Jiggle the Handle

What the World Needs Now…

2007-05-03T13:01:00.000-04:00

...is me. That’s right, me! Well, alright, I’ll condescend and say that “me” means “us.” I know, “Let me not to the marriage of two minds admit impediment” (Shakespeare). I’ve come to realize that, any time I say “me,” I mean “us.” I know better.

What’s funny is that the same goes for Janice. When someone says, “Hey do you want to do something this weekend?” she says, “Sure WE do!” As though I want to do anything…ever. Yet, there I am, a few days later, sitting at my in-laws’ house, and all I can think about is playing video games or sleeping in my favorite chair with my favorite foot stool. (I know there’s a word that sounds like Ottoman, as in the Ottoman Empire, but I can’t spell it.)

This is a lesson I’ve learned about marriage. When you’re single, women want you because you’re dangerous. That’s why my wife married me. But, as soon as you’re married, women want to change you. And, in the early years of marriage, you want to please your mate, so you concede. You may even enjoy it. Then, the next thing you know, you’re strapped to the hood of the car like a dead deer while this so-called “mate” is taking you to look at curtains. (Is there anything worse than curtain shopping?)

I love my wife. Few would doubt that. And, because of that love, somehow I always find myself doing stuff I don’t want to do. I know for a fact that my wife can’t complain that I make her do stuff she doesn’t want to do. I don’t make her do anything! In fact, I encourage the idea of doing nothing.

So, let me hear from you. Ladies, what have you made your man do lately that you knew he didn’t want to? Gentlemen, what have you done for your woman that you just can’t stand? Feel free to share and post under a fake name. I’ll never tell.

Chris

Betcha thought

2007-03-02T07:43:00.000-05:00

You'd never hear from us again. Well you aren't quite so lucky! Life in our household has been insanely busy and GOOD over the past 2 months. We are all exhausted completely, but look forward to sleeping one of these days, or weeks, or months.

For starters, hubby got a new job. This is the PERFECT thing for our marriage. He won't be home much at all anymore. No doubt we will have decades of wedded bliss because of this. He is the boss (or one of the bosses I guess) of a high school. How funny is that? My husband, who much prefers to stay at home in his underwear playing PS2 on his NEW big ass TV is actually in charge of a whole grade level of high school kids, numbering 600! If those kids only knew that he is just a giant kid and nothing more. Thankfully for him, he hasn't let his secret out and he is at the very least feared and quite possibly respected amongst the kids. I'm sure he will have plenty to say about his new job. Maybe he'll make a guest appearance soon.

In other news, our baby turned 3! We had a rockin' good dora and diego fiesta for her birthday. She was the only kid, and let me tell you she let all that attention go right to her head. It has been said (not by me) that 3 year olds are the devil's spawn. I believe it now more than ever. EVERYTHING is a battle. I have a new suit of armor prepared for today. Let's hope she doesn't find the achille's heel.

I have a feeling you will see more of us soon. More exciting news on the horizon!

Poopy Talk

2007-01-05T13:09:00.000-05:00

I’ve realized that my wife and I have bathroom conversations. And, since this is the blog about what a man and a woman think about when they’re in the bathroom, I thought I’d share.

We don’t often talk in the bathroom. This is difficult, naturally, because the size and the shape are prohibitive. (I mean the size and shape of the bathroom, not of us. Although, our size and shape prohibits us from many things.) But, we do talk about the bathroom.

As I’ve mentioned, and, as my wife has nagged about, I spend a lot of time in there. And, I do love the bathroom. I like a small, cozy spot to do my business. (Nevermind that my legs always fall asleep.) However, the one dislike that I have is, no matter how warm it is outside, the porcelain is always as cold as ice when I sit down. It’s like sitting naked on the hood of a car in Antarctica. You’d think I’d remember after all the years of practice, but it still catches me by surprise every time.

Well, last night, Janice had just finished her routine when I assumed the position. It was warm and wonderful. I really liked not jumping when my ass hit. I opened the door and shared my joy with my significant other.

Despite my happiness at not having my testicles shrivel into raisins at the first onset of cold, something wasn’t quite right. Upon further examination, I determined what it was. Yes, the porcelain is cold, but that means that it’s not been used. There’s something antiseptic, something clean, about a cold toilet. It means that it’s fresh. A warm toilet seat, implies all of the horrible bugs, germs, and God knows what else that ferments in a bathroom in which I spend excessive amounts of time.

To sum up in a basic algebraic equation…

Warm toilet=nice, but shady.

Cold toilet=unnerving, but safer.

And, good pooping.

Chris

Happy New Year!

2007-01-03T10:21:00.000-05:00

Just a quick note to wish our reader a Happy New Year. The hubby and I are really working on getting back into a blogging schedule. It is one of the few things we enjoy doing together, so we shouldn't really let it go.
Hope you all have a very happy and healthy year ahead. Stay tuned for new developments in our household. In the meantime, hubby is FINALLY back at work after a LONG time at home for the holidays, so I'm going to go relax in peace and quiet. Well, as much as you can get with a beligerent toddler.

The Christmas Letdown

2006-12-27T08:33:00.000-05:00

I guess I am rather scrooge-ish. As soon as we walked in the door from our Christmas Day madness, all I could think of was taking our tree and various decorations DOWN. Of course, it is two days later and it is all still up. But, it isn't my fault! The kid and I are both sick as heck. I guess that is forcing us to stay in the holiday spirit a little bit longer. That is, if you consider laying on the couch hacking a lung up unable to breathe being in the holiday spirit!

And now, the moment you have all been waiting for! What exactly was IN those two bags under the Christmas tree that were for me?!?! Any guesses? Come on, don't cheat, submit your guesses before you ruin the fun!

And the answer is: A new bathroom rug! Ok, not only a new bathroom rug but also some gingerbread scented bath stuff and a gift card to Old Navy! Sadly, the new bathroom rug is my favorite gift. This is what my life has become! Oh, and my other favorite gift was from my sister. Are you ready for this? New cookie sheets!

I fully expect that all of you will now comment about how much of a life I need to go find. And, that is ok. I understand, and I agree. In the meantime, I am going to go sit on the rug in my bathroom and bake cookies because it is just THAT awesome.

It's True!

2006-12-23T09:31:00.000-05:00

Yes folks, it is true! He is as helpful as he sounds. Aren't I lucky? To prove it, he is sleeping soundly at this late 9:30 hour. And, last night, while I wrapped presents for our daughter, he diligently played video games. I'm sure today, while I try to make a pathway through this cluttered cave we live in, he will be just as helpful and make a mess just so that I don't have the opportunity to sit down and relax tonight.
The only thing he has going for him right now is that he in fact has already bought me a couple of christmas gifts, and he bought them before the 24th! I guess we will know if he REALLY has anything going for him when I open them and see what they are.

Here We Go Again

2006-12-21T18:31:00.000-05:00

My wife has been ragging me for not writing on our blog. She’s been holding it up for weeks. But, as soon as I start writing again, I get crapped on. (The crap reference only seemed natural with all of the toilet humor that’s going around.)

On the one hand, I don’t want this blog to turn into “Crap on Chris.” (Although the title is catchy.) That’s not why we’re here. We’re here to educate the populace on real life marriage and how it works and doesn’t work. On the other hand, a husband being defecated on is pretty much what a real marriage is like. So, maybe I don’t have a choice in the matter.

That said, I feel it necessary to defend myself, which, again, is something that a real-life husband spends far too much time doing. Here’s what I have done this Christmas season to help my wife…

*Last night I went to the video store and rented six movies to watch. One of them was a new Dora the Explorer to entertain the baby. I think that’s good enough, but I’ll go on.

*I’ve played hours of NCAA Football and Madden just so I wouldn’t go into the kitchen and disturb my wife who was working hard.

*I’ve taken a nap four out of the last five days so I can be rested at nighttime when the baby is hardest to deal with.

*I have actively ignored my child so as not to encourage her to be facetious or act out.

*I have successfully explained the mechanics, benefits, and drawbacks of the naked bootleg to my wife. (It’s a football play, not a sex game.)

*I have not spent a single thing on Christmas gifts. Money is tight in our house. I don’t want to be the one to use it all up. My wife takes care of the Christmas shopping. She can buy herself something.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. I have done so much that, I think my wife, who sweats the small stuff some times, can’t see the big picture and how hard I work for this family.

Chris

Christmas Fun!

