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Hurricane preparedness fail

30 Aug

We sort of thought we were going to have a hurricane there for a minute, and of course we were woefully unprepared. I panic-read so many websites and pamphlets on making a hurricane kit, preparing for many days without electricity or water. However, I had to work so I could not spearhead the trip to the store to create such a kit. This put Husband in charge of going to the store to gather supplies in case we were hit.

Depending on your perspective, it did not go very well. He purchased:

1. Potato chips, tortilla chips, and cheetos

2. Reese’s Puffs, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Lucky Charms

3. Peanut butter Tastykakes and chocolate cake donettes.

4. Fruit cups

5. A flash light and a radio.

6. Tons of bottled water

To be fair, I have no idea how I would improve this situation. I’m not sure what you’re supposed to eat when you don’t have power. Perhaps this is a legitimate adult hurricane kit? There isn’t a single canned good I can imagine eating cold (baked beans? I’d rather wait for the oven to work again, thanks). And everything I thought of that didn’t require cooking, did require a fridge to keep. (Lunchables! yogurt! no?)

Though, if I did have to deal with a hurricane I guess I’d be worried least of all about the health of the food I needed to eat. I’m actually almost disappointed the hurricane didn’t hit and I didn’t get to tear into all of this. I couldn’t justify it when I had the ability to keep and cook all these stupid fresh vegetables and whatnot.



28 Aug

When Marty began spending a lot of time in the kitchen, I just yelled at him and kept shooting him out. Over and over. Assuming that he was just scrounging for floor noms I might have dropped in dinner preparation. Until I saw him trying to jump on the counter, something he never does. That’s when I noticed the mouse poop.

After freaking and bleaching and running everything through the dishwasher and bleaching again, we called the exterminator. He came out and set a few of the biggest traps I’ve ever seen in my life. These are not meant for mice. They’re barely meant for rats. I’m pretty sure I’d catch a raccoon if I set one outside. The idea of hurting a mouse with one of these, which I felt was akin to attacking a kitten with a semi-truck, nearly moved me to tears.

I was able to ignore my feeling until one night when Husband called me to the kitchen. There he was, in the middle of the kitchen. Fluffy and tiny and field-mousey. Pretty much exactly like one of our hamsters. Husband attempted to catch him in a shoebox, which went exactly as well as you think it did. (He only broke one plate.) It was decided. I could no longer harm the fluffy baby.

I spent time debating with myself just setting off the traps and making the exterminator come up with something else. With visions of ER visits for broken fingers dancing through my mind, I convinced Husband we needed to go to the store and find something a little more friendly. The trap we found seemed ingenious. Mousey goes through a tunnel towards delicious bait, tunnel snaps shut behind him. I take Mousey to delightful green meadow where he can live out his days in sunshine and rainbows. My kitchen no longer needs to be sanitized on an hourly basis. It seemed pretty foolproof.

The morning after setting out the humane, crunchy granola, save-your-stupid-life trap, I awoke to an empty trap. And one single piece of mouse poop. Right on top of the trap. I tried adding more peanut butter and moving it around, but really? After that insult I was no longer as concerned about saving Mickey. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s too smart to be taken alive.

So the exterminator came out and reset the too-big rat mouse traps. And somehow that fucker took the peanut butter off of the trap. Without setting it off. It’s possible the mouse in my kitchen has qualified for MENSA. I can’t even get peanut butter off a spoon without hurting myself. And somehow he’d removed every bit of it from the deadly grips of the trap. The exterminator came back out yesterday, and set out some glue traps. These seem even worse in theory to me – they just… hold them there? and they wait for me to… throw them out? That seems worse than mouse-trap instant death. And that’s if the little Einstein even bothers to fall for it.

I don’t want to live with a mouse in my house indefinitely (especially since he’s not paying rent or buying groceries), but I’ve yet to be able to reason with him and convince him that walking into the human trap is in his best interest. Is there some super awesome solution I’m missing?

Is the answer really Husband waiting in the kitchen with a shoebox all night?

Hey, Big Spender

6 Aug

I did not wear any makeup to work today.

And it wasn’t because of the black cloud, though I’d be lying if I said it probably didn’t contribute to my being mostly okay with the no makeup. It’s because I’m dangerously close to being out of foundation, and I am saving it for occasions where people will actually see me.

