A Complaint to My Neighbors

When the husband and I got engaged, the husband had it all planned out. He is very much a list person. One of those that makes a list for virtually everything and then checks it off as he completes his tasks. Although he did not have an actual list, I know that he had a virtual list in his mind of things that must happen in his life before other things were allowed to occur. For example, he made it a point to have a permanant, full time job in place before looking for a house to buy. Also, he bought a home before proposing to me so that when we got married I would be fully provided for. I love this aspect of my husband. He is a planner and for that reason we are able to live in a brand new neighborhood.

Part of the perks of being a brand-new-home-homeowner is that everything is new. The house, the appliances, the carpet, the grass outside and the pool. Did I mention the grass is new? Now, don't get me wrong, our neighborhood is mostly comprised of homes and not so much grass, but there are grassy areas for kids to frolic in and for dogs to sniff at. However, we have noticed a growing problem in our growing community.

Almost everyone who lives here owns a dog. While this is not necessarily a bad thing, it definitely has it's downsides. And for me, those downsides far outweigh the upsides. Which is why the husband and I don't own a dog. That, and we don't feel that we have enough room for a dog. The husband and I have noticed a few things about the said brand new grassy areas since the community dog population has grown. One of which is that the grass is now dying in more than a couple of areas around the neighborhood. I understand that dogs need to relieve themselves, but please for the love of everyone who wants to enjoy nice, brand new grass, vary the locations on which you allow your furry creatures to pee-pee. It's so sad that our green grass now has patchy dead areas.

We have not only noticed that dog owners are actively allowing their pets to kill our neighborhood grass, but we also find that a lot of those said dog owners refuse to pick up their dog droppings. Yes, their dog poo is all over our small grassy areas meant for everyone to enjoy. And instead of everyone being able to enjoy them, only the dogs who don't care that they are about to step in stinky masses dare to venture onto the grass. This problem has only grown in the past few months. More and more people find it perfectly acceptable to leave their dogs leavings behind. Without so much as a look back.

And then there are those who pick up their dog's poo, tie it up in a bag and then toss the bag into the bushes. This really confuses me. I for one, can completely relate to not wanting to pick up hot, steamy dog poo. (Another reason I don't particularly want a dog.) But what I cannot fathom is why anyone would pick up the poo and then throw it in the bushes. What is the point of this? If I ever see someone do this, I will personally ask them why that is better than leaving it in the first place. Now we have bags and dog poo and dying grass. All over our new neighborhood.

So, the association decided it would be a good idea to put in a bunch of these

all over the neighborhood. I for one think this is a fabulous idea. They not only have the little baggies that every dog owner needs in order to pick up the poo, but it also has a trash can attached so that they can then dispose of their dog waste in an actual trash can. But, this has not helped our issues. And apparently, other neighbors are tired of this phenomenon as well because on coming home one afternoon, the husband and I spotted this sign.

As you can see, there are two piles of dog poo on either side of the sign, and the sign itself has a doggie poo-poo bag attached to the side of it. What's worse is that directly across the small side street in our neighborhood is one of those trash-can-with-doggie-poo-bags-attached signs (pictured above... what does one call those things anyway?).

I loved this sign so much that everytime we drove by it I would ask the husband if he thought "Our Sign" was still there. Yes, I lovingly referred to it as "Our Sign" because I think it is that awesome and I secretly wish I had had the nerve to create such a masterpiece.

Spatulas and Spiders

Before the husband and I met, I didn't cook. At all. I had no desire and my mom would do it for me. Where was the need? It became apparent shortly after we started dating, however, that the husband wanted a wife that would cook. He loves cooking and thinking of new things to add to existing dishes or creating eniterly new dishes.

When I didn't instantly jump at the idea of being able to be in the kitchen, he was a little sneaky about getting me in there. He would casually ask me to stir this or that while he cut something else. This eventually turned into him giving me complete tasks that I could handle on my own. Like cooking pasta while he cooked the chicken and sauce.