2006-12-20T13:39:00.000-05:00

I love my daughter, I adore her with all of my heart and soul. But, is it too much to ask to do something, ANYTHING in peace and quiet?! Between the kid and the hubby, I need a place to escape to. At least hubby can hide in the bathroom. Me? I'm not so lucky.
I have been trying to bake cookies for a couple of days now, but with an extra set of 2 year old hands involved, it is very very slow going. So, to all those people who are getting baked goods from us for Christmas, hang tight, you should have them by New Years. However, remember that they were handcrafted with love by my non-germy 2 year old!
About the whole Santa thing, my daughter got a letter in the mail from Santa the other day. How magical. For all of us! We really don't know where it came from and can only assume my father had his hand in it. So far, this holiday season has been a ball. I'm sure it will only get better as she gets older. And hopefully, by next year, she will lose interest in being my little elf.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have been told it's time for a pee pee party!

Follow Through

2006-12-14T21:23:00.000-05:00

Before I begin, let me clarify my title. In truth, it’s a lame pop culture reference. But, in my mind, it’s quite complicated. Not so long ago, when the world was a simpler place. Donald Rumsfeld was still Secretary of Defense. The highest guy in town was still Rush Limbaugh (or maybe a Kennedy), not somebody from Heroes. It was a time when the Republicans were still in charge, and America was ready for a quick exit from Iraq.

A little show called The O.C. was tops on the tube, and Gavin Degraw’s song, Follow Through made it onto the show to back one of the moody montages that accompany most teenie bopper shows. I was immediately in love with the sexy young crooner. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a sexy voice. Before you knew it, I had Chariot, the album, and I was a fan.

That has absolutely nothing to do with this post or with my marriage. No, this is all about following through, but I used the song there. You see how clever I am? I hope so because I remind my wife just how damned smart I am, but she doesn’t believe me.

What this is about is doing stuff. My wife and I had a discussion not so long ago about projects. We were putting in floors—a subject which has been thoroughly covered by my more than significant other. She has even recently mentioned her inability to complete projects. I am very different from her in this respect. And, I figured out how I’m different.

My problem usually isn’t finishing projects. Rather, I don’t like to start them. It’s not because of a fear of failure. My wife will be more than happy to point out that my ego would never allow me to admit that I could possibly fail. No, it’s got nothing to do with my ego. It’s all about my ass. Yes, I love my ass. Most of all, I love sitting on my ass. And, sitting on my ass precludes any sort of what I like to all “activity.”

Thus, where my wife will start a master’s program and never finish it. I will manage to put off turning in my Ph.D. program application for six months. I’ll take a little thing like putting a shelf on the wall and avoid starting that for at least a month. Most of all, I can take a job like writing a blog or writing and novel and never do it. That’s impressive stuff. Don’t you think?

What does all this mean? (I can’t count how many times I’ve asked myself that question.) Usually (and this is no exception), the answer is a resounding “NOTHING!” Nevertheless, I am here with a vow. Consider it an early New Year’s resolution. I resolve that from this point on. I will try to babble incoherently as often as I can on the Internet about my marriage. I will make stupid pop culture references and spend an inordinate amount of time explaining them. I will badmouth my wife and spend the rest of the night apologizing.

I apologize to all three of our readers and to my wife for being a non-starter, and I aim to change my ways. May God have mercy on all your souls.

Chris

How Does This Happen?

2006-12-02T21:02:00.000-05:00

EVERY single day I tell myself, today you will blog. As you can see, it has been more than 2 weeks since I have done so. This happens every time I tell myself I will make blogging a priority. Do I have some disorder that doesn't allow me to follow through or actually do anything on my to do list? I am really starting to think so.

On the up side, we have a FLOOR! And, and, and... WE ARE STILL MARRIED! For that, I'd like to thank our friend Jonathan. He helped us do the floor. Nevermind, I lied, he put the floor in and we stood around twiddling our thumbs. This is precisely why we are still married. It would have been far too difficult for us to do on our own. It never would have been finished, and for sure, my husband would be living in the car. Now, we just have to finish the project and put the trim up. Do I have some disorder that does not allow me to complete a project, like completely? Yes, I'm pretty sure this is the case.

It's almost Christmas. How exciting. The kid is at an awesome age! She doesn't quite get the whole purpose behind the season, you know the REAL purpose. She has definitely picked up on the whole getting presents thing already. I know she will be very very spoiled this Christmas, and not by us! As for the decorations, the boxes are out and the decorations are still in them. I'm starting to see a trend.

Don't even ask about my long forgotten masters program. I think I'll try again in a couple of years, after we are done with babies. In the meantime, add it to the list of completely incomplete things. (And yes, that was an awfully expensive thing to blow off).

So, tell me, what is my problem? What did my parents do to me as a child to make me this way? Please tell me so I can save my own kid from this fate!

Picasso

2006-11-15T09:24:00.000-05:00

Our daughter's newfound love is painting. Unfortunately, she hasn't mastered keeping it on the paper. In fact, our kitchen floor looks like a mural painted by a 2.5 year old.

So, the kitchen floor has been added to my ever growing list of things that need to be cleaned, pretty much daily. It is fantastic to have this list I suppose, but only if you do something with it. I personally like to have it just for reference I guess.

There is no doubt who the kid's father is. Yesterday, as I'm cleaning the bathroom and ranting about all of the hair (big shock huh?) He mentions to me that he isn't sure what I am talking about, that he doesn't see any hair. I seriously cannot even fathom for one second that he cannot see it. Of course, I promptly went on a tirade about how could he possibly in his right mind be SERIOUS that he can't see the forest that is the bathroom floor and that no matter how hard I try to get it ALL up off the floor, it is just impossible.

It is rather unfortunate that she managed to get his messy genes. At least her messy habits have a shot at making us millions if we foster her artistic talents. His messy habits however, are just plain gross!

STAPP!

2006-11-12T22:56:00.000-05:00

I know you are all wondering what you did to deserve two, yes TWO posts from me in one day. Surely you won't be able to contain yourselves.
Since we moved in to our teeny tiny condo, our carpets have (to put it mildly) been trashed. I have been on a mission to get P$rgo floors. However, since my hubby is a teacher, I realized I'd be waiting until the kid was off at college before we could afford actual P$rgo. I finally got it through my thick skull that we can use a much less expensive version because we don't plan on living here for very long, so as long at it lasts a couple of years, until we can sell and reap our $1 profit on our condo, we'd be golden.
After a little research, I learned that our Swedish friends, represented by I#ea, had a decent laminate flooring. Yippeee I thought, I won't be retired by the time we get new floors. Today, we embarked on that very mission.
After a 4 year old's birthday party today, we headed to the aforementioned Swedish store. We tracked down STAPP (with the two dots over the A, not available on our plain old American keyboard!) our new laminate flooring. Perfect, I thought. Things are going smoothly. We paid, and went to load it into the car (note I said car, not truck, minivan, Jeep or any other more appropriate vehicle, just a plain old honda civic).
Quickly, we got about 4 boxes, of 17 into the car, and that's it! We were out of space. Ok, the kid is in her "driving seat" as it is known around here, screaming bloody murder about something, most likely that fact that she didn't have her purple umbrella on this day that wasn't raining. Does she not realize that her brilliant parents are trying to figure out how to handle this conundrum?!?!?!
After a few more minutes, and a few more stupid ideas, we cave. The hubby and I completely cave. Our only choice is TWO FRICKIN TRIPS! Two trips, to a store, 45 minutes away. He tells me, ok, you stay here with half the flooring and the kid. I will drive home and drive back to get you guys and the rest of the floor. After I think about it for a minute, I say HELL NO! You at least need to take all the flooring because I AM NOT waiting here for an hour and a half with an almost potty trained but not quite 3 year old who is going to go out of her mind because all we can do is stand here with this gargantuan cart full of laminate. Somehow, i'd rather poke my eyes out. So, ultimately, we rearrange, fit all the flooring in, throw the driving seat on top of the flooring and hubby departs for home. All the while, he knows he is a gonner if he stops short even once on the ride home. He will for sure be impaled by flying laminate.
Hubby arrives home, only to get directly into the other (much larger car that I suggested we take in the first place) to turn around and come pick us up.
In the meantime, it's Sunday, the store closes at 6pm and oh wait, we got kicked out. Yep, my kid and I are now hanging out outside waiting for my hubby. My almost 3 year old decides to tell me "I have an idea mama, stay here, I be right back" SURE kid, you go right ahead, i'll stay here and wait for you to return! So, we promptly ended our stint at I#ea with a MAJOR temper tantrum, only to be made worse when hubby returns in "the green car" not "the silver car".
Have I mentioned that I can't wait for the day we install the floors? Ought to be a hoot!

