A cowboy is a cowboy, right? Nope.

So there we were at the local Friends of the Library Annual Book Sale.

What is that, you ask? It's the basement of the local library filled with long tables and thousands of books laid out for purchase. Thousands. They even sell sealed boxes of random books, kinda like a nice grab bag surprise - you can pick romance, horror, non-fiction, etc., it's pretty cool.

Anyhow... there we were with 35-40 other people in this cavernous room. I was drooling. Hubby was drooling. We were in Book Lover's Heaven. Everyone was quietly drooling and snatching up their favorites.

We worked our way over to the paperbacks at the back wall when hubby (about 20' away) suddenly holds up a book like it's the Holy Grail and says loudly "LOOK!!!"

Naturally, everyone turned to look.

Me, leaning around the lady beside me and whispering: "Shh... what?"

Him, still at volume: "I found a book for you!!"

I could see the cover from there and now that everyone was looking, I felt compelled to respond. Quickly.

Me: "Thanks but it's not an author I read."

Him, confused, looks at the book and back to me: "But... but... but it has cowboys! It's in Montana!!"

Okay at the point I coulda just crawled under a table and hid because the two people in between us were snickering and half the room was giggling. Since the under-table area was packed with more boxes of books, I turned crimson instead.

Scooting over to his side, I took a closer look. "It's historical and it's Wyoming cowboys from an author I don't know. I read contemporary Montana cowboys." At the time I was reading a series based in Montana so he thought it was part of the series, but alas it wasn't. It looked like a good story, just not one I'd read.

He put the book back, and I know he meant well, but really - did he have to announce it to the room-at-large about my romance-reading preference? Yes, he did. He's a guy.

Actually I read anything, but I do have quite the fondness for cowboys. *smile*

We walked out that day with about 20 books for $10 - such a deal!!! I love those library book sales. I can pick up hardbacks and paperbacks for a steal, read and pass them along, donate to charity, or keep it and collect their backlist.

On the way out, one elderly lady leaned over and said to me, "My husband does the same thing to me, dearie..."

Gotta be a guy thing.

Ice Cream Ramblings

Yeah RIGHT "there's no such thing as a dumb question".

You try being around the same person for as many years as I have, and say that again... with a straight face. I can't. I break out laughing hysterically every time.

Take, for instance, today after lunch. Hubby goes to the door to the garage, pauses, looks back at me (why, I'm still not sure).

Me: "What?"

Him: "Umm... I'm going to... get a couple popsicles..."

Me: "Popsicles?"

Him: "Yeah, in the mood for something sweet."

Now why he didn't automatically think of me, not sure there either, but there ya go. (Don't answer that, I know the reason... I'm not sweet, hahahah!!)

Me: "Okay... popsicles... hmmm..."

Immediately I was thinking of the homemade ice cream in the freezer in the kitchen, not the deep freezer in the garage where he was headed. I knew he'd like it, it was raspberry chocolate-chip. Awful darn tasty stuff too. Tangy, sweet, chocolate, and fruity all at once.

Anyhow. Back to hubby-paused-in-doorway. He says, and this is where the string of dumb questions started... "Do you want me to get you anything?"

I was in SHOCK, I tell ya... s h o c k shock. He never asks if I want anything. I really mean that. It's not that he's rude, it's just he never thinks about anything other than his own sugar-based-requirement at the moment. It's okay, I'm used to it. *grin*

Me: "Me? You want to get something for ME?! You never offer to get anything for me!"

At this point I might have wanted to check his temperature to see if he was running hot. Or look in his eyes and see if he'd been replaced by a droid. Or maybe he really did have a doppleganger or identical twin... one with the sensitivity to ask if there was something I wanted too.

Him: "Yes, you... would you like me to get you something from the deep freezer while I'm out there?"

I shook myself out of that shocked state, blinking at him.

Me: "Umm... no, I have what I need inside the house..." I murmured. He resumed his progress through the doorway. What I said next froze him (no pun intended) in his tracks though. "...but I thought you might preferraspberry chocolate-chip ice cream instead of popsicles."

I'm an evil child, I tell ya. Evil. Eeee-ville.