Then one day he called and told me he had a surprise for me. I was excited, but no matter how much I pressed, he wouldn't tell me what it was. When I saw him later that day he handed me my present. Let me preface this by saying that I hate opening gifts in front of people. Not because I am selfless and don't like getting gift. I love presents. I love getting things that make me feel special. I hate opening gifts in front of an audience because I cannot hide my emotions. Whatever I am feeling is always plastered all over my face. There is never a question as to how I am feeling, all one has to do is look at my face and they will know instantly. I can only imagine what my face looked like as I opened my gift: a cookbook. And that was the beginning of the end.

I now am getting to the point where I like to cook. Sometimes. It does really help that the husband loves to cook and will always get in the kitchen with me. We cook side by side a few times a week. It's nice. The other day I was cooking and the husband was helping. We had just finished with the stir fry vegetables and chicken. As the husband was holding out the plate, I started to scoop until I stopped.

I started backing away as fast as I could without running and trying to spit out that there was something I was backing away from. I couldn't quite communicate what I saw because I was hyperventilating. The husband was a little freaked. He thought something was really wrong and was asking me what was wrong. He must have asked 10 times before I was able to answer. When I finally caught my breath I told him there was a spider that had dropped down from its web and was floating dangerously close to the food.

He couldn't see it at first because the spider was black. But when he finally did see it he grabbed the spatula I was holding in my hand to smash it against our counter. But before he did smash it he flipped it over and found the red hourglass. Yep. There was a black widow that tried to have dinner with us. I immediately grabbed disinfectant and cleaned the spatula and the counter. When thanking the husband for coming to my rescue I also asked that next time he not use our spatula to smash it.

And now I have a recipe to share. This has become one of the husband's and my favorite recipes. It is a chicken and vegetable pizza on whole wheat garlic and herb dough.

Ingredients: (The vegetables change every time we make it based on what we have. This time we included:)
2 Boneless Skinless Chicken Breasts, cubed
1 Roma Tomato
Onion
2 Tablespoons Minced Garlic
2 Tablespoons Butter
8 oz. Provolone Cheese Shredded
Pizza Dough (We like the garlic and herb dough from Trader Joe's)
Broccoli
Fennel
Bell Pepper
Carrots
*The amounts of vegetables we use varies, but it is usually between 1/2 cup to 1 cup of each

Cut up vegetables of your choice. Set them aside and cook the cubed chicken. Set the chicken aside and saute the vegetables (all except tomato) in minced garlic and butter until they are cooked to your liking. The husband and I like them slightly crunchy. Add the chicken to the veggies for the last minute to add the butter and garlice flavor.

While the vegetables are sauteing, roll the pizza dough out to desired size and shape. Heat the oven to 350 and cook the dough for about 10 minutes.

Take the dough out and add the sauteed veggies and chicken. Be sure to spread the butter and garlic over the veggies on the dough as well.

Add the provolone cheese.

Top with tomatoes.

Bake for another 20-30 minutes, until the dough is slightly crispy on the edges and the cheese is bubbly. And enjoy!

So It Wasn't My Finest Moment...

I am not a bug person. I have, however, gotten better over the years. Instead of screaming at the top of my lungs and sprinting as fast and as far as I can from whatever insect that is trying to invade my space, I slowly back away and almost kind-sorta hyperventilate while still trying to alert the nearest somebody that there is a bug of some sort that needs to be destroyed. Immediately.

And I've been even better than that lately. As you will recall, the husband loves to keep the front door open. And since we have terrible cell phone service in our home (and no, we do not have a land line, do people still get those these days?), he is confined to our front patio while talking on the phone. And since he is on the patio, the front door must be open. It's a rule he has.

One night he was chatting away on said cell phone in said patio and a huge, behemoth of a moth comes barreling into our home through our said open front door. Perfect. And what does the husband do? When he knows I am terrified of any such creature? He comes in to tell me that a moth just came in the house and closes the front door. He trapped me inside the house, with no other way for me the moth to escape and continued his conversation on the patio. With the door closed.