Here we go....again

2006-11-12T09:00:00.000-05:00

Now that the primary focus of my life has been able to shift away from pee pee parties (and let me tell ya, that kid can PAAARTAYYY), I fully intend to get back into the blogging swing. I love that instead of one package of diapers per week, we are down to one diaper per day, which means one overpriced package lasts a MONTH! Yes, a month. Who knew that something like this would be the most exciting thing I have going in my life.

In other news my husband bribed me for satellite radio over the past week, and in a matter of 24 hours, I managed to break it. Yep, he thinks it is a conspiracy because I don't want him to have it. And quite honestly, I'm not sure I disagree. I mean, did we REALLY need to add another monthly bill to the mix? I certainly think not!

Alright, I am being paged by the princess. She would like her servant to wipe her bum. And I want to have another one?!?!?!

Hey, I’m Right Here

2006-10-23T19:36:00.000-04:00

Apparently, my wife thinks that I don’t exist just because she doesn’t see me ever. So, she feels as though she can talk about me right in front of everybody. Well, since a blog is our only form of communication, she should know that I’m writing the Great American Novel. (Well, maybe the great South American Novel. Although, I’m guessing Gabriel Garcia-Marquez did that. Or, was he Mexican?) But, I digress…

You know, this is just typical of marriage. The husband (most times, the man) has to do everything the wife wants. I have to support her in her blog and in her constant need for attention. (I think I know her birthday; I really do.) In the mean time, as soon as I want to play video games, walk around without pants, stink the house up with my horrendous odor, or write a novel, she just yells at me or tries to undermine my efforts. It’s almost like she doesn’t like my stink. How can that be?

So, gentlemen (usually, the husband), it’s up to you to remind your wives just how important you are. I’m calling a general strike! Stop taking out the trash. Don’t fix that light that only you can reach. And, by golly, increase your #2 production by at least double. And, don’t forget, if you like chili, don’t be afraid. Who’s going to stop you?

Alright, folks, I’m off to write. Don’t forget about me, and don’t let my wife badmouth me like she’s apt to do. Farewell for now.

Chris

Pee Pee Party

2006-10-22T10:51:00.000-04:00

Well, our darling daughter has officially entered the party scene. She decided almost 2 weeks ago to start using the potty. Of course this is an exciting milestone and it has most definitely livened things up around here. But, I was planning on waiting a couple more months.

Now, about 6-8 times a day, I have to have a pee pee party, or a poopie party depending on what is appropriate. Yep, my daughter and I, and anyone else who happens to be occupying our home at that moment MUST drop everything, dance around like fools, singing pee pee in the potty each and every time she manages to make it without an accident.

When the process started, we were giving her rewards, either small toys or a special cookie or really just about anything. Quickly, she grew tired of those boring old rewards. But let me tell ya, this kid digs pee pee parties and poopie parties. She is a party girl. And I must say she is starting at a far younger age than her dear old mom and dad. Makes me wonder what the teen years will hold in store for us.

The Big D

2006-10-17T15:09:00.000-04:00

I think my husband divorced me and no one filled me in. Well, at least we are apparently divorced in blog land. Finally, we find something we actually enjoy doing together, and he quits! It figures.

I'm not ready to give up on this blog yet, so you will be tortured with my sentiments until he comes crawling back. They always do, don't they?

He will tell you that I have continued to be very busy whoring him out to make some money for this family, and in fact that is not false. It's just that I enjoy being able to pay the bills each month, eventhough he tends to think it is overrated. I suppose that is because he is the one working hard for our money. We have a good system in this house, he makes it and I spend it. I see no flaws in this :)

At any rate, at least temporarily this has become a "single" woman's blog. I guess that means I can spend more time whining about him. Blog divorce (blivorce?) has its priveleges.

Enjoy your weekend!

2006-10-06T08:26:00.000-04:00

Here at casa de craziness, we are about to embark on a long, but fun weekend. Of course, at this very second, my husband is sleeping soundly while I am the one trying to pack us up and get us ready to get out the door. Nice, huh?

The kid has NOT been sleeping well at all, for about 3 weeks, and I could definitely use just one night of uninterrupted sleep, nevermind a morning to sleep IN! I can only dream of me and my bed staying united past 7 am. That would be like hitting the lottery. It is particularly fun to hear the pitter patter of little feet at 7am after working until midnight, and hearing the screaming cries at 2am and 3am and 4am- well you get the picture.

Forget all that other stuff I said I would do if I won the lottery. Instead, I would sleep.
Alright, pity party over. I hope all of our one faithful reader (thanks Carrie!) have a great weekend.

Maybe you'll be lucky enough to get a taste of my hubby's blogging wit and charm when we return. That is, if I can get him out of bed.

I guess I'm not the only one...

2006-10-05T09:27:00.000-04:00

Apparently my husband is a slacker too. This news is not as shocking to me as it may be to you. He doesn't blog when it is his turn, but truly that is just the beginning of his slackerness.

Hey, I kind of like that, slackerness sort of sounds like a royal title. His slackerness. Now that is something to be proud of. I guess this means I am proud of him! Isn't that an extra special way to turn a negative into a positive? All those child rearing tips have paid off in my marriage. What does that tell you?

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming. This one may be off the air for a few days as we continue to be pulled in 12 different directions.

Slacker

2006-10-01T10:59:00.000-04:00

Yep, that's me, I'm a slacker! It has been my turn to blog for quite a few days and I haven't been able to find the time or energy to do it. Why you ask? Because I am lazy. Plain and simple, I'm lazy.
Yes, I run myself ragged chasing after my 2.5 year old, but that is a mere excuse. I clearly don't run fast enough because well, my butt is rather large. The only reasonable explanation is that I am lazy.
Nothing to inightful for this blog. I guess that is a good thing. It means my husband isn't making me too crazy, and the kid has been sleeping at night. I am a woman of simple tastes. These two things make me happier than anything else, aside from winning the lottery. That would make me happy. Oh so happy.
What would I do with a million bucks? After giving half to uncle Sam YIPPPEEE. We would buy a "forever" house, nothing extravagant, just bigger than a shoebox. We would pay off debt. Give our families a little bit and go on a vacation. That would take care of it. And I suppose that a million may not even be enough. Sigh...sad isn't it?
What would you do if you were gifted or won a million bucks? Do tell. Inquiring minds want to know.

The Cycle

2006-09-26T22:50:00.000-04:00

Families share everything. Mother and daughter, father and son, it’s one big sloppy mess. Take me for instance… Currently, our little one has a penchant for Dora the Explorer. I’m not one to follow the exploits of a curious, little Hispanic girl and her ill-dressed monkey friend. And yet, I get valuable Spanish lessons from this little bilingual cartoon. “Soy Dora” means “I’m Dora.” How about that?

My wife doesn’t like football, but she watches it when it’s on, and she gets invaluable information about the game. She tried asking questions once, but I guess she didn’t like my answers, just like she didn’t like my explanation of the infield fly rule.

Anyway, there’s something else that three people living in a two-bedroom condo get to share…bacteria and viruses. Isn’t it grand? As I write this, I am sporadically coughing, my wife is blowing her nose so loud, I can’t hear the television, and, when the two-year-old sneezes, she looks and sounds like a party favor filled with tapioca pudding and a firecracker. I’ve actually stopped wiping her nose because, eventually, I won’t have to. It’ll get plugged up.

In her last post, my wife complained (sort of) that we never got to see each other. Well, we’re married. We don’t have sex, talk, or really look at each other much. It’s not the end of the world to be apart for a period of time. (Although, it does make me sad.) However, at this point in time, when we are together we can’t touch each other for fear of getting sick. Not that it matters, I suppose, because we’re sick anyway.

So, let’s add to the list of things that are great about being married. Both of us work and never see each other. We never agree on what to watch on television (or anything else really) when we are together. And, we get to share in each other’s filth and infestations. For those of you singletons, just bask in the glory of married life, and look forward to the decades of happiness that await you.

Well, I’m off to bed now where my sick wife will snore like a humpback whale, and I’ll cough so hard that I’ll shake the bed, nay the very ground, while, in the other room, my daughter produces enough mucus to patch all the holes in the Great Wall of China. If you hear us, we apologize in advance. Adios!

Chris

I think I have a husband

2006-09-21T11:15:00.000-04:00

I think I have a husband, I really can't be sure though. You see, we have reached a crazy amount of craziness in our life, and we only know the other one exists because of the mess left behind by the other, not because we see eachother. (Ok, the truth is, I know HE exists because of the mess he leaves behind, I however, never leave a mess :) )

Today is Thursday, and at 830 tonight, we will see eachother for the first time since Sunday. Now, in some respects, this is a very useful tool to maintaining a successful marriage. We don't see each other so how in the world could we possibly fight? Good question. I often wonder how we manage to pull that off myself.