He froze (again, no pun intended), turned to me with a look of ice cream lust if I ever saw one. I'd hit the nail on the head three times... he LOVES raspberries, chocolate chips, and ice cream. To have all three in one... that's food lust, there's not other phrase for it.

Him: "You have that?" (see? dumb question!)

I got up, went to the kitchen freezer, rolling my eyes the whole way, pulled out a small single-serving-size plastic container and handed it to him with a spoon silently. At least I'd had the smarts to put the ice cream in little tubs.

Him: "Where'd this come from?" (again!)

I can't make up stuff like this, he actually looked at the reusable container, which is obviously not a store-bought ice cream tub, and asked that question while he was standing next to the ice cream machine, too, which just happened to be sitting out on top of the microwave at the moment... in plain sight. Can't miss it, the thing's not exactly SMALL.

Really. I can't make this stuff up. He not only asked if I had it but where it came from! D'oh!

I still didn't say anything, just pointed to the ice cream freezer machine about a foot to his left. I could see him wanting to ask another question, but instead I just turned him gently and nudged him out the door so he could go devour the ice cream before it melted. The only thing I can think is that he had gone into some sort of state of food shock.

P.S. That flavor's probably the best ice cream experiment to date, too, came out sooooo yummy. Mmm mmm mmmmmm. I hear it's called something like "raspberry rumble", definitely gonna do it again!

The joy of pets

Eeeeeeks, I shrieked!

There I was typing furiously on my story and hubby walks in. I was hip-deep in some really good scene and I got interrupted. It happens a lot! I put a mirror on the corner of the monitor that shows the doorway behind me but I was on a roll and frankly... he walks like a cat. He likes to sneak up behind me and read over my shoulder (ooo that's a pet peeve of mine, you'd think he'd stop but noooOOOoooooOOOoooo... eh, story for another day, LOL!!)

Apparently he thought I needed more blog material or something. So… herewego.

He delivered this announcement with just a bit of dread and morbid disgust:

"Tigger just barfed by the bed."

Then he stood there… just looking at me.
He. Just. Stood. There.

Well hold me back, stop the presses... does that mean... oh say it isn't so!! Does that mean I get to clean it up? Good golly, Miss Molly... and here I thought I was going to be able to eat din-din without feeling queasy from cleaning up a catmess.

There went that notion. Guess din-din's gonna have to wait till I get disinfected, too, hehehe.

And since when did he forget how to use a paper towels and Oxy-Clean (Ooooo if you have cats or dogs, this stuff is marvy on carpeting!)? We've had five cats for a while - it's not like catmess is a new idea around here.

I sooooo wish it was! We clean the carpets and feed them Furball-B-Gone regularly… if you have a cat, let alone more than just "*A* cat", you're going to get to play rug-spot-fixer at least once a week, if not more. Catmess happens.

So... feeling much like the big bad wolf out to lynch me a cat and a hubby all at once, I huffed and I puffed, and I got out the cleaning stuff (hey that rhymed! cool!), and I marched down the hall to see...

...the tiniest little spot of catmess that I've ever seen. I squinted, looked around, yep – hubby-dearling was pointing at that miniscule spot.

I'm not going to get graphic, but usually a catmess is quite... umm... artistic.

Me, looking around for more spots: "This is IT?"
Him, hedging his bets: "Well, there was that too."
He pointed to a spot some five feet away - far too distant to be from the same umm... errr... projectilation. (That's a word, isn't it? My spellchecker thinks not, but I think it is.)

Me: "That's not recent, that was Tigger couple days ago, darnitall. I'll go over it again."
Apparently the older spot came back up, so I hit it again with the Oxy-Clean right after hitting the new spot.

Out, darn spot, out!

Of course, hubby had to watch me closely, thankyouverylittleforhelpingsheesh!
Tigger had long since vanished. Probably hiding... again. The cat's a woos. Or is that wuss? Yeah... wuss.

Poor Tigger, she gets so stressed sometimes. It'd be nice if she didn't make a catmess right where we either A) need to walk in the dark barefooted, or B) next to someone trying to sleep. Perhaps one of these days she'll aim at the linoleum or wood floor so it's ta-da (drum-roll-please) far easier to clean! Like that'll ever happen.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my kitties though… and I know if we didn’t have cats, we’d have dogs. Or a combo of the two, maybe a house rabbit again - I used to raise those years ago. We just love our pets.

