So, the husband is away again. Last week, it was Mexico, this week Eastern Europe.
One thing that I love about when he goes away, is having our bed all to myself. I can sleep anyway that I want in absolute comfort. I can use both pillows, even though I kick his flat pancake of a pillow on the floor, and steal a good one from the guest room. I also don't have to sleep with ear plugs in. He snores badly.
You'd think with him gone, I'd be sleeping like a baby. Nope. I'm so use to the ear plugs that I can't stand the rain/ice hitting the window, the traffic or the salt trucks/snow plows. I think he did this on purpose.
I know how I can annoy my wife...I'll snore, refuse to get surgery, make her sleep with ear plugs in, and then when she tries to sleep without them well, she just won't get any sleep....Yep, his evil little plan has worked. I haven't slept in 2 days now.
The under eye cream is getting double duty to make the even darker rings under my eyes go away.....
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Christmas Traditions
As I child, I loved Christmas. I still do. The snow on the ground crunching under my boots. The smell of the Christmas tree wafting through the house. Eating cookies, drinking egg nog. Watching the lights reflect off the Christmas ornaments. What's not to love?
Through the years I've tried to express how much I love Christmas to my husband, without much luck. I have 8 boxes of Christmas ornaments for our Christmas tree! My husband does not like all the boxes of Christmas stuff. He imposed a ban on me this year. I'm not allowed to buy anymore...of course, what he doesn't know, won't hurt him.
Since it's our first Christmas, I thought we would sit around decorating the tree, drinking eggnog, eating homemade cookies, and listen to Christmas carols on the radio. Right...me and my imagination went running wild again.
It went like this....My husband took the pre-lit tree out of the box. Since a row of lights went out, he replaced them. While this is going on, he's playing hip-hop music through the TiVo. I asked him to turn it off numerous times to no avail. Hip Hop Music ISN'T CHRISTMAS MUSIC! Then, we had to make sure the tree was straight. I'm holding onto this tree while he's tightening the screws to make it stand straight. While my hand is still holding onto the tree, he tells me that he'll be back in a minute. I'm still holding onto the tree 10 minutes later, and no husband. I have no idea where in this tiny townhouse he's hiding.
I'm get tired of hearing his music on, so I am now able to put on Christmas music. This is how you decorate a tree, a person needs to hear Ella, Frank, Bing and Nat singing on the radio, to get you in the Christmas spirit. Lovingly the ornaments are put on our tree. I pull out the ones that we collected from our trips: our honeymoon, Florida, San Fran., Montreal, to name a few.
I look over at the t.v screen at one point and have a fit. The TiVo screen saver has Hip Hop Album covers... I see a scary Mos Def wrapped like a mummy looking at the viewer through his uncovered eyes. It freaked me out and left me feeling as though I should be getting ready for my death or Halloween. Not Christmas.
The tree is finally done, and my husband still hasn't appeared. I find him sitting in front of the computer playing......so much for the start of our Christmas holiday traditions.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
The Name Game
Growing up I always knew that when I got married, I would take my husband's last name. It was a no-brainer. Since my husband and I are planning on immigrating back to his homeland, I didn't bother changing it. It would screw up the immigration process, plus I'd have to get a new passport, which would take till pigs fly to return back to me.
Recently, my darling got a certified letter in the mail. Since I'm not working, I got to take care of it. I give the nice postmaster my little postcard to retrieve this letter. He asks for id. I give him my drivers license, on it is my parent's address and my maiden name. No good. I give him my Christmas cards that I'm sending out, which have my handwriting and our address label on them. He gives me this look like "Yeah, right lady". I had to give him a copy of my marriage license and explain to him that I didn't take my husbands last name. I spent a good five minutes talking this postmaster into giving my my husband's letter. I'm miffed by this whole experience.
It got me thinking....why do I even have to take his last name? I've had mine for 30 years. I'm quite fond of it. It doesn't bother me that I get letters from loved ones with my married name on it. I like seeing my name written that way. But, why do I have to change it?
Why do I have to prove that he is my husband? I've had to pull out my marriage license so many times, that I actually keep a copy in my wallet. In a world where id theft is prevalent, this is what I am reduced too. Now, what happens if my wallet gets stolen?
My only resolve is to take my husband's last name. One of my goals in the new year is to change it, but first I have to do research. Because one piece of advice that brides never hear, is how to change their name. There is this secret society that married women belong to, that refuse to divulge how to do it. Once I find the secret, I plan on sharing it.
Recently, my darling got a certified letter in the mail. Since I'm not working, I got to take care of it. I give the nice postmaster my little postcard to retrieve this letter. He asks for id. I give him my drivers license, on it is my parent's address and my maiden name. No good. I give him my Christmas cards that I'm sending out, which have my handwriting and our address label on them. He gives me this look like "Yeah, right lady". I had to give him a copy of my marriage license and explain to him that I didn't take my husbands last name. I spent a good five minutes talking this postmaster into giving my my husband's letter. I'm miffed by this whole experience.
It got me thinking....why do I even have to take his last name? I've had mine for 30 years. I'm quite fond of it. It doesn't bother me that I get letters from loved ones with my married name on it. I like seeing my name written that way. But, why do I have to change it?
Why do I have to prove that he is my husband? I've had to pull out my marriage license so many times, that I actually keep a copy in my wallet. In a world where id theft is prevalent, this is what I am reduced too. Now, what happens if my wallet gets stolen?
My only resolve is to take my husband's last name. One of my goals in the new year is to change it, but first I have to do research. Because one piece of advice that brides never hear, is how to change their name. There is this secret society that married women belong to, that refuse to divulge how to do it. Once I find the secret, I plan on sharing it.