After a few moments of me backing as far away from the moth as possible, I had a thought. It's just a moth. A stupid moth that just wants to be near the lights. And that's when I grabbed the husband's magazine. I wasn't about to use any possession of mine. Moth guts on my things? No. Thank. You. So I wad up the magazine as best as I can and slowly approach the moth. By this time he has landed on the top of the wall near the ceiling. I drag a chair over to the spot and carefully climb up, making sure to keep an eye on the moth at all times. Afterall, there is no telling what this moth is capable of.

Finally on top of the chair, I ease my way to a fully extended standing position so that I can reach the moth. Scared as I was, I took a swing at the moth with the magazine. And miss. The moth did not appreciate the attempted swing and in defense swoops down and tries to dive bomb me. I, in the mean time, have jumped off the chair and dashed as far away as possible while screaming in terror. I am now being chased by the most malicious moth I have ever encountered and the husband is still on the patio talking. Did I mention the door was closed?

The same scenario happened again in the bathroom. As I finally worked up enough nerve to smash the moth, I only got a portion of him. (I've never been good at baseball, go figures I'm also terrible at swinging a magazine.) So instead, I have a wounded moth chasing after me. And this time I can't find where he went.

The husband got off the phone around the time that I was searching for the partially wounded moth. And did he help me search for it? Of course not. He found it much more entertaining to tell me how he saw my attempts at killing the moth through the front window and how he was laughing and retelling my story to his friend that he was talking to on the phone. He also insisted on reinacting my peril by standing on the chair and then jumping down screaming and waving his hands in the air. I have such an understanding husband.

Eventually he did help me search for the moth. And we didn't find him that night. We finally did find him on our counter top a few days later. Dead. I immediately got out the antibacterial disinfectant and sprayed that spot down. At least I killed him right?

ZZZZ.....

I've mentioned before that the husband and I are pretty much polar opposites. We have a lot of opposite tendencies. For example, he would rather simultaneously cook and clean so that after eating dinner there are only a few more dishes left to wash. I hold the mentality that it is less work if I do all the dishes all at once and he would rather do them a little at a time. The same is true with the housework. I would rather spend one day cleaning the entire house, while the husband prefers to do a little each day. We clearly have a different way of looking at things.

And it doesn't just stop with the housework. It is particularly true with sleep. The husband is one of those people that can live off of only a few hours of sleep each night. He actually prefers to get up early so that he doesn't miss out on any part of the day. I of course have a different view point. I love my sleep. I could sleep until 11 or 12 everyday if given the opportunity. And actually, when we met in college I did sleep in until 11 or 12 whenever I could.

I always knew the husband was a morning person. He had no problem telling me that he thought I slept too much. Really, can there be such a thing?? And then he made it one of his missions to 'help' me out. When we were still dating, he would call me on the weekends to get me up and going. It started with a sweet "Hey babe, where are you? When are you coming over?" call at 10 or so. I would get out of bed feeling all loved and ooey inside. It wasn't long before he was calling me earlier and earlier and the conversation was less mushy gushy and more "When are you getting out of bed? It's already 8." I wasn't enjoying this transition into an earlier and earlier morning.

But I did eventually get to the point where I would be up and about at 8 or so on my own. And then we got married. And then it got worse. As I've said, the husband likes to get up early everyday. And by early I mean 5:30. 5:30!!! Even on Saturdays and Sundays! He now marches into the bedroom anywhere between 7 and 8 (usually 7) touting "Wakey Wakey, Eggs and Bakey!" I am unclear about the meaning of this, because we never have bacon in the house and we don't usually eat eggs in the morning. When asked he just replied that it's a morning food and it rhymes. Such a guy. After rousing me with his morning rhyme, he informs me that I, since I am so good at making coffee, should play barrista and make some coffee for us. Since I want coffee too, I oblige. And most of the time I don't mind.

