(Oh, and I realize that it says “so how me God”.  Clearly, I need to hire a proofreader for my ridiculous rants.)

To give you an idea of my state of mind, here is another tweet from today:

I was in quite the mood, so I cleaned the house.  Well, it is Monday and I’ve been trying to clean every Monday, but let me tell you my mood made me that much more efficient.  For some reason, I clean better when I’m angry.  It is a strange phenomenon.

When my husband arrived home , the house looked great and I had a delicious home-cooked meal something edible thrown together for dinner simmering on the stove.

He walked in the door and I eagerly awaited his reaction.

I waited.

He played on Facebook.

Then I waited a little bit longer.

We ate dinner.

I continued to wait.

When it reached a point where I could no longer take it any longer, I exploded:

Me: Did you notice the house?

Him: (Looking around sheepishly, realizing at once that he is in trouble) Oh, yeah.  It looks nice.

Me: …… (Fuming)

Him: Actually, I did notice.  I just forgot to say something.

Me: Why would you notice but forget to say something?  That makes no sense.

Him: …… (Probably realizing that this really was not the best thing to say.)

Me: Seriously, it makes no sense.  Why can’t you just appreciate what I do around here?  Is it so much to ask for?

I can’t even begin to tell you how many times we’ve had this conversation.  You would think that after 13 years of marriage, he would be able to just figure out that I need constant feedback, praise and attention to function in this relationship.

Now before someone goes and leaves a comment that says something like, “Do you thank him every day for going out to work each day and providing for your family?” or some other nonsense like that, I will just tell you that isn’t the point.

(Also, you should be permanently kicked out of Girl Club for even thinking something so absurd.  Turn you membership card at the door and just get out.)

Here’s the deal.  I work too.  For one, I take care of our children.  I make sure they are fed, bathed, homework done, not eaten by crocodiles,  etc…  You know, the normal mommy duties.   This is my full time job.  On top of that I also have a couple part-time jobs that provide some extra income for our family.  It isn’t much but it is something.  I may not make as much as he does, but I do contribute.  When I book a trip or get my check from school, I never expect or even care if he acknowledges my efforts.

However, when I get on my hands and knees to scrub his pee off the side of the toilet and pick his underwear up off the floor for the 3,742nd time, I feel like an acceptable response from him would be “Hey Jen, the house looks great.  Thanks for all you do.  I’m so lucky to be married to you.  Now why don’t you sit down over here and let me rub your feet.”

I feel like that is the least he could do.

Or maybe I just need to let this dream go to the place where dreams go to die.

Readers, please give me some input.  Leave me a comment telling me either:

A.  You are not alone.  My husband is the same way. Let’s go drown our sorrows in a bottle of wine.

B.  I am a witch and I have a secret spell to get your husband to do whatever you want him to do with minimal side effects.  Here is the potion:   (insert magical ingredients here)

C.  Don’t despair…I am Ryan Gosling and I will come and clean your house for you (wearing only a snug fitting pair of jeans) while you watch.  Here is my phone number.  Call me anytime and I will be on the next plane out there.

D.  Any other words of wisdom you have to offer on this matter.

Tweet This Post 

I fell in the shower and started to black out.  I did not see a tunnel or bright light, but for about two seconds I really did think I was dying.

Aside from feeling like the lady in the “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” commercials (I mean how many 34 year olds do you know that fall in the shower?),  I was pretty shaken up.

I also banged my leg up pretty badly.

I have no idea why I started to black out.  It was so strange because I didn’t hit my head.  Of course, I put two and two together and figured that I must have hit my leg so hard that it set off some kind of chain reaction of imminent death.

I crawled out of the shower, sat on the floor and called for my husband.

He came into the bathroom and at first thought I think he thought that I was beckoning him for some sort of extracurricular activities.  That was until he saw the look of death on my face.

Him: Are you ok?

Me: I just fell in the shower and I started to black out.  I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

Him: What?!  Did you hit your head?

Me: No, I didn’t hit my head, but I hit my leg.  Really hard.  See.  (I showed him the bump on my shin.)

Him: Well, you can’t die from a bruised leg.

Me: Ok, so then why did I black out?

Him: I have no idea, but are you ok?

(At this point he hugs me.  As he is hugging me, it occurred to me that it had been a good couple of months since I last gave him the “final wishes” speech)

Me: Just promise me that if I die you will cremate me.

Him: Ok I promise.

Me: And I don’t want a viewing, but I want a really touching memorial service with great music.  I’m not sure of the songs yet but I want something played that will definitely make people cry because if there is one thing that gets on my nerves is people going to viewings and running out of things to talk about so the conversation turns to sports.  I do not want any sports (especially football) discussed at my memorial.

Him: Is that it?

Me: No, there is one more thing.  Please don’t marry a whore.  I don’t want my kids to have a whore for a mother.

Him: How will I know if she is a whore?  You think every woman I talk to is a whore.

Me: That is a good point.  Let me give it some thought.

After a few days of pondering, I am still not clear on my definition of the word “whore”,  so I just told him that I will trust him to use his best judgment in the matter.  However if he ignores my wishes and marries a whore anyway, I let him know hat I definitely plan to haunt them both for the rest of their lies together.

As for the music, I narrowed it down to”My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion or “In My Life” by the Beatles to be played at the memorial.

Of course I am open to any and all song suggestions you may have, so feel free to leave them in the comments.

Tweet This Post 

These are my specialty areas, but I don’t mind planning a trip that might fall outside this list every once in awhile.  I planned my friend’s trip to Costa Rica, a tour of Europe, an Alaskan vacation and a few other random places over the years.

There is one type of vacation that I refuse to plan, though.  I figured this out after a phone call a few days ago.

Here is how the conversation went down:

Me: How may I help you?

Guy on the phone: Hi, I was hoping you could help me plan a trip to Vegas for my friend’s Bachelor Party.

Me: (stomach in knots, feeling like I want to puke)  Um, well, I uh ….I’m more of family travel specialist.  I mostly do trips like Walt Disney World.  (awkward pause)  Would you like me to give you the number of another agent who I know who is a Las Vegas specialist?

Guy on the phone: Ok, sure.

I went on to give him my friend Laurie’s phone number who is a travel agent and obviously not a prude like me.

Now that is how the conversation really went.   However, this is what I really wanted to say to him:

Me: How may I help you?

Jackass on the phone: Hi, I was hoping you could help me plan a trip to Vegas for my friend’s Bachelor Party.

Me: Sure, I’d love to help you….WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER!!!!!    Sorry, but  I will not help you plan your friend’s f*cking Bachelor Party.  I can’t even believe you have the audacity to even ask me that.  Couldn’t you tell by the sound of my voice that I am anti-Bachelor party and especially anti-Vegas Bachelor Party?   No, I do not want any part of your celebration of strippers, hookers, skanks and hos.  Sorry.  Not going to happen.  Not today.  Not ever.

I don’t care if the guy wanted to rent the out the entire Bellagio for the month of July and the commission would have been $100K, I would not under any circumstances help them with that request.   I just can’t play a part in whatever shenanigans that may or may not go down.  It might be  a totally innocent trip (but really who are we kidding)  but I just can’t take that chance.

So yeah, that whole “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” thing?  Not on my watch!!

So, what are your feelings on the whole Bachelor Party tradition?  If you are married, did your husband have one?  Did it involve strippers?  Did you have a Bachelorette party?  Do you think that the “groom-to-be” is entitled to one last fling on his Bachelor Party?   Am I a lunatic (wait don’t answer that I already know that I am) for not helping this guy and losing out on commission?

Tweet This Post