Monday, December 3, 2007
A Weighty Issue
Thanksgiving in America. A time to eat your favorite things like Grandma's pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and Aunt Marge's famous turkey. Its a time for love. Joy, peace, and happiness to all. If you're family looks like a Rockwell painting...
Mine started out that way, until my Mom made the sweet comment..."I don't think you could even fit into your wedding dress now". This in front of my husband of 6 months and my father-in-law! Thanks Mom.
My dear husband later in the week makes the comment that perhaps I should go check out a fitness center. I hear claims of myself not getting out of the house enough, not socializing, and the cold weather as a push to go check it out. He secretly agrees with my mother and it hurts me.
I haven't gained THAT much weight. 10 lbs of water weight from that stupid pill. I haven't even changed a clothing size.
I walk into "Workout World for Women" and see all these Middle-aged Moms laughing in their matching workout gear. I hate it already. They look at me and give me fake smiles. I'm half-way out the door, until one of them pulls me back in. I just wanted to check the place out and find out how much a membership would cost. Can I do that? NO.
First, I am asked a questionnaire about my age, goals, etc. Then it becomes more torturous. They asked me to get on that dreaded doctor's scale. You know the one. Its in your doctors office that weighs you in at a good 10-20lbs MORE than your scale at home. Now, I'm really irritated. The scale actually said to get off. I was too fat for it to handle and I was going to break it. Just what I needed to hear from a scale.
As if a stranger knowing my weight isn't humiliating enough, I get measured. Bust, waist, hips, thighs, arms, etc. I'm in trouble now. I can see on this piece of paper how fat I really am. I'll never be a supermodel judging by what she wrote down.
Finally, she tells me how much their program costs. I only want a 3 month membership. Not possible. When I leave, this stranger who knows more about my body size than my own husband, won't make eye contact. She knows I won't be returning.
I feel defeated. My husband is out of town. It's too cold to go for a walk, and there's no junk food to eat to make myself feel better...
Mine started out that way, until my Mom made the sweet comment..."I don't think you could even fit into your wedding dress now". This in front of my husband of 6 months and my father-in-law! Thanks Mom.
My dear husband later in the week makes the comment that perhaps I should go check out a fitness center. I hear claims of myself not getting out of the house enough, not socializing, and the cold weather as a push to go check it out. He secretly agrees with my mother and it hurts me.
I haven't gained THAT much weight. 10 lbs of water weight from that stupid pill. I haven't even changed a clothing size.
I walk into "Workout World for Women" and see all these Middle-aged Moms laughing in their matching workout gear. I hate it already. They look at me and give me fake smiles. I'm half-way out the door, until one of them pulls me back in. I just wanted to check the place out and find out how much a membership would cost. Can I do that? NO.
First, I am asked a questionnaire about my age, goals, etc. Then it becomes more torturous. They asked me to get on that dreaded doctor's scale. You know the one. Its in your doctors office that weighs you in at a good 10-20lbs MORE than your scale at home. Now, I'm really irritated. The scale actually said to get off. I was too fat for it to handle and I was going to break it. Just what I needed to hear from a scale.
As if a stranger knowing my weight isn't humiliating enough, I get measured. Bust, waist, hips, thighs, arms, etc. I'm in trouble now. I can see on this piece of paper how fat I really am. I'll never be a supermodel judging by what she wrote down.
Finally, she tells me how much their program costs. I only want a 3 month membership. Not possible. When I leave, this stranger who knows more about my body size than my own husband, won't make eye contact. She knows I won't be returning.
I feel defeated. My husband is out of town. It's too cold to go for a walk, and there's no junk food to eat to make myself feel better...
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Guilt
It's sunday morning. And a good catholic girl would be going to church. She would sit through mass, listen patiently to the priest, and recieve communion. Then she would head home, thinking about the priests message and practice it in her daily life.
But I'm not a good little catholic girl. I'm sitting here, writing my first blog entry. I dropped my husband off at the airport this morning amid heavy traffic, and threats from the traffic cop of a ticket, if my husband attempted to get out of the car to retrieve his luggage.
On the way home, I picked up anti-wrinkle moisturizer and eye creme, to help get rid of the dark circles under my eyes. The ones that I inherited from my estranged grandmother, and wish would go away.
My skin has started to betray me.
That dreadful adult acne, that refuses to go away. Even though I pay a dermatologist to get rid of it. His big simple solution, was to go on the pill....as though that tiny daily miracle pill will solve not only my no-need-to-get-pregnant-or-my-husband-will-divorce-me problem, but the acne too. Not only am I not pregnant, but gained ten pounds and kept the acne. Lucky me.
Maybe the good catholic girl would pray for the dark circles and the acne too go away. But we've already established, that I'm not a good catholic girl. Hence the guilt.
But I'm not a good little catholic girl. I'm sitting here, writing my first blog entry. I dropped my husband off at the airport this morning amid heavy traffic, and threats from the traffic cop of a ticket, if my husband attempted to get out of the car to retrieve his luggage.
On the way home, I picked up anti-wrinkle moisturizer and eye creme, to help get rid of the dark circles under my eyes. The ones that I inherited from my estranged grandmother, and wish would go away.
My skin has started to betray me.
That dreadful adult acne, that refuses to go away. Even though I pay a dermatologist to get rid of it. His big simple solution, was to go on the pill....as though that tiny daily miracle pill will solve not only my no-need-to-get-pregnant-or-my-husband-will-divorce-me problem, but the acne too. Not only am I not pregnant, but gained ten pounds and kept the acne. Lucky me.
Maybe the good catholic girl would pray for the dark circles and the acne too go away. But we've already established, that I'm not a good catholic girl. Hence the guilt.
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