What's on the menu?

So there I am at Wal-Mart today... again... standing in the checkout line and mulling over things I could rant about online publicly when it hit me... the front cover of a popular woman’s magazine had a little blurb in the upper right, designed to get people to look inside. Or maybe buy the issue.

The bit said: "4 Things All Guys Crave Hearing - pg. 74"

Well I'm curious as a cat , but not THAT curious. I don't have to pick up the latest issue to know the answer to THAT one... I been married since... ohh... umm... errrrr... well, a while. Long enough to know that without even looking, I could imagine they'd mean things that would stroke his (cough hack cough) fragile (cough cough hack) ego. And no, that's not a euphemism, get yer mind outta the gutter. Besides, if I'd picked up the magazine to see what exactly WAS on pg. 74 of this month's issue, I probably woulda died laughing.

Like I said before... some days I'm soooooooo mature. LOL! I just knew I'd be in trouble from the Hysterics Police if I picked it up to read, so I didn't.

Around this house... the four things hubby-dearest craves hearing kinda go like this:

4. "Why sure, I'll pay all the bills this month, you just keep your paycheck to yourself this month, honey!"

3. "You just put your feet up, dearling, I'll bring you something to eat and drink and fetch the remote for you, would you like me to put in a DVD too?"

2. "Of course you can sit around and do absolutely nothing today! The yard can wait. Why... it's not even two feet tall yet!"

...and the all time top drawer ding ding ding winner of them all...

1. "You. Were. Right."

Of course, if ya know me... that's just sarcasm. But now that I'm home and I can't read pg. 74, I'm curious... what are the four things that all guys crave hearing? I shoulda just picked it up anyhow.

P.S. #2-3-4 are really sarcasm, but number 1 there - that's for REAL. He LOVES to hear me say "You were right." *grin*

Men and shopping... and oh yes, cats

Well. The cats decimated another scratching post, the big one with carpet on the base and a big section of sisal rope around the middle of the 4' high 4x4 wood post. I figured, we spent plenty $$$ to buy it new and they love that post, AND I'm handy with hot glue and a staple gun, so I'll just replace the carpeting and sisal, rather than buy a new post. Sisal's cheap, so are carpet remnants.

And apparently I needed something to do.

The problem is... what I ask for wasn't what I got (hmm... rarely is, come to think of it! hahaha). I sent hubby to Lowe's (cuz I had work to do… victims to stalk! emails to write! blogs to update!) for "at least 60' sisal and a 2'x3' carpet remnant". Actually, he had appointment, and he was already out-n-about, that's why he went. Really.

Sound simple, right? I wrote it on paper too.

Not so simple. What I got was 50' sisal and a 1-1/2'x20' remnant.

The man has no spatial relations. And I'm not talking derogatorily about the space between his ears, cuz ya know I think he has that, but he has no idea when I say at least 60' I mean get more than 60' even if you have to get two 50' bundles cuz I'll use it on the other posts too. D'oh! So I showed him why the carpeting wasn't quite right...

Me, holding the way-too-narrow carpet remnant to the now-too-wide flat base: "See? I needed at least 2' wide."

Him, shrugging: "They didn't have carpet remnants at Lowe's. That's all they had where I went."

Me, surprised: "Not Lowe's? So where'd you go?"

He named some carpet store nearby, not where I woulda went but that's okay, I didn't go. There's some other shop I'm thinking of nearer the center of town... but... since I didn't go, I wouldn't complain. Much.

Me, confused: "They didn't have anything more... square?"

Him, repeating cuz I apparently didn't hear him the first time: "No, that's all they had."

Me: "There's more than one carpeting store in this town, you know."

Him, still repeating himself cuz I'm too dense to hear him today: "Yeah... welllll... Lowe's didn't carry carpet remnants."

Me: "I wasn't talking about Lowe's, I was talking about where you went."

Him, repeating like I didn't get it first or the second time: "That's all they had."

Me, resigned: "Fine, I'll put a cheap-n-dirty seam in it, Tigger will rip it out in a week. She has a nervous twitch, you know."