When 830 rolls around, you would think we might want to sit and talk, catch up on the week. Sadly, we will both want to veg on the couch doing our own thing because it takes far too much energy to converse at that late hour. (Did I mention we are getting OLD?)

Such is life. From what I hear it will get much worse before it gets better. We do manage to talk on the phone a few times a day. That is nice. He says bye in the morning before he goes to work, and I try to mumble something akin to I love you, have a good day in my state of unconciousness. At night, when I get in from work, it's the same ol' routine. Except, he is snoring away, and I'm the one trying to convey my goodnight wishes.

I shouldn't complain, we have it good overall, but I think that is why we both go into shock when we have these periods of feeling like the other doesn't even exist. He is home A LOT over the summer, and I guess we are spoiled. Geez, if he would only get a year round job, then we wouldn't have this problem. Kidding of course.

Honey, if you see this, hi. I'll see you tonight, maybe :)

Janice

Ignorance Is Bliss

2006-09-18T21:10:00.000-04:00

As usual, I’m forced to ignore my wife, and apparently all of you out there who manage to ignore everyone else. No wonder there are so many wars and human suffering. No one is listening to anyone. I don’t know why I’m surprised by this. I’m a teacher. I spend the whole day saying stuff that people won’t listen to. Until you’ve taught, you don’t fully feel the frustration of saying the same thing twelve times and still not being heard. Between my wife and my students, I have the patience of Job (he’s a Bible character with great patience).

Now, on to my main point… I’ve covered this in the past on my personal blog, but I figured I’d bring it up here because I think this format is more fitting for the subject matter of having a daughter. Yes, I know she’s only like two or something, but you can never start planning too early.

In my own blog, I laid out a plan of fear, intimidation, and gender issues to prevent my daughter from having any life involving the opposite sex. As I sit here listening to “Rock Your Body” by Justin Timerlake, and just having finished listening to “I Loved Her First” by Heartland, I realize that I will be as effective at controlling my daughter as the Empire was at destroying the Rebel Alliance. As Leia said, “The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.” I’m Tarkin, and my daughter are these supposed “systems.” Get it?

(We interrupt your normal programming so that we may bring you some silliness… I am watching Monday Night Football as I write this, and, in an attempt to do…something, I’m not sure what, the folks at ESPN just gave an “anatomy” lesson about the appendix on Monday Night Freaking Football! What the hell?)

Where was I? Oh, yes… I wasn’t anywhere. I was making stupid Star Wars analogies and wasting everyone’s time. No wonder my wife and everyone else doesn’t listen to me. Have a good night…

Chris

Note: As for the picture, are you really surprised? Come on, really!

Blah, blah blah, blah blah

2006-09-14T20:55:00.000-04:00

Alright fellow women, please let me know that I am not the only one who hears "blah blah blah" in lieu of actual words when their husband speaks. I guess it is the female version of Active Ignorance . I mean seriously, I can only pretend to care about PS2 for so long. Then, it turns into blah blah blah.

I can only pretend to give a hoot about Lindsey Lohan or some other whorish young pretty girl that makes me feel bad about myself for about a nanosecond, then I hear blah blah blah.

I am sure I'm not alone, and I'd like to hear from those of you who feel the same way :)

Janice

Reflections on Opening Weekend

2006-09-12T22:01:00.000-04:00

The NFL Network is promoting a new documentary, entitled “America’s Game.” It is a ranking of the great Superbowl teams. I wonder how does the NFL dare to call football “

America

’s Game?” That’s a bit pretentious, don’t you think?

Then, I watch a football weekend that started on Thursday and went through Monday night. Of the sixteen NFL games that were broadcast between those days, fourteen of them were broadcast on major networks—all the major networks, in fact, except ABC (and ESPN, an ABC partner, got the two nonnetwork games).

What does this have to do with being married? Have you ever heard the saying, “A millions screaming Elvis fans can’t be wrong?” Well, I hate to break it to my wife, but there aren’t a million football fans: there are more like a billion. The people who talk on my TV told me that a billion people worldwide watched the World Cup. Many Americans actually watched this year. But, remember, the World Cup is a series of over sixty games.

How many people in America do you think watch the Superbowl? To keep it simple, all of them. Even if you don’t like football, you watch the Superbowl. A statistically insignificant number of Americans (most of them homosexual or of foreign origin) don’t watch the single biggest annual television event in America, probably in the world.

My wife doesn’t like football, and, hey, that’s cool. But, the simple response to that is that she’s wrong. Everyone (and I really mean that) watches football. I’m not saying she should be able to talk about how many yards Randy Moss had last night (not many, if you care) or talk intelligently about who is going to win the Superbowl (I really don’t know, but after last night, I’m thinking the Chargers look pretty good).

Women out there with sports fan husbands, you have to remember that football is a way of life. It’s religion. It has the power to reach the most people of anything ever. Relationships are a two-way street. If you expect me to go apple picking in October and enjoy it, you may try showing a little interest in a team that isn’t the Patriots (or whatever your home team is).

Girls, if you play along, you may get some romancing later. Who knows? And, if you wear that Dallas Cowgirls outfit, you’re guaranteed some loving, as long as you can spell “C-O-W-B-O-Y-S” with your body. Ladies, hit the costume shops tomorrow early. When this blog goes live, everyone will be looking for one, and you don’t want to be the only wife/girlfriend on the block with a Browns cheerleader outfit. (Are the Browns cheerleaders called the Brown Eyes?)

Chris

(P.S.: Randy Moss is pictured above, if you don’t know.)

Holy Week

2006-09-10T21:23:00.000-04:00

Sorry, I haven't forgotten about you, it's just that this past week was holy week in this house. You know, the week leading up to opening day of football. Yeah, that week. If you are my husband, you find this to be a most reverent occasion. If you are me, you find it to be insanely annoying that is the only thing you hear about with each and every breath all week long.

Well, I lived through it. It's over, or at least almost over, and we are still speaking. It all worked out in the end. The kid and I went to a cousins first birthday party. Yes, the hubby was invited, and should have attended. Eventually I simply came to the realization that it was not worth it to ME to torture him in such a way as to prevent him from sitting around in his underwear, eating chili cheese dip, drinking beer, and watching the almighty football.

And so it goes. He got his way, the kid and I had a good time at the party, until the balloon incident (which is for another entry) and the day is now done, until next year.

Touchdown,
Janice

Reflections of the Hirsute

2006-09-04T20:23:00.000-04:00

I have to say that my wife’s last post was a bit angry. Am I gross, as Nancy suggests? Maybe. But, I’m gross for a lot of reasons. I refuse to let my hair be blamed for my grossness.

I personally believe that my wife is a bit of hypocrite. Her hair is everywhere. It’s all over the place. We have cats, and they shed. Everything produces hair. That’s just the way it is. How do I get blamed for all the hair issues in this house? I know what they say about excuses. Everybody’s got them and they all stink, so I proposed a solution to my wife. Why don’t you comment and let me know which of these is the most viable...

First, twobuyfour suggested that I be shaved bald. I couldn’t agree more. I hate hair. I’ve always hated hair. My hair and everyone else’s. So, here’s what I suggest. Janice is welcome to shave me bald. All my body hair—she can do it all. But, my only stipulation is that she continue to do it. I can’t reach all the places, and, due to my rather portly physique, I can’t see what I can reach. It makes me nervous to take a razor to sensitive places when I can’t see. Moreover, after a day or two, it starts to itch as it starts to grow. Thus, the only solution is that Janice will, every few days, have to shave me bald as a newborn baby. What does she think of that?

She’s also very concerned about my wanting a television. I’ll make her this deal. We’ll go out right now and buy a nice 52-inch plasma television. At that point, I will relinquish all rights to the bathroom. I will clean myself outside, and I will make the great outdoors my toilet. The neighbors may not like it. And, it’ll be hard to hide in the winter when it snows, but I’m a man of my word.

So, ladies and gentlemen, which of these alternatives is better? Let us know, and I’ll let you know how it turns out. Evolution is the only real solution to hair, and I’m happy to announce that I’m working on a formula to speed the slow process up. Wish me luck.

Chris

P.S.: Where does a bear go?

