint and wonderfully historic. Life was good. For about 24 hours that is. Then we got to work because what was once beautiful, quaint and historic when it belonged to Trudy Trude, was now old, poorly maintained and a death trap upon transfer and sale to us.

We worked every weekend, weeknights after work, any free moment.

(in case you were confused, the pictures go chronological from top to bottom/start to finish)

Then we got married, he carried me over the threshold and life was beautiful and quaint again for a while. But after the wedding haze, we realized you will never be done working on a 100+ year old house. So slowly but surely we are getting back into it. We focus on tasks to be completed like, repaint the master bathroom, change the cabinet hardware, redo the second floor office...Oh, and cleaning out the stuff under our porch that we can't see and I didn't even know was there but somehow it has become the sole focus of my husband's very being for reasons I do not know...

That's right. With everything that we have to do, my husband has become obsessed over cleaning out underneath the porch. (Not so obsessed that he doesn't futz around all weekend raking leaves that are still falling, or making the "world's best coffee" or testing our smoke detectors 4 times...FOUR TIMES PEOPLE!) But nonetheless, he is a man obsessed. And so at 11 pm on Monday night he tells me that he is going to use his precious day off to clean out under the porch, where no one can see, and which no one but him cares about. And I love this man, so I say "ok". But secretly, while at work, I am a little aggravated because I know there is so much else to do.

True to his word, he cleans out under the porch. He spends the entire day laboring under a disgusting spider filled and apparently junk and rock filled porch. He pulls no less than 100lbs of stone, cement and mortar out from under there. He cleans up all the papers, old cans, rusted gutter parts and soda bottles. He sweats and crouches and toils for over 6 hours, and when he is done, he is happy. And in an amazing coincidence, I am walking up to the house just as he finishes the job. He is smiling. He is proudly standing on the porch waiting for me to praise him. Which I do. I praise him, but all the while I am thinking "who cares about underneath the porch".

And he knows that I don't care. He senses it. Knows he could have been doing a million other things that would have made a bigger difference to the house. But he was a man possessed. So I played along. I say "WOW babe, great. Thanks" etc.

And then he looks a little hurt and tell me that our neighbors were asking why he was doing that...what was the point? Telling him that they hadn't cleaned under the porch in 30 years, maybe never done it at all. "You shouldn't waste your time" they said. Clearly it had upset him.

It is at that moment when I want to march over to the neighbors and rip them in half for bursting his bubble, for not letting him bask in the glow of something that although ridiculous, makes him happy. GOD DAMMIT! And as I start to turn to go over there, the hurt look passes and he smiles again and says "want to see all the stuff that I found under there?" So he shows me a huge pile of crap that is now conspicuously out in the open as opposed to hidden beneath the porch. But I am not mad, because this pile of crap makes my goofy husband proud for some reason, so I just praise him some more and think how lucky I am to have married this weirdo.

Talk to me in two weeks when the pile of crap is still there...I will surely be singing a different tune.

Monday, November 07, 2005

A Little Slice Of Americana

Fall in my neighborhood is so beautiful. We have been in the house now for a year, and I still can't get used to the Norman Rockwell-ness of it all...

I also can't get over the amount of work it takes to clean up all these leaves...our yard was spotless after 4 hours of work on Saturday...and then looked like that on Sunday when we woke up...