Husband and I are not spending money unnecessarily for the month of August. We need to buy food, gas, rent. Nothing else. I did not check the status of my makeup drawer before making this pledge, which is why foundation is now a hot commodity. I’m also almost out of shampoo, but I’m pretty sure that can be an approved purchase – no one wants to watch me go through that.

I knew this whole thing was going to be a challenge for me. In general, I don’t make all that many large purchases.  I do spend money often, though. Basically, I leak money walking down the street. I can’t tell you exactly where it goes, but I have a hunch it’s mostly into my stomach. I love treats, doughnuts, coffee, muffins, fast food, fries, dinners out, late night milkshake runs. I’m the type of person who goes grocery shopping and then needs to have dinner out because the food is overwhelming, what with its need to be made and all.

I don’t need to tell you how easily this breaks the bank, especially when there are two of us doing this – Husband is the same way. Our other bad financial habit is we are also both prone to talking the other into larger purchases on top of the leaking money. We know it’s something we shouldn’t buy, so we look to the other for the support to make the bad decision. And the support usually comes in the way of a trade off – I agree he gets a big purchase, he comes back with something else I should buy for me.

Yeah, I can see why we need that Blu-Ray player right now. Saddle up.

Babe, how long has it been since you bought a purse? Too long, right? Mall? Mall?

We’re horrible. So, spending detox it is. We got that Blu-Ray player, so we have movies to watch at home. We’re making coffee and taking it with us to work. Making dinner every night. We can walk the dogs, we can go to the gym, we can go to the pool or the beach. And to be fully honest with you, we’ve already got a cheat built in. We’re allowed to go to dinner for our anniversary, which is coming up this weekend. So I don’t even have to be completely successful with this. And I’m still finding it so, so hard. I was practically foaming at the mouth for Starbucks on Saturday, and that was only day four. Hours of my day are consumed with ways to trick Husband into breaking the pact first, so I can buy a doughnut. I spend more energy contemplating the moral dilemma of buying something behind his back than I spent writing any of my papers for my ethics class. There’s no way to sugar coat it – I’m pathetic, really very bad at this.

I know in the long run, this is something we need to do. The way we are now is not the way to accomplish long-term financial goals. It’s irresponsible and juvenile and we’re going to be better off because of this and other overhauls we need to do. However, I cannot stop the venti iced coffees from dancing around in my head.

How do you keep your resolve when things get tough, money-wise?

Because why wouldn’t you want to weigh in on an event that happened five years ago

24 May

I still argue with husband from time to time about the time I broke my thumb.

You did not break your thumb.

I’m pretty sure I broke my thumb, babe.

If you had broken your thumb, you would have known and you would have had to go to the hospital.

Honey, just because I didn’t go to the hospital doesn’t mean it wasn’t broken.

I think it does.

And so on. It was senior year of college. I was on my way to work at the Pizza Pizza chain that is near and dear to my heart. I lived upstairs in a townhouse with three other girls, and I was running down the stairs to my shoes. I was already wearing socks, and our stairs were carpeted. Somehow, my legs flew out from under me. For a brief, terrifying moment in time I was in the air, not attached to the earth in any way.

Then I came back down. Not on my legs, not on my ass or head or a back, but on my thumb on my right hand. Then the rest of my crashed down on top. It was an insane amount of pain. I began wailing instantly. No one else was home though, and Husband (then Boyfriend) was at class. I had no one to run the injury by. It was already starting to swell, becoming angry and red.

Growing up, whenever I or one of my cousins hurt themselves, we would always be asked “Can you move it?” If the answer was yes, then it clearly wasn’t broken. So I employed this technique. I slowly made a fist, released it. I could move it – but I was in a blinding amount of pain when I did. Did pain matter? I wasn’t sure. So I went to work.

By the time I had gotten to work, my hand was stiff and I still had tears in my eyes. It was the opening shift, so I had to make the day’s dough. Which meant cutting and kneading and rolling into a ball. Over a hundred times. I started, tried my best, but began crying. Which usually scares men over the age of 40, which is what my boss was. I washed the flour off my hands, and my right hand was a wickedly dark shade of purple. I relayed the story to my manager, and I was instructed to go straight to the hospital for x-rays.