Not Something To Laugh About

2006-09-02T20:10:00.000-04:00

Hair hair everywhere! I can’t stand it. If it didn’t cost so darn much to get a divorce, I’d say see you in court baby. “Yes your honor, I love him very much, and we have a pretty darn good marriage, but we MUST get divorced right now. I cannot handle the hair.” It is simply disgusting. It is everywhere. I cannot escape the bathroom without little pieces of hair following me. Hair of all kinds haunts me in my nightmares. He sheds like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And quite honestly, it makes me want to vomit. You can’t always tell where the hair came from, which makes it even more of a reason to lose my breakfast/lunch/dinner over it.

My hubby is an averagely hairy guy. Not even gorilla like, so I don’t quite get it. I just wish he could keep it to himself. I mean he doesn’t share much of anything, but he sure as heck has no issues with sharing the one thing that makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit each time I clean the bathroom.

Mind you, he hasn’t cleaned a bathroom even once in the 5 years we have been married-but that’s for another post, but every time I clean, I can’t manage to get every last little hair, and we are back to square one. Don’t you think HE should have to clean the bathroom so he can realize the depth of his disgusting hairiness? He blames the cats, somehow I don’t buy it. There is one source of shedding hair in my life, and it is my lovely husband, no ifs ands or buts about it.

Quite honestly, when we move out of our tiny little condo, the only requirement I have is that there are enough bathrooms that he can live in his own hairy squalor, because I.won’t.clean.it!

I have repeatedly recommended laser hair removal among other techniques to rid his entire body of every last stray hair. I even think we should suck it up and pay out of pocket for it, but no, all he wants to spend money on is a huge ass plasma TV. Sigh…I guess it IS time for him to clean the damn bathroom himself.

Janice

p.s. THIS is a picture of the bathroom that I want for ME!

Compromise

2006-08-29T21:24:00.000-04:00

Before I do anything, let me say something to Carrie and anyone else out there who thinks Janice got the drop on me. No one is funnier than I am! I try to have a serious moment and everyone assumes that I’ve lost my edge. Well, be warned. One day, I won’t be around to make you laugh. You’ll have to stay up for Jay Leno, or, God forbid, Conan O’Brien. Then, you’ll be all bleary-eyed (yes, that’s a word) in the morning at work. Wouldn’t that suck? Now that I got that off my chest…

My wife has often commented that we don’t talk enough. At least, I think that’s what she’s saying. I’m not usually listening. Anyway, she says we don’t communicate. In a way, I guess she’s right. I try to talk about stuff I like—football, video games, soccer, David Beckam, and the like.

When I get on one of my topics, she doesn’t even feign interest. She just rolls her eyes at me. I criticize her and make her feel small for not liking the things I like, and I won’t talk to her for a few hours or days. It’s pretty standard marriage stuff really.

Well, I think (or, thought) I had found a common language: books. Everyone can read. We may not like the same books, but we can bite the bullet once in a while. So we don’t have a lot in common. It’s not the end of the world. We can find some common ground. Let’s read a bit, shall we? We can read the book. Then, we can talk about it. Hence, we have the communication that’s lacking, and it’s something that, at least marginally, interests me.

I came up with some ideas. I got her to buy a copy of She’s Come Undone, by Wally Lamb. I’ve never read it. I can’t imagine I ever would, but I was prepared to suck it up. She didn’t touch it. Then, I turned to The Da Vinci Code. I’ve read it. It was a good story. Who the hell hasn’t read the freaking Da Vinci Code? Well, my wife, for one. She tried and got through like ten pages.

I’m a bit confused about how to feel. The English teacher is enraged. The husband in me is frustrated. The video game player is happy that there’s one less thing for me to have to talk about and take time from my games.

So, ladies, I implore you, if you have to talk with your husbands, try to do something they like once in a while. Go fishing. Listen to the stories about their golf game. Dress up like a school girl and sing the lollipop song. Compromise: it’s the foundation of a successful marriage. If you do what your husband wants once in a while, he’ll be more likely to do what you want, or, at the very least, leave you the hell alone.

Chris

It's On!

2006-08-27T20:58:00.000-04:00

Well, I so didn’t want to go there, but he did, it’s done, and now IT’S ON! You wanna talk inlaws? Where to begin.

They live in Roswell. Yes, you heard me, the land of aliens. Actually, they quite fit in down there I believe, and you will too by the time I’m done.

Really and truly, I know that his parents are still his parents no matter what, and it has forced me to find the good in them, which I work hard to do. My MIL visited at the end of July and she was hacking a lung up sick. Of course we would never tell her not to come, she is from 2000 (rough guesstimate, geography is not my strong suit) miles away, and has only met her granddaughter twice. None the less, Abigail and I spent the 2 weeks after her visit sick as dogs. Thanks so much MIL.

The best part is, I’m certain she got some satisfaction out of knowing I was sick. The woman hates me. And, I had to spend the days with her all. by.myself. Did you hear me, I said all by myself. How demented is that?

The positives? I’m really stretching here, but the woman was so sick that she took 2 naps a day on my couch. That means less time interacting. That is a positive. That also means my whole entire house was INFECTED. The place where I spend most of my nights was completely infested with.her.germs. Ick. The other positive was that we ate some good meals out that we didn’t have to pay for and she bought a months worth of diapers. All in all, I think we were fairly compensated for the visit.

Hubby says I’m crazy, the she doesn’t hate me, but I know better. It is the stereotypical MIL/DIL relationship. It is in a permanent state of strain or even flat out dislike. She does not like me. I took her baby away. (Insert rolling eyes here) Truth is, he was not ever going back, ever. Regardless of whether he met me, someone else, a gay monkey, or no one, he was not going back there. So, it is my firm stance that she needs to get over it.

The father in law, well, he at least likes me a little bit more. But let me tell you, I can recite the six stories in his repertoire by heart, including all variations. I feel fortunate that hubby doesn’t want to turn into his father, so he spends family gatherings playing croquet.

Janice

Spending the Day with Family

2006-08-26T22:11:00.000-04:00

Up to the point where I got married my life was fairly boring, and I loved every second of it. I do have relatives—a few of them, anyway. Luckily, I’ve only ever met one uncle, at least since I was old enough to remember. My father’s family is a bunch of redneck hillbillies who brew and run moonshine, and my mother’s family is all dead, deadbeat, or just weird. It’s nice not to have any contact with them, and my parents never seemed to mind.

The best part of not having relatives is not having to spend any time with them. As much as I love social situations (sarcasm), I do like my own personal alone time. I can do what I want. I can sit in my underwear and play video games while I fart and swear at the Playstation for cheating me. It works great.

Then, as usual, my wife drops the bomb…we have to one of her family outings. Joy! I have to don pants and drive—usually about fifteen hours—to some place where there probably isn’t enough to eat. On the trip, Janice usually badmouths somebody who’s going to be there, or, at the very least, she explains how they disappointed the family in some way or other.

I’ll admit that I’m not particularly social, but I don’t know a single husband or wife who is totally comfortable with his/her in-laws. And, I’m sure that Janice’s family discusses just how anti-social I am. At first, I tried to be, but I ended up looking foolish. I like to pop in periodically, say something funny, and run out again.

Besides, I have a terrible time coming up with new material. And, I’m sure I’ve mentioned just how horrified I am at becoming my father. Well, as it turns out, my father has a habit of telling the story over and over and over again. I’m used to it, but people who don’t know him get a little agitated. I’m very afraid that I’m going to start doing that. So, if I stay on the outskirts of the conversation, I’m not forced to be the center of attention at any point. Therefore, I never have to tell anything personal (and, therefore, never repeat anything personal) to anyone.

I end up staring at a television or, in the case of today’s outing, I end up playing croquet to avoid looking foolish. Thus, I look like a jerk. However, and I’m sure Oscar Wilde would agree with me, that it’s so much better to be a jerk than to be boring.

Chris

(Note: Oscar Wilde is one of my favorite authors, along with F. Scott Fitzgerald. And, as usual, Janice cannot bring herself to read The Picture of Dorian Gray. Typical…)

(Another Note: I have to say that this post may be a bit choppy. That's because the TV was just broadcasting America's Most Wanted, where they were just profiling a guy named Jihad Ramadan. I actually had to stop, laugh, and make fun of that. How unoriginal is that? I think I'm going to change my name to Easter Christmas. What do you think?)

Different

2006-08-24T23:04:00.000-04:00

We all know there are differences between men and women, but tonight, in our house, those differences are more apparent than ever before. My husband is sitting on the couch, thoroughly enjoying this ummm, extremely odd and disturbing show. At this very moment, 2 people are doing an autopsy on a man who thinks he is still alive. At least that is what I think is going on, I can't be sure. The primary dialogue in this show is the "dead" man talking to himself about how to get these people to think they are alive.