Him, ever the broken record to drive home the point: "That's all they had."

Last night I had counted the loops of sisal, and by size of the post I used my handy-dandy calculator and it came up to 54'. I figured 60' I could wrap it tighter. But no! The stuff only comes in 50' bundles and instead of buying 2 of the 50' bundles (so I could have redone the sisal on a smaller post TOO while I was all hot-n-sweaty - and not in a good way, either, thankyouverymuch!!), he brought back only *one* bundle.

So I wrapped it a little looser, it turned out okay, the post is covered. Cats are happy. I'm tired. That stuff is rough to work with, ugh. And hey - I saved major bucks doing it myself!

But the carpeting... wellll... I had to seam it and I don't think that's gonna last. You should see Tigger and Precious and Sweet Pea dig into the flat carpet part, they're aggressive.

Ya know what's really funny? The cat herd watched the entire time. They were fascinated by the sisal rope all over the kitchen floor.

Hubby watched too. He was fascinated that he matched the carpet remnant so close to what was already on the post. I had to shoo them all outta the room no fewer than five times - with the water sprayer. Gotta love it when I get growled and hissed at - and not by the cats, either, that was hubby!

At least now they have a post that works again, I'd hot-glued it so many times it took me a while to undo all the stuff I'd done to it first, hehehe. That's a big enough craft project for me for this week. And now Tigger won't try and eat the sisal, she was gnawing on the loose ends that had ripped off. That cat will eat ANYTHING, but that's a different blog for another day, she's our little omnivore.

And those flowers up top? That's the blooms from a sisal plant. Pretty, huh?

Some Days It Pays To Complain

Okay this is a long one, but worth it. Sit back, relax, grab a cuppa coffee... enjoy.

I don't care what hubby says, some days it pays to complain. He can be as embarrassed if he wants, if I wanna complain, I will. And publicly, too. I'm too old not to, at this point.

Now, I don't mean just complaining for the sake of hearing my own whining, I mean complaining when someone's done something wrong. Like messing up your meal in a restaurant, or telling you they'll have your car ready at such-n-such time and then it's four days later they finally tell you 'oh woops we forgot we had to order that part from Germany!'... ya know... stuff like that. We're all consumers at some point, so if my purchase is whacked out for any reason, there's a right to complain somewhere in there. And I mean I complain nicely, I don't go off half-cocked. If I'm gonna go off, it's fully-cocked.

*cough* *cough* *cough* Don't touch that.*cough* *cough* *cough*

See, it all started innocently. Heck, it always does. Last week, to get hubby outta the house so I could work on my writing, and to make him happy with something to do on his day off, hubby went to Taco Bell. Ooooo I love those Gordita Baja with steak, mm mm mm. Tasty things, they are... when they're made right!

Problem is... what he brought back was a piece of flatbread with just steak and lettuce and a teensy sprinkle of cheese.

Well. Humph. I've had them before, I know what's in them: seasoned ground beef, jalapeño pepper sauce (that stuff is AWESOME), salsa fresca, lettuce, cheese, and since we added steak... carne asada steak. I even looked up their website to verify that's what I'd had before, and compared it to the receipt showing what he'd ordered, AND what he'd paid for were all correct. They'd just screwed up in making the thing, and had skipped most of the ingredients. Ack.

Some days I'm fully passive-aggressive (and this was one), so I figured why complain to them directly by phone when their WEBSITE lets me complain to the head honchos? Soooo I fired off a well-written and stated-clearly complaint, no screaming just stating the facts on when-where-what-how-etc. That was ummm... last Wednesday night I think. Late at night, too, I had to think on it for a while... to complain or not complain, that was the question.

In today's mail - a very, VERY nice apology letter from Taco Bell Corporate, and a coupon for two free items of my choice from the menu. Woohoo! Free lunch, here I come.

Works for me!

Then as I sat here thinking of all the bazillion times I've had something like this occur, I think the absolute best was Arby's:

Quite a few years back, me and a friend had gone to an Arby's that just so happened to have one of the corporate offices NEXT DOOR. And not in a separate building, they shared the SAME front door. You'd think the staff would be ultra-trained at that site, right? Wrong.