There are those mornings, however, when he isn't so sweet at waking me up. As I've said before, I am not a morning person. I do not wake up easily and when I first wake up I need some time to actually get out of bed and get going. I am grumpy too. Very grumpy. (see below)

He finds this funny. So funny, in fact, that he has tried on numerous occassions to simultaneously wake me up and snap a photo of the develish scowl that crosses my face as I emerge from sleep. So. Not. Funny. Or, he'll knock on our bedroom wall from the opposite side while he's playing his computer game, tickle me or throw the covers off me. All of which he finds hilarious and I find maddening.

As if this weren't torturous enough, he also terrorizes me as we go to bed. All I want to do by the time 9pm rolls around is go to sleep. Since I now wake up around 7, 9pm is a perfectly acceptable time to go to bed. In my mind, at least. According to the husband, 9 is way too early. So what does he do? When we get in bed he does everything he can to keep me awake.

He will sometimes run up the stairs only to turn around and jump out at me to scare me. Then, when I'm not scared because of how often this happens, he runs into the bedroom and pounces on the bed like a panther. He cirlces on his hands and knees and hisses at me. If I try to get in bed, he instantly jumps on me and starts tickling, or wresting with me or biting me. Love bites he calls it. All the while I'm whining at him to "Stop babe. Pleeeease. I just want to go to sleep. I'm tiiiiiired!" Which he only finds more amusing. And if I crack a smile at all, even in the least, he takes it as a challenge. He keeps at it until I finally get really mad and then he finally gets really mad. I can tell when he's mad because he always turns away from me to lay on his side.

And then I feel bad. I mean, he was just playing around afterall. So I cuddle up to him and mock him for being mad. At which point he turns back towards me and starts at it again. Oy! Clearly, I can't win.

So not only do I deal with him waking me up early, I also deal with him keeping me up at night. And in the morning when I complain that I'm tired he still claims it's because I sleep too much. I'm still not convinced that there is such a thing.

Holes

The husband walked downstairs this morning and informed me that he had experienced a minor setback in his wardrobe selection.

Husband: I went to put on my khaki pants this morning, you know the ones I wear almost all the time, and there was a hole!

Me: (completely distracted and a little, ok a lot, disinterested) Oh. That sucks.

Husband: Yea, but its not just a little hole. It's a big hole. And right next to the big hole, the fabric is wearing thin and starting to form a second hole.

Me: Oh. Well where is it?

Husband: It's in the crotch area. Which is weird because it's not like my pants are tight. They are loose. And all I do is walk back and forth in the classroom, I'm not climbing or jumping around. So for it to wear like that is weird.

Me: Huh... Well nobody probably even noticed. Since it's in between your legs they would only be able to see it if you are sitting down right in front of them.

Husband: So what I hear you saying is, oh that sucks, you're a retard with a hole in your pants.

Me: Yea, basically.

And we both went on with getting ready for the day. He asked me a few times throughout the day if I had looked at the holes in his pants. What did he think? I got ready in the morning, had no time to spare until we left together and rode to work. When did I have time to inspect his holey pants? Exasperated, I finally took a peak.  I immediately burst into laughter.

I couldn't believe that he had worn a hole that large into the crotch of his pants and he didn't even notice.

Now, you may be thinking that he told me the hole was big. Yes he did. But he often exxagerates. He tells me very frequently that women around the world wept when we married because he was no longer single. So forgive me if I did not take him seriously when he told me the hole was huge. But alas it was and I am flabbergasted as to how he accomplished this. Looks like I will be out looking for a replacement khaki pair of work pants this weekend.

Rings 'n Things

The husband and I started dating 5 years ago. (I'm feeling older as I write this.) We were both in college and had no expectations whatsoever as to what this relationship would bring. I was only 19 afterall and he 24. Like every other woman on the planet, however, I soon started longing to hear a measly 3 word phrase that would launch our relationship into the next level. I remember that we had been dating a year and still had not heard him utter these words and so I started to push. I wanted confirmation that we were both on the same page. That he really did have deeper feelings for me which could maybe develop into a relationship geared toward marriage. So I started acting like any other woman on the planet would act and started asking if he loved me, if he was in this relationship because he thought he might possibly be able to see us married sometime down the line.