I don't know about you, but I find this very disturbing. By no means am I a girly girl, I am pretty much a tomboy and don't get too squeamish, even when my daugther has poop running down her leg. I guess this isn't even making me squeamish. Just helping me realize exactly how strange my husband is.

Janice

Active Ignorance

2006-08-22T21:04:00.000-04:00

Being an English teacher, I am familiar with the term “Active Reading.” Basically, it’s reading for information. You know, paying attention to what you read. Being a student of society, I am familiar with the term “Active Listening.” That’s where you pay attention to what people say, nod at them, repeat what they. It makes them feel special, and it makes them trust you.

Being a husband, I have developed my own technique for coping with marriage and making my wife feel special. I call it “Active Ignorance.” I want my wife to be the smartest, most capable member of the household. I want her to feel superior to me in every way. Therefore, I am ignorant of everything around me. (This may or may not include her.)

Hence, I have ignored her comments regarding my “refusal” to assist her in cleaning the child. Thus, I don’t make her feel as though she were degrading me. I don’t want her to feel guilty about making fun of me in front of others, even though it is a shameless act perpetrated by someone who has no regard for her spouse’s feelings.

Active ignorance is more than just playing dumb. It also involves not hearing things. I have developed an uncanny ability to ignore everything my wife says that I don’t want to hear. Some people call it “Selective Hearing,” but it is much more refined.

Active ignorance is the ability to screen what you want and don’t want to hear. Most husbands over the years have mastered this portion of active ignorance. And, when in doubt, most men with female companions just ignore everything.

There are tools to assist active ignorance. Video games, television, the computer, even books (God forbid) are exceptional ways to hear as little as possible. One develops a unique approach to active ignorance. Key words are great clues to items to which men should listen. If your significant other mentions any food words, words about electronics, or, if there are any references to other women, the man should listen. If one hears “family,” “shoes,” or anything regarding work. Tune right out.

What is the ultimate goal of active ignorance? To be honest, I don’t really know. Nothing actually seems to change. I suppose, I am ultimately desensitizing myself to my wife’s hazing, while, at the same time, training her not to bother me with mundane issues like the grass needing mowing or the house being on fire.

Please ask if you would like further instruction on active ignorance. It requires very little practice and little more innate ability than a Y chromosome delivered at conception.

Chris

(Note: Pictured is the cover of the latest medium specifically designed to assist active ignorance.)

Holy Poop Batman

2006-08-22T00:34:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to write about this for a few days, but it has taken this long to get out from under the pile of poop I had to clean up. You see, we went out with some friends last week (which in and of itself is a rare occurence, wonder why? ) They are childless as of yet, so eating at 7:00 pm did not strike them funny in the least. It worked out ok, except for one fatal mistake. We promised Abigail that she could have some lemonade at the bar. Yes friends, we brought our 2.5 year old to a pub, it was also a restaurant so please don't turn us in to DSS.

As luck would have it, this particular watering hole did not HAVE any lemonade. Answer me this, they had apple juice but not lemonade. Which one of those would you think is a more common mixer for adult beverages? In an effort to keep the peace for the 50 other patrons who were looking at us like crazy people for bringing our 2.5 year old to a bar, we got the kid some apple juice. Ok ok, not only did she have ONE cup of apple juice, but she begged for a second. She has probably only had about 3 other cups of apple juice in her lifetime, so clearly you can see where this is going.

We made it to the car, and we were about 15 minutes from home when said child got excessively fussy, she wanted me to touch her, so I reach back from the front seat only to be greeted something particularly squishy oozing down her leg. I yelled at my husband, oh cr*p the baby sh$t EVERYWHERE. She promptly fell asleep. So much for quietly and gently carrying her in the house and placing her in the crib without disturbing her slumber. I got covered in poop as I carried her in the house and promptly woke her up to get cleaned up. The best is yet to come.

My ever so kind and helpful husband conveniently decided he should go get the carseat out of the car so we can disassemble the damn thing to get the cover off so we can clean it. The carseat rant is a rant for another day. He RAN out the door and left ME ALONE BY MYSELF to try to wade my way out of the mess. I'm sure he thought I wouldn't realize his crafty ways. But, I have. It does not COUNT as help when all you are really doing is bailing on the most challening and disgusting part of the problem, avoiding any more spreadance of poop.

Nice try honey. The next one is all yours! And I'll be sure to fill her up with apple juice before I go to work for the night!
Janice

Typical Hypochondria

2006-08-17T20:04:00.000-04:00

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, but I’ve been in traction. My wife tends to get angry a bit when I don’t show the adequate amount of concern for all of her booboos. The funny thing is I think all women are like that. But, boy, you should hear how little sympathy I get when I stub my toe on something she or the baby left lying around.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but, one day some time ago, my wife and I turned into old people. Every time she hears of some new disease, she thinks she has it. Every other week, it’s Eastern Equine Encephalitis, SARS, or the Super Flu. Likewise, all I want to do is take naps and criticize people for their inadequacies.

I went to sleep, and we were fun-loving college kids, and I woke up, and we were my parents. The only logical conclusion I can reach is that having a child ages the average person forty-five years in about sixteen minutes. (Have I mentioned how petrified I am of becoming my father and how fast it’s happening? Serenity now!)

So, ladies, I’m begging you… Just because you have a cough, a small fever, or Patrick Duffy growing out of your leg, don’t go running to the doctor. Do what any self-respecting man would do. Rub some dirt on it and get back in the game. Then, when you have to have surgery or have a limb amputated, you can blame your husband. Isn’t that nice? You’ll have something else to blame on your partner. As it is, I’m guessing most of you blame Communism, war, and bad hair days on him. Right?

Chris

(Note: If anyone can catch any of the pop culture references in this blog, I’ll virtually pat you on the back. See if you can get more than my wife.)

(Another note: The picture is Nikita Kruschev.)

The End Is Nigh

2006-08-15T22:04:00.000-04:00

I saw my life flash before my eyes when the little bump appeared on my wrist. I asked my husband, "What do you think it is? Do you think it is ok?" Yes he replied, you are fine, I don't even see it. My response was, of course, "YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT YOU CAN'T SEE THE BASEBALL SIZED LUMP ON MY WRIST?!?!" You MUST be kidding! Not two minutes later, I was sick to my stomach worried by the fact that this huge mass on my hand just appeared out of nowhere, didn't hurt, and moved when my fingers moved.

The voice in my head was reminding me that my daughter could have a severed limb and my husband would say, oh she's fine, she just has a cold. With that, I became convinced that if he thought I was fine, I was surely going to die immediately of the c word (no, not THAT c word you dirty bird).

That was 2 weeks ago. I'm still here, so is my friend, the baseball on my wrist. I guess I will make use of our health insurance and call the doctor so they can have me come in just to tell me that I need to wait a couple of weeks and see what happens. Oh and by the way, give us your copay NOW! Maybe I'll save the gas money and just send them the cash.

The Big Night Out

2006-08-14T21:01:00.000-04:00

With the fifth wedding anniversary quickly approaching, it seemed only appropriate that the Missus and I head out for a night on the town. Naturally, as I’m sure many of you other parents can appreciate and you not-so parents can envy, we are slightly hindered by the larger-every-day thing that seems to be there every time we turn around.

Remember that Reese Witherspoon movie, Sweet Home Alabama? Don’t feel badly if you don’t. I don’t either, really. But, I remember one line. She says to an old friend, “You have a baby…in a bar.”

(Note: Don’t let my wife lie to you. I really don’t like chick flicks. I have never seen Sweet Home Alabama, nor do I know anything about it, aside from that line and that it starred Reese Witherspoon, I think.)

You can imagine the white trash comments that would come along with taking a baby out drinking some night. We don’t do that. In fact, we don’t ever go out at all anymore, ever. So, it was quite change for us to leave the child with my sister-in-law and go out for a night on the town—a night that started with 5pm dinner reservations and ended when we walked through our door at around 8:30.

The difficult part about all this is that we had a lot of time to talk, and I think we both quickly realized that we’re a little rusty. Janice really hasn’t had a drink in months. So, the one mojito she did have put her into a tailspin. I should have taken her home that moment and taken advantage of her, but I was hungry.

After an egregiously expensive dinner, we went to Target and bought pillows. What fun, huh? The best part was trying to convince her to buy a plasma TV. (Talk about taking advantage.) I think, if I could have gotten one more mojito in her, it would have happened.

Along the way, we talked and wondered about why we have no friends. But, after rereading this, I can clearly see the reason. Hanging out with us is about as exciting as driving Miss Daisy. (I know, but apparently, the little man in my head that comes up with all of my good comparisons is on vacation.)