I'd asked if the special new ham-n-cheese sandwich on the menu was hot (they don't serve it anymore, not the same way), and it turned out, it was not - it was deli style, but nowhere on the overhead menu or the signs by the cash register did it say that. It even looked hot in the picture, melting cheese and all! And the cashier taking my order told me it was hot, he confirmed it.

When the tray arrived, I said it's wrong, it's supposed to be hot. The employee said no it's not hot, and walked away. Well, that bent me the wrong way.

And so began my life of filing complaints at restaurants.

So I went up to the register with the offending food. THEN... they refused to refund my money because it's what I'd ordered (the previous cashier was on break, what timing). So I walked next door (with the tray). Now this really embarrassed my friend, but I wasn't going to eat cold ham-n-cheese when hot was what I'd paid for and what I'd expected and what my head and stomach and mouth were all prepped for – cold just was not gonna cut it.

Whaddya know, the corporate office was closed for the day. I think it was a Saturday, that's why.

So I grabbed a complaint form, went back to my table, filled out the complaint, stuffed it in the complaint box by the corporate door, along with my receipt and...

...about 2-3 days later got in the mail an envelope with a personal letter apologizing, and the promise that they'd retrain the individuals, AND... a stack (!!!) of free coupons, enough for ohhh a dozen meals and potato cakes, fries, drinks, etc.

Shocked the heck outta me!! All I'd wanted was a refund for 2 small cold ham-n-cheese sandwiches. Did they go over the top? You betcha!! Now that's customer service. Didn't cost them anything in the long run, and it made me an Arby's fan for life, hehehe.

We don't live by that Arby's place anymore, but you bet when we did, I went in there once a week... just to see if I could get them to screw up again. And darn it if I couldn't!! They'd retrained them all very, very, VERY well.

But now... we live near this Taco Bell.

Looks like 'game on' again. *grin*

Movie Night

We have a game in this house... it's loosely called "Guess What Movie Is Playing In Under Five Minutes". There's no prize, other than bragging rights, and bonus kudos to the person that can name the most actors/actresses. So... since it's hubby day off and I need a break from all that month-end hoo-haw, and HBO was playing an old movie from '83 we hadn't watched in FOREVER... it was game on: "Mr. Mom". Cute movie, haven't watched it in years.

And since hubby missed opening credits... he was the obvious guesser:

Him, two seconds after sitting down: "Oh, I know what movie this is!"
Me, knowing he'd draw a blank: "Go ahead, guess."
Him, drawing a blank: "It's umm..."
Me, rolling my eyes: "Don't hold me in suspense, just guess!!"
Him: "It's... umm..."
Me, sighing: "Sheesh. Guess already."
Him: "It's that one where the Japanese..."
Me: "No, it's so NOT "Gung Ho"."
Him: "Are you sure?"
Me, looking for something other than the heavy metal stapler to throw: "Gimme a break, I picked it out, you guess."
Him: "It's umm..."
Me: "Geez. Just watch the movie. When you're ready to guess, just spit it out."

Two minutes later...

Him: "I know what it is."
Me, sighing again: "Okay, which one is it? Guess."
Him: "It's umm..."
Me: "We been through this before, numbnut."
Him: "It's that one with the car industry."
Me: "It's. Not. Gung. Ho."
Him: "Are you sure?"

Me: "It's. Not. Gung. Ho. Really!"

An additional two minutes later...

Him: "I know what it is."
Me, agitated cuz he was taking too long: "Fine. Guess."
Him: "It's that one where he takes over his wife's... umm..."
Me, cutting him off cuz I really wanted to watch it now: "When you know the title, let me know. Just. Watch. The. Movie."

Several minutes later yet (well over the five-minute mark)...

Him, yelling so loud me AND all five cats jumped two feet: "MR. MOM!!!"

I could smell smoke, he'd thought so hard.

I won, he didn't guess it under five minutes, and he only guessed Michael Keaton, completely missing Teri Garr. I tormented him by pulling up IMDB.com and listing all the other movies Teri's been in... he still drew a blank. Until the end credits rolled (that cheater).

The grass is always greener...