This was never recieved well, of course. And I don't blame him at all. Had I had some boyfriend pressuring me and demanding me to express my love for him I don't think I would have responded half as well as the husband did. He always told me the truth and it was always the same: I wouldn't still be in this relationship if I wasn't happy and didn't think it could go somewhere. He's always been very logical like this. Why tell me he loves me, instead show me by planning fantastic 21st birthday wine tastings and flowers unexpectedly. That is how he showed me, and still continues to show me, that he loves me.

That and he has these crazy rules about relationships. He told me when we first started seeing each other that he has rules he abides by when he is dating someone. First of all, you never become exclusive before dating a month. That way you can get a good feel for the person and see if they are cooky. Also, you never buy a girl jewelry unless you want to marry her. He told me other rules, but these are the two that really stood out in my mind. To me he was saying, if I like you, in one month we will be exclusively dating. (And no matter how much I whined, he waited until exactly one month to ask if I was comfortable with dating him and only him.) I also had it flagged forever in my memory that if he ever bought me jewelry, he intended to marry me.

So, one day two years into the relationship and still not a sign of a single piece of jewelry, the husband and I had been working out at the gym. In the car ride home he said he had something for me in his pocket. I was more than ready for a ring, the ring, and got a little excited.

Me: You have something for me? What?
Him: It's in my pocket. Here. I found this on the gym floor and thought it might be worth something.

He pulls out a ring. That he literally found on the gym floor. And I don't know how he could have thought it might be worth something. It looked like it had come from a crackerjacks box. And I told him.

Me: What is this? You actually think this is worth anyhting??? It looks like it came from a crackerjacks box! (I was mad with disappointment and was a little mean.)
Him: Well I don't know. Those kinda look like diamonds! My dad found a diamond ring on the floor once and gave it to my mom and she wasn't offended. She still has it.
Me: Yeah, because those are real diamonds! I don't want this piece of crap!

Like I said, I was mean. I threw it down in his car and left it at that.

But, like I said, he only intended on buying me jewelry if he wanted to marry me, so I panicked. The thought that was suddenly stuck in my mind was "What if he never buys me any jewelry? I might as well take what I can get!"

So I later snuck it back. When he noticed it on my finger, I told him I had thought better of the situation, that since he wasn't going to buy me any jewelry, I might as well take this piece of junk and make the best of it.

Which he thought was hilarious. And I thought was very sad. And a little funny.

Little did I know, that at almost exactly 3 years of dating, the husband would propose. And in the most romantic and clever way that I have ever heard:

He mysteriously told me that he would be picking me up at 5:30 in the morning on May 17, 2008. Now, if you have read my profile you know that I do not like mornings and I am a big grump if I am woken too early and/or have not gotten enough sleep. So when he said 5:30 I was not excited. He also wouldn't tell me where we were going.

We ended up driving to Temecula, wine country, to Wilson Creek Winery. I still had no idea what we were doing here. There were quite a few people there and we had to go check in. When we did I heard something about a pilot and got a little nervous.

Me: What are we doing? Did he say something about a pilot???
Husband: No. It's a surprise. He didn't say pilot. You're crazy.

We ended up getting into a van with 2 other couples, and I was correct he had said pilot. We were going up in a hot air balloon. Over wine country. Can you say romance?

We even posed for a few pictures before we went up, and the staff was more than willing to snap some photos for us.

Before we had boarded this basket, the sign had read "Happy Anniversary" so I had no clue that we were posing in front of a propsal sign!

We went soaring along. It was peaceful and romantic and so calm in the balloon. I remember trying to lean over and look down and the husband was super concerned and wouldn't let me lean too far over. Eventually, the husband handed me a polaroid of us posing in front of the "Will You Marry Me?" sign in the basket. And got down on one knee.