Still, I wasn’t sure, so I went home, iced it, and took a nap. Later that day when all my roommates came home, it was unanimous I should have gone to the hospital. I still didn’t go. I was a broke college student with no insurance coverage, I decided I couldn’t afford anything frivolous like health care. Husband agreed, wrapped it up in an ace bandage, and I went about healing.

Except it didn’t really appear to  heal properly, and definitely doesn’t move in the same way as the other one. I feel like a sprain would have gone back to being normal, so I’ve concluded over the years that I broke the thumb. Husband still doesn’t agree

Exhibit A – Normal thumb range of motion.


Exhibit B – Poor, likely broken and healed improperly thumb range of motion. I can’t bend it back farther than this.


So what do you think internet? Broken thumb, yes or no?

We amuse us

19 Mar

Me: I feel like Usher and Justin Timberlake would be the collaboration of the century. Why aren’t you making that happen?
Him: Of the century? Nay, of the millennium!
Me: I’m glad you’re on board.
Him: And Michael Jackson’s ghost.
Me: Now, THAT would be the collaboration of the millennium. And 1999 Britney Spears.
Husband gives a sideways look of skepticism.
Me: What? If you can have Michael Jackson’s ghost I can have 1999 Britney Spears.
Him: I find Michael Jackson’s ghost more probable.

We amuse us

14 Feb

Me: Facebook’s not working.

Him: I’m sorry.

Me: It’s not your fault. I blame Mark Zuckerberg.

Him: I know.

Me: And Jessie Eisenberg. I blame him, as well.

Him: As you should.

Me: I think I actually blame him more than Zuckerberg.

Him: Obviously. And, of course, it’s Michael Cera’s fault by proxy.

Me: Yes. Obviously. But less than Zuckerberg’s.

Him: I think I’m happy with the hierarchy we’ve established.

Bored wife is bored

26 Dec

I had the day off. Husband did not. I am clearly too high maintenance to spend an entire day all by myself. I wonder what I would have done in the time before texting?

10:10: Blurg. BLURG I SAY.

10:30: Unleashed pit bull came up to us during morning walk. Owner wouldn’t grab it, only call it, so it ignored him and followed us. Wanted to yell at owner, not awake enough to form coherent insults.  Dogs growled but no one ate anyone. Win.

10:45: Not sure why the Wii remote isn’t showing up on the screen?

11:00: Never mind. Figured it out.

11:42: I just saw Norma from The Wonder Years! She looks exactly the same. Perhaps a robot?

1:38: I always forget how much daytime TV sucks donkey butt.

1:47: Melissa d’Arabian just ground up black beans to put in brownies. Who the fuck gave this bobble head a show?

1:59: Hey, do you know if you want to save money, you should buy things on sale? Also, you should use your leftovers. Also, buy things on sale! GROUNDBREAKING.

Pretty sure her cookware costs more than our car.

2:35: Kobe just stole Marty’s bone. Just dropped his, went and snatched M’s. Greedy greedy.

2:39: Just did it again.

2:41: Again. Bones away now.

2:45: What would the dogs think “greedy gus” sounds like?  I just said it to them and they went apeshit. No idea why.

3:30: Rachael Ray doesn’t eat her own food anymore. Also, her food looks like crap now. I guess I wouldn’t eat it either.

3:32: You’ll be happy to know Food Network’s original bobble head, Giada, is still pretentiously overpronouncing Italian words. Takes her half an episode to say “marscapone.”

3:33: Good thing this episode doesn’t have any spuuuuhhhhhghhhhheeeehhttiiiiiii.

3:46: Robert Irvine is selling a knife sharpener. Clearly we need it. I’m afraid of what will happen to us if we don’t buy it.

3:48: It’s not that our knives are dull. I just feel they’re not at their sharpest and Irvine might better appreciate my knife cuts with a sharper knife.

3:53: Bobblehead and I have the same food processor.

4:02: Paula Deen is making her holiday party buffet. It has brownies, stuffed mushrooms, chicken fingers, cherry ice cream and apple cider. Weirdest party ever.

4:04: Oh, thank goodness. Friends is on. Life can begin again.