So it's now mowing season... again. We have a cordless rechargeable Black and Decker dealie, works great (when it's been serviced properly) and so easy even I can use it. Had it for ohhh 11 years. Hubby-dearling thought it was 15, had to prove to him it was only 11 (ha! I can add 7+4!!).

Anyhow... so he decided to do yard work this morning. After 2 hours of NOT hearing the lawnmower running, I poked my curious head out the door.

Me, watching him walk around the yard aimlessly, sans mower: "What's going on?"
Him, waving a weed-plucking device in one hand towards the garden shed: "Mower needs charging."
Me, scowling: "It was charged two days ago."
Him: "Well somehow it got unplugged." (guess he thinks squirrels did it)
Me, owning up: "Right - I unplugged it because it had been plugged in for a week already."
Him, hands on hips: "Well now it has to charge."
Me: "Are you sure?"
Him: "It has a red light."
Me: "Did you test it to see if maybe it was borderline and you could run it for a while, then charge it later?"
Him: "No, it has a red light."
Me: "Oka-a-ay, fine. Just try it, see if it's charged, I think the red light's a false-negative, it does that sometimes but it still has juice to run."

Ten minutes later...

Him, coming in the door scowling: "Can't mow. Blade just snapped off."
Me, disgusted at another delay: "Oh goodie. Guess that means it don't need charging now."
Him: "No, it needs a new blade."
Me: "You can take care of that, right?"

I could actually hear the grass growing. He just stood there looking at me with a blank look like I was supposed to stop work and go get a new blade from gosh-knows-where.

After two minutes of silent staring, I gave in and got the phone book out.

Me, disgusted further: "I knew I'd end up doing this."
Him: "I'm NOT going to Portland for a blade."
Me, rolling my eyes: "You'll go where the repair place IS, even if it's Portland."
Him: "I'm not going to Portland."

Dug around, found the owner's manual, looked up where the Service Center was... and... and... and... oh joy of joys!

Me, grinning like an idiot cuz I couldn't help myself: "Guess what, you're going to Portland!!"

Okay, I said that a little too gleefully, so sue me.

He growled.

Me, trying to justify: "It's not far, sweetie, it's just south of us right across the Columbia, barely into Portland, see?"

Held up a map to show him where it was. He studied it, grunted, then walked away. I went back to work.

He came back two minutes later in his jammies.

Me: "Ummm... hellllllo... does 'lawnmower need a blade today' mean anything to you?"
Him, plopping down in recliner: "I have to go TODAY?"
Me: "When would you suggest going?"
Him, thinking it would be a week before next day off and obviously hearing the grass growing too: "Umm..."
Me: "Get the mower and all the stuff in your car. It probably needs more than just a blade, so take everything with you and they can look at the whole thing. I'll print a map from Google for you. It's not far, you'll be down and back before you know it."

The grown man cussed and growled at me the whole way down the hall - at least that's what I think he did, I tuned him out. Thank God for earplugs, I say.

He disappeared to the garage in street clothes, then ten minutes later he came in sweating with a triumphant look on his face.

Him: "Had to wrestle the thing into the car."
Me: "I coulda helped you, you know, that sucker's kinda heavy."
Him: "Well... it's done. So there."

We're so mature, I almost stuck my tongue out at him but I didn't. He's been complaining about the mower for the last year. "It doesn't cut like it should!" "We need a new mower!" "It runs down on its charge too fast!" "We need a gas mower!" "I can't cut the lawn with this mower!!" and it never stops.

Well, if he replaced the blade when it got dull or chipped (takes an Act of Congress for him to do that), charged it properly (which he's never learned how), replaced the battery pack (another feat of modern science he doesn't understand yet), got the thing serviced ONCE IN A WHILE (don't get me started there), there'd be no whining. I usually tuned him out. Most of it sounded like "blah blah blah lawnmower blah blah blah" anyhow. The mower's his responsibility, not mine. It's not like I'm foisting off my own task, it's just that he said it was his thing years ago, so he can handle it on his own, right?