Well, I hope you enjoyed our boring. Don’t get too lost in this entry, or you may never find your way out. I’m going to need months of therapy to get over writing it myself.

Chris

5 Items

2006-08-12T20:52:00.000-04:00

Let me begin by saying that I’ve done this five things thing before. But, like most successful marriages. Ours is one of repetition and routine.

5 Items in my fridge:
1. Porn. It’s a good place to hide it because my wife never looks there.
2. Beer. It’s always the bad beer. If it were the good stuff it wouldn’t be there anymore.
3. I think it’s a cat in a plastic bowl now. I can’t actually identify it anymore.
4. Money. Also hidden from my wife.
5. My self-esteem. And, every time she yells at me, I eat a little to replace what I lost.

5 Items in my closet:
1. Porn. This is the decoy porn. She knows that stash is there.
2. Giant bucket of change. This is probably the scariest thing in my closet because it’s something my dad would do. I am afraid of becoming my father.
3. Clothes that don’t fit. Refer to the #5 thing in the refrigerator.
4. Stuff that needs dry cleaning. I figure if I can’t wear it, why clean it?
5. Something random. It’s the place where stuff goes when we have company, so, really, God knows.

5 Items in my car:
1. Mountain Dew bottles. It really give the car a nice urine-colored glow.
2. Golf clubs. I don’t know why I have them. It’s like hitting the ground with a snow shovel. Nothing happens when I hit the ball, but I do it anyway.
3. The radio. The only true friend I have in the world anymore. It’s pretty much where I get all of my information and about 98% of the things I blog about.
4. My DVD set of the first season of the OC. Hey, you never know when I’ll need to barter with a teenaged homosexual.
5. Kiefer Sutherland. I use him when I need to yell at people. I’m just too calm.

5 Items in my purse (yes, yes, I know, but I can come up with something):
1. First off, it’s not really a purse. It’s more of a backpack.
2. And, so what if I do carry a purse. What’s it to you?
3. You want a piece of me?
4. Why don’t we take this outside?
5. Just don’t hit me in the face. I’m too pretty.

Alright, so, I’ve read over mine and my wife’s five things, and I’ve realized how little I take seriously. On the other hand, what do I care? This is silly. I’m going to find some bad beer and watch the OC in my car.

Chris

(Note: Ha! I found a picture of a cat in a bowl. Betcha didn't think I could. Amazing what you can find on Google.)

Free At Last!

2006-08-10T22:07:00.000-04:00

I'll keep this brief. Tonight is my first night of peace, quiet, TV, and ice cream. I will be busy. We'll be back in business tomorrow though.
Honestly, as excited as I pretend to be, I'm sure I'll be whining at 3 am when I cannot sleep because he isn't in bed next to me. Awwwwww. Love.

5 Items

2006-08-09T21:57:00.000-04:00

Well I'm exhausted tonight, so this is as good as it gets. Hope you learn something about me!

5 Items in my fridge:
1. Cheese for the baby, we would have no peace in our house without cheese, but we also wouldn’t have little rabbit pellet poop. Hmmmm.
2. A lime. Why does this matter, you ask? It symbolizes the mojito I NEED by the end of each day but am too damn tired to make for myself never mind drink.
3. Some age old leftovers. Cleaning isn’t my strong suit. ‘nuff said.
4. Coke (as in coca cola) for my husband of course. I don’t like to listen to the whining when the coke supply runs out. I keep trying to convince him to switch to diet. Anyone have any tips?
5. Pretend food. What in the…?!?! Well, you see, my daughter is slightly OCD. And one of her favorite past times is putting her play food in our REAL refrigerator to cool it off. It is one of those behaviors that is better left unchallenged in an effort to obtain the peace discussed previously.

5 Items in my closet:
1. My husbands clothes. The number of hanging clothes he owns far outnumbers the amount of hanging clothes I own. We are seriously at like ¾ to ¼ right now. Must be time to shop.
2. A pile of ebay stuff, that one of these days I will get around to listing for the very first time. Any takers before I bother putting it on ebay?!
3. Empty photo albums and scrapbooks. Yikes I better get on that before she is married off
.4. Blankets that are just waiting for the cold days of winter to come out of hiding. Yuck.
5. Shoes. Need I say more?!

5 Items in my car:
1. Crushed gold fish/raisins/crackers
2. I could probably round up an old sippy cup or two. Gross!
3. Some stuff that is supposed to be used to clean the car, but is probably moldy by now.
4. A car seat of course. More commonly called a driving seat around here. My kid hated her car seat until we told her that all of us have a special driving seat yadda yadda. You know the drill.
5. Sometimes I wonder if there is a dirty diaper lurking in there somewhere, but alas it has not been located.

5 Items in my purse:
1. Honest truth is that I really don’t carry a purse. I carry a diaper bag, and a little wallet with my stuff in it.
2. My phone so I can call my husband and ask him where my keys are since I lose them all the time because I don’t carry a purse.
3. The almighty yet evil with a capital E credit cards.
4. Diapers/wipes/crackers/sippy cups/ emergency bribery candy
5. Sadly I can’t think of much else. Noticeably lacking from my purse are pictures of my kid ( I know, isn’t that terrible? No mean comments please!) And greenbacks.

In the Name of Science

2006-08-08T22:16:00.000-04:00

Because I love my wife and child, I have been whoring myself (I mean donating my time) to science. Thus, I have engaged in a “sleep study.” What this basically means is that they tell me when to sleep, when to wake, and when and where to do my business.

Possibly, the most interesting part of the whole thing is that I get to wear some sort of activity monitor. I’m not quite sure what it does. I suppose it monitors my activity, since that’s what it’s called. (Duh!) But, how? The only logical answer I can come up with is that I’m bugged. Some guy in some cave somewhere is listening to everything I do.

I wonder what he’s hearing, and what he thinks. So, let’s say he hears something like, “Oh, yeah, baby, just like that!” What would most people think? Fortunately for me, what is actually happening is something like my wife scooping ice cream into a bowl while I’m watching. When, he hears me grunting and moaning, my little friend might think I’m injured, but it’s probably just me filling the porcelain receptacle with the items necessary to take it to a sewage treatment plant.

I always have to ask myself, what does this have to do with anything? My answer, as usual, is “not much.” I guess it speaks to the differences between men and women. I can’t really bemoan my lack of sleep time. It’s still more than I get when I’m working. All I usually do is make a mess anyway, which my wife just has to clean up. Moreover, I get to play video games without the requisite nagging.

Now, I think I’ve figured out a way to beat the system. I’ll just strap the watch thing to a cat and let them do the moving for me. And, don’t think this is a problem because our cats actually do more moving in this house than I do. Go figure.

Chris

In The Name Of Science

2006-08-07T19:27:00.000-04:00

Have I mentioned how much I love my husband? Despite his faults (since he reads this, I won’t get into it) he really does take one for the team. When there is only one brownie left, he gladly volunteers to finish it off (Not the ice cream though, he knows better). He spends a lot of time with his in-laws, but the reality is they are far more normal than his family, so I think he only PRETENDS to not want to. Until recently, my hubby would get up with the baby in the morning on rare occasions or if I begged, pleaded, and oh never mind, all of you women know what it takes. However, a new day has dawned.

In the name of science (more money than science but does it really matter?) my husband HAS to go to bed at 11pm and get up between 7.5 and 8.5 hours later. This started last Wednesday, and as far as I am concerned it can continue on until further notice. You see, in an effort to counteract the teacher lack of money, I calmly suggested that he sign himself up for a sleep study I saw advertised. What I told him is “only 3 nights away from home, and a decent amount of pocket money to pay the August bills”. What I was thinking is, three nights of watching what I want on TV, not having to share my ice cream, the whole bed to myself, not really needing to cook, and one less person to clean up after. When can you take him? And you can feel free to keep him as long as you would like.

I made out in this deal, big time. During the “at home” portion of the study, which he is doing right now, he will HAVE to get up with the baby, because the timing will be impeccable. Despite what he says, it is NOT because I am a mean wife who won’t let him sleep in. It is merely because he is obligated for the sake of science which coincidentally corresponds with our daughters sleeping needs. I could not have planned a better study myself!

Thanks honey!

Janice

Question Of The Day

2006-08-04T21:29:00.000-04:00

Did Yankee Doodle name the feather, hat, town, or his pony Macaroni?

First of all, who even wastes time thinking of such questions? I suppose that really isn't the point though.