I was shocked. And so excited that he finally decided to buy me jewelry! I no longer wear my crackerjacks box ring because I have this beauty to wear.

Three Shorts Part III

Ever since I can remember my mother has told me that all men are alike. More specifically, "Men are all the same, they just come in different packages." I never really gave this any second thoughts, I mean because really, are our parents ever right about these types of things? Definitely not when you are a young teenage girl who knows everything in the world and whose parents couldn't possibly know what things are like today. But, amazingly, now that I am married, I know exactly what she is talking about.

My husband is no exception to these unwritten rules that all women are aware of. He doesn't care too much for frills or ruffles, he likes to chew with his mouth open and belch (and then blow it in my face), he is the biggest baby when he is sick, and whenever he gets together with his friends he becomes a 10 year old who likes to wrestle.

He and all his friends are into watching the fighting sports like UFC and we get together every couple of months to hang out and watch the fights. The women take this opportunity to catch up, cook and play with the babies. The guys take this opportunity to eat greasy potato chips, drink lots of beer and intensly stare at and analyze the fights. When the fights are over and their stomachs are full of greasy beer, they decide it is a great idea to try and be UFC fighters themselves. This results in not-quite-sober headlocks and 'rear-naked chokes' (I swear I didn't make this up). It usually ends because one of the women steps in and reprimands the men for acting like boys.

When we don't have the opportunity to all get together for fights, I oblige and watch them with the husband. I think the husband pretends that he is with the boys and the junk food because he always tries to get me to engage in combat during the commercials. I have learned long ago that while I am tough and stronger than most women, I am no match for my husband. (Did you see those muscles in the past post?) However, one time, I had a weak moment.

Although I don't quite remember, let's just say that I had been drinking and being so, my judgement was not what it should have been. The husband and I had just finished watching a UFC fight and the husband started picking on me. He was hyped up from watching all the sweaty, bloody fighters and the crowd screaming in anguish and excitement all at once. He started coming at me. You know, trying to provoke me into starting a fake fight so when I ended up getting hurt he could say that I was the one who started it. I took the bait and got his head into what I thought was a great headlock between my legs.

He stood there, staring at me and asked "Do you want me to show you how I can get out of this?"

"Sure. Go ahead and try." (I was cocky because my legs are stroooong. There have been a few occassions where I have been able to pin the husband down with my legs.)

He did some kind of quick wiggle-squirm-twist and was out before I knew what was going on. This marked the beginning of our battle. I tried to jump on his back. He dodged. He managed to pin me down. Then I would wiggle my way out and try to get him with my legs again. Laughter, screams and breathless pleas to stop in between the laughs were ignored.

Then the husband asked "Do you want to see how you're supposed to really pin someone with their legs?"

I was leery. During these play fights on various previous occassions, the husband has punched me, slapped me and kicked me. (All by accident of course. It's not like my husband beats me.) This didn't give me very much comfort in the fact that he would only show me and not hurt me in the process. But, as I said before, my judgement was not what it should have been. So I said "Ok. But don't hurt me!"

The husband positioned himself and told me where to stand and how. All of a sudden his leg was wrapped around my neck and one arm, held in place by his other leg and his hand was squeezing the grip tighter and tighter. At first it was funny. But then my arm was starting to cut into my neck and it was getting a little difficult to breathe. I could feel myself turning red from heat and because of a lack of oxygen to my brain. I couldn't talk too well, let alone breathe. All the while the husband is laughing. I finally gather up all the breath I can and manage a squeak of a scream to "Seriously stop, it hurts!"

When the husband lets go he is still laughing. And my head starts throbbing. Then I'm dizzy and need to sit down. I can't even stand up to get myself some water. Not to mention the bright red marks all around my neck. I had to sit down for 20 minutes before I felt okay to get up and walk around. And does the husband feel bad? Not in the least. To him, he has just won another UFC victory. I, on the other hand, vowed to never again engage in any sort of physical wrestling ever again.