Turned out to be a bad-news-good-news thing: bad news, our old mower was broke and old, 11 years. The deck was pitted with holes, needed major work for almost $200 PLUS the cost of a new deck. But good news was that for $299 (and no sales tax cuz it's Oregon! yay!), we could get a factory like-new reconditioned model - a NEWER model too with better controls and better handle and everything - with all new stuff today with no waiting and wonder of wonders, they'd scrap out the old beast for us. Being this is the PNW and they're recycle-happy everywhere and especially here too, that's a bonus for us - no trash dumping fee, no figuring out what to do with a busted out-of-date mower with a battery pack that would have to be handled by a HazMat Team.

Me, just one hour later after the beginning of the whole fiasco: "You happy now?"

He just grunted. I took that as happiness. At least it wasn't whining or growling or cussing.

So we got a 'new' mower. Thing's a beauty too, I might just take up mowing again - if he'd let me touch his new toy. Did he remember to take the old grass catcher, charger, and mulching device? No, darnitall. But... hubby-dearling's happy. Hopefully I won't hear any whining for another decade until this one dies.

I can dream, can't I?

Men and math (before caffeine)

So... we had some tree work done, removed 3 dead magnolias and trimmed up 5 full-size old fir trees. The front yard had the dead magnolias, poor things had to be 20 years old too - only one survived - and the firs were in the back, they're probably 60' tall or something, they're HUGE and older than the house. Yard looks much healthier now and I think the trees all went "ahhhh thannnnk youuuu" in relief, no more dead weight from the winter storms left now and we have a buncha firewood we can burn for heat next winter. It's too bad those trees died, but such is life in the Pacific Northwest - big storms happen and sometimes they just don't make it.

But then we had 2 holes left in the front yard from 2 of the magnolias - had to grind the stumps to get rid of them but in the end it's best way, it just leaves holes and we didn't have any fill dirt or topsoil to put in place yet. We had azalea shrubs to go in the holes but still... we had big holes.

So I asked dear hubby to stop by the dirt place on the way to work and get a price on enough dirt to fill the two holes. It's okay if we have extra but I don't wanna be saddled with a LOT of extra dirt and frankly no place to put it, knowwhatImeanVern?

I was barely awake when he called...

Him: "So they have dirt (like I didn't know that, ha!) and it's $25 per yard."
Me, yawning: "How much is a yard?"

He repeated the price, like I hadn't heard him the first time.

Me, growling: "No really, how much is a yard?"

He repeated it slower, damn him.

Me, sighing loudly: "Not in price, silly... how BIG is a yard? What're the dimensions?"
Him, finally catching the drift: "Oh... lemme check."

He never checks first before calling me. I woulda but he doesnae. I hear mumbling in the background and he comes back.

Him, sounding superbly enlightened: "It's 25 cubic feet."

Okay now we're talking math and I haven't even had any tea, coffee, sugar... or breakfast.

Me, immediately dismissing the idea of 25 cubic feet: "That's too much."
Him, put out: "She said it's just what we need, you gave me the dimensions of the holes."
Me, stammering: "But... but... but we need 3' x 4' x 1' twice... that's..."

I quickly mentally multiplied 3x4 and got 12 and doubled it to find it was 24 cubic feet.

DAMMIT he was right!!! Oh no, this can't be good. Admitting hubby's right would be akin offering him carte blanche to gloat for the next month.

Me, meekly: "You're right."
Him, smugly: "Well okay then." I knew he was plotting ways to get even now.
Me, more awake than ever now that my foot was wedged in my mouth: "Don't gloat, it's ugly, and you're only right once a blue moon."
Him, laughing: "Must be a blue moon then."
Me, grimacing at the thought of what he's gonna be like when he gets home from work tonight: "Told ya gloating's ugly."

So we'll get a yard of dirt for our yard, the azaleas will be happy, I'll be happy we don't have dead trees in the front yard, and the neighbors will be happy that our front yard's not an eyesore anymore, and hubby will be happy cuz he gets to gloat on how he whipped my math hiney for once and was right (even though he didn't do the math himself AND he caught me unawares - I think I should get points for that and declare April the "Gloat-Free Month").

Yay, we're all happy. Now where's my caffeine...

Men...

(note: this actually took place on Easter Sunday - not today)

Ever have a clarifying moment in time that truly defines the state of your marriage and ya just go "Wow... did I screw up or what?"