The point is I don't know the answer. I am a very literal, science minded person. Completely the opposite of my husband. His literary interests frustrate me to no end because he claims to KNOW exactly what the author meant by whatever it is that he wrote. Explain to me how my husband, as wonderful and intelligent as he is, can KNOW exactly what Mr. Yankee Doodle was thinking when he called it macaroni? Yet, somehow, my husband does not know exactly what I mean when I ask him to put the dishes in the dishwasher or do a load of laundry. Go figure.

I'm certain he will pull some answer out of his butt that indicates he knows EXACTLY what Yankee Doodle Dandy called macaroni. But I digress. I stand by the fact that until my husband understands what I mean when I ask him to put the toys away, take out the trash, or any of 1000 other household chores, we can never know about Yankee Doodle Dandy. And more importantly, it does not matter!

Janice

Did Yankee Doodle name the feather, hat, town, his pony Macaroni?

Seeing as how I’m an English teacher (yeah, I know), I have to look at this from the perspective of a scholar of the language. Can there be anything worse than unclear pronoun references? I guess, in a perfect world, you’d go to the store, and say, “I want one of them things.” Without question, the clerk would walk away and come back with exactly what you wanted. In our world of silly language, he’d come back with a box of condoms and an RC cola. (You westerners still have those, don’t you?)

To me, pronouns are one of the major issues in relationships. There should be some sort of punishment for using them when you’re married. Like, if you call your wife “you,” you should be shot in the thigh. You can only say, “Hi, wife” or “Hi, husband.” That way, there’s no confusion. And, we can get rid of all those silly terms of endearment. Pronouns and adverbs are terrible. All you young writers out there, remember that. (How many of each did I use in just this post? Go count). And remember, don’t ever listen to my wife. She uses lots of pronouns.

Chris

The Family Outing

2006-08-03T22:01:00.001-04:00

You ever wonder why the United Nations is largely ineffective? Take North Korea for example… The U.N. passed a “resolution” in which they told Kim Jong Il to stop testing nuclear (or is it nucelar?) weapons. And, what did that freak do? He fired a missile into the water. (I guess it’s more impressive than anything I can do.)

Doing anything with your family is much like being part of the U.N. Remember the days when it was just you and your wife/husband? Weren’t those great? You stayed up all night talking. You had sex in the middle of the day. You went out for ice cream when you felt like it and drove an extra ten miles just so you could “be together.” Now, you’re in bed with the sun. The middle of the day is reserved for Dora the Explorer. And, ice cream trips, while frequent, involve a quorum vote and a banging gavel.

Here’s how it works…

1. Someone suggests ice cream. It’s usually my wife because she’s addicted. It’s a New England thing. The baby is getting off to a young start. So, I never win this one.

2. I’ve usually got a big game going. Probably, I’m Michigan and on the verge of upsetting Penn State. But, like a good small nation, I’ll stop what I’m doing and do what France wants. (Maybe I need a nuclear weapon. Then, she’ll listen.)

3. We’ll drive to a place that is far away; not to spend more time together, but just to annoy me.

4. We’ll engage in said activity—the eating of the cream that is iced. I’ll have something small. Although, when it comes to ice cream, there’s no such thing as small north of New York.

4a. In the mean time, the baby manages to get ice cream all over everything including me, and, because of her addiction, my wife licks up every drop. Yeah, it grosses me out, too. The baby actually ends up eating very little, and due to the size of the ice cream, I’m out like ten bucks, so she can have about four adult-sized bites.

5. We drive home. I’m covered with ice cream, and on the verge of vomiting. My wife is complaining about having to clean the baby’s clothes (Then, why did you get her chocolate ice cream? Answer that question for me!)

In the end, nothing has changed. Tomorrow will be a repeat performance. What is truly amazing about the whole experience is that I can complain about it all the time, and it’s like I’m not even here.

So, I’ll leave it for you to decide. Am I the U.N. and my wife and child North Korea and Iran? Or, am I some poor little nobody country like Canada with nothing but Celine Dion to export?

I’m done. Once my wife reads this, I will be severely beaten. Good luck in your future ice cream trips. Remember me.

Chris

Ice Cream

2006-08-02T21:06:00.000-04:00

I had my greatest (and only) epiphany of the day today while doing my business. It’s hot as, well, I don’t even know HOW hot it is outside. The three of us are sick (thanks to the mother in law who visited last week) and damn it my throat hurts. That could only mean one thing. ICE CREAM.

If you are from New England, particularly Massachusetts, you can appreciate how ice cream is the #1 food group. Since my husband has only laid down his roots here over the past 10 years, he isn’t quite there yet. (He also marvels at how quickly me and my parents and sibling can devour an ice cream in seconds) I knew I would have to devise a plan to get him to agree to this, as he would much rather stay in where it is cool. But, this is ICE CREAM people, ICE.CREAM. So I didn’t exactly lie, but came up with a reason he could not deny. The baby.

Ok, my girl, while she does not look one lick like me, clearly has some of my genes. The kid loves ice cream as much as I do, if not more at the ripe old age of 2.5. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, and I wanted to get something in her. So, I used the ice cream excuse. It worked. It sooo worked and before I knew it, we were off to get ice cream. Go me.

Here is the downside, since my kid had nothing else substantial in her stomach today, I’m certain I’ll be changing damn dirty diapers all day tomorrow, if not sooner. Yipeeee. If I play my cards right, I can coerce the hubby into getting up with her in the morning, and bearing the brunt of the poopy stew. Am I really that lucky?

Stay Cool!
Janice

Practice Makes Perfect

2006-08-01T21:05:00.000-04:00

My wife is an odd one to be sure. On the other hand, I’m so normal, people think I’m crazy. My favorite place in our entire house is the bathroom. I walk out of the bathroom and say stuff like, “Wow! That was a good one!” or “That was like chocolate milk.”

We started thinking about the bathroom and what we thought about in the bathroom. To be honest, I don’t think about much other than actually using the bathroom. My wife says, she thinks about all kinds of stuff, but I don’t remember because I wasn’t really paying attention. When I was a kid, I used to call it “Concentrating.” That description still applies today. On the pooper, I’m a focus kind of guy.

My hour or so in the bathroom every night gives me ample time to think about how things are going. Usually, I take a break about half-way through. Maybe have some Gatorade or B-12 shot. I’ll do game film for a while on Sunday afternoons. After a statistical breakdown of my performance, it’s back to the practice porcelain for another round.

What does this have to do with anything? Not much, really. My goal is to show my wife, and any other woman who will listen (which rules out my wife and all the rest of you) that we men are just plain simple. Have you ever wondered what a guy’s thinking? Well stop wondering. I’m going to tell my wife and all the other ladies out there. Are you married? Got a boyfriend? Are the female half of a lesbian relationship? Ignore my wife like I do and listen to what I have to say.

Chris

(The photo comes courtesy of our friends at Jokaroo. It's a good one.)

Ladies First

2006-07-31T22:24:00.000-04:00

As my husband and I were discussing the point of this blog, we did the typical banter back and forth.

Janice: I think our title should be funnier than that
Chris: We don’t want to use ALL our good material early on
Janice: Why not, isn’t the POINT to get people to read it? Why would they read mediocrity?
Chris: Ok, maybe we shouldn’t start off like that.

Silence overtook us, and we each started typing away at our computers. This ought to be interesting. Like most things in a marriage, I expect diametrically opposed opinions not only about the purpose of this blog but also in how we accomplish that. Sounds like fun huh? And something you definitely want to read.

Jiggle the handle was brought to fruition because of my husband’s unquenchable desire to find fame in writing. As for me, I’m along for the ride. He is a typical husband and I will take any opportunity to “educate” him about how to do things correctly in this relationship. Including blog.

So, why jiggle the handle? It all started with a pissing contest about what men and women think about on the pot and how incredibly different those thoughts are. A blog was born.

Stay tuned for more interesting and scintillating entries detailing the mundane and not so mundane world of marriage, parenting, and of course your everyday bathroom happenings.

Janice

Chivalry and Cock Fights

2006-07-29T21:48:00.000-04:00

Who should write first? This was the question that Janice and Chris had to settle. It began simply enough. Chris was drunk…again. Janice said, “Where have you been?” as he Chris stumbled in. The drunk hung his head, “Cock fight.”

The question wasn’t settled, and this has nothing to do with anything. “Ladies first, my ass!” Chris would say. This was a typical male. “Chivalry is dead,” Janice said.

What follows is a look at women and men. What we do. How we do it. When and where we find time to engage in things that interest us or things we do to piss each other off. So, sit back and relax, and you tell us who should go first.