And no, I don't mean screw up by ME doing anything wrong, I meant HE did something wrong and I screwed up by thinking it wouldn't happen... again.

See it all started rather innocently. It always does, come to think of it. Then *wham*... Hubby Happens. I need a bumper sticker for that. Not "Doo-doo Happens"... I need "Hubby Happens". Other wives could probably relate.

Okay, back to the story, stick with me. He bought me a bottle of Martinelli's Sparkling Cider a while back. I love the stuff, but I don't drink it that much anymore (cuz it's carbonated, I have to wait till like half the fizz goes out once it's opened, long story but I don't drink carbonated things that much anymore), it's special. So it sat unopened for a little while, sue me... it won't go bad in a month or two... or even three. Then two nights ago I opened it, and over two days drank about half of it... slowly. Hey, I was savoring the treat, ya know?

Now if you're still with me, here's where it gets interesting:

Hubby knows he bought it for me.
Hubby saw it in the fridge.
Hubby knew we didn't have another bottle tucked away somewhere just in case he felt the urge to finish off the half of the bottle.
Hubby didn't pay diddly-squat to all of that.
Hubby lost what's left of his mind completely and drank it.

Hubby then hid the empty bottle so I wouldn't notice until this morning when I got up thinking "Oh... it's Easter. I'll make me some eggs ranchero for lunch/breakfast (guess that's brunch huh) and I'll have the rest of that bottle to go with it, that would taste really good!"

And you ladies know, when you wake up with a thought of something that sounds really good... it just has to be there. It's like a craving for chocolate... you get the craving, you have to have it. Or a craving for ice cream. Or whatever. Well I had a hankering for the rest of that sparkling cider.

So there I was, fixing the eggs: Then I muttered to myself as I headed to the fridge: "Eggs almost done, time to get the bottle of... ohhh... it's... it's... IT'S GONE!!! ACKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!! OH. NO. HE. DID. NOT!!!!"

I actually closed the fridge, looked around to MAKE SURE I was still in my kitchen, opened the fridge and stared at the empty spot. Looked through all the items in the fridge. Nope, no tall long-necked dark green bottle ANYWHERE!!!

That beastie DRANK THE REST OF THE CIDER!

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I woke him up. He works graveyard, he's off tonight, I can do that. He'll just go back to sleep anyhow.

Me: "WhathappenedtotherestoftheMartinelli's?" (Like I don't know. Ha.)
Him: "Huh?"
Me: "Didyoudrinkit?"
Him: "Wha...?"
Me: "I said... whathappenedtotherestoftheMartinelli'sdidyoudrinkit?"
Him: "Oh... that."

He snored.

Me: "WAKE. UP."
Him: "Huh? Wha...?"

I repeated my questions rapid-fire. Eggs were cooling. I needed sparkling cider NOW. Hey... it was an epic crisis, fer cryin' out loud!!

Him: "Oh yeah... I drank it."
Me: "WHAT?! That was MINE!!"
Him, whining: "Well, there wasn't that much left..."
Me: "There was half a bottle!"
Him, trying to justify: "No there wasn't, there was like one fourth of a bottle, you'd already drunk three quarters of it."
Me, not buying it: "It was still mine, why'd you drink it?"
He almost looked like he was going to say, "Because it was there" but he didn't.
Him, sheepish: "Oh... well I didn't know you wanted the rest of it, so I finished it off."

SHEESH. Men.

Now of course, my eggs are done, no apple cider to be found. Craving's still there. So then I'm eating and he wants to come out to "talk". Not about the missing cider. Oh no, that would be too easy! He wants to tell me some story he made up while I'm eating my eggs sans cider about the Easter Bunny and the computer geek and the military guy. I wonder which one of us is the computer geek.

Gee I feel so special. Not.

Sooo... I screwed up because I thought that if he gave me a gift, then it was mine to use and I didn't have to label it or tell him "mitts off this". I shoulda known better, I shoulda put my freakin' name on it, sheesh.

*pout* I want my sparkling cider... it'll take a while to wear off the craving, maybe a chocolate bunny would work, LOL.

P.S. Two hours later, and 3 small Milky Way bunnies later... all's right with the world again, hehehehe. I'm not THAT pissed about the Martinelli's, most of that's just satire.