Are You Really That Stupid Or Are You Just Fucking With Me?

The other day I was looking through Junior's school folder and looking at the grades on his papers.  As I was flipping through I came across a class project that the kids had obviously done in groups of three, because there were three little names scrawled across the back of the construction paper.

What REALLY caught my eye though, was the fact that Junior's name had been misspelled.  For instance, (since this is an anonymous blog) his name was scribble down as JUSTIS instead of JUSTICE.

A bit later, after getting the homework phase of our afternoon completed, the kids went out to play and I started getting dinner ready....and then it hit me!  My husband was once an idiot like that too!  But he was an even BIGGER idiot, because he thought he could play stupid, not use his brain even a little bit....AND GET AWAY WITH IT!!!?!  Dumbass!  My bullshit-o-meter is much to good for the likes of him.

Here's the crux of it.

Fred went through a phase where he SPELLED MY NAME WRONG.  You got it!  Your mouth is hanging wide open right now isn't it!?!  And to make it even MORE insulting, this wasn't even when we were dating, getting to know eachother, or "warming up".  This series of fuck ups happened over the course of SEVERAL YEARS, after we'd already been married for a while.  I wanted to administer a crushing blow to the nads every fucking time I would see "DarcIE" written down, rather than "DarcY".

Fred, you fucking derelict, my name ends in a Y, not and IE.  And if you ever think that I'm going to spread faster than hot butter for you EVER AGAIN, you will get that shit straight!!!

But he didn't.

And I would just continue to show my disgust and irritation.

And he would still "forget" every now and then.

And the cycle would continue.

UNTIL the day that he wrote JUSTIS instead of JUSTICE on our son's paperwork.

I.  HAD.  A.  F-I-T.

There was screaming, name calling, arms were waving....it was UGLY.  It basically got down to this primary point...  "If I matter, if your son matters, and IF THE PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE MATTER, you will spell our names correctly, or this charade is OVER."

My name is spelled correctly EVERY time now.  And Fred pays must more careful attention to the way he spells people's names.

Dumbass.

~Ethel~

Fred's Mowing Diggs

Some people are such idiots. REALLY.

While I maintain an immaculate, pristinely kept home where the bed sheets are ironed, and there are decorative soaps in each of the bathrooms, Fred and Barnes handle all things "outdoors". The two of them are responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of the yard. That's just the way it is.  And when they are tending to the yard, the guys always wear their finest. :) Fred wears old shorts, a grubby hat, some boots, and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off during the summer months. He won't be featured on GQ, but he dresses for WORK. Nuttin' but the finest, folks!

Several of our neighbors also do their own yard work.  One of our particular favorites is a clown who has a riding lawnmower and wears a pair of those headphones that the gun range lug nuts use to protect their ears from the loud noises.  The houses in our area are built on about 1/3 of an acre, so it's totally manageable with a regular mower.  Oh yeah, and he frequently sports his Revenge of the Nerds physique...SHIRTLESS!

I got a phone call from this particular neighbor's wife one Saturday morning.  She called giggling...

NW:  Hey Ethel, I was just looking out my front window and saw Fred out there mowing the yard.  (chuckling)

Me:  Oh yeah!?

NW:  Have you ever seen that show "Swamp People"?  (more laughing)

Me:  Yeah, we love it!

NW:  Well I was just thinking that Fred looks like he could be on that show!  He's dressed about like they do on the show.  You know, with the hat, boots, and the pretty shirt?

Me:  He really dresses up, doesn't he?

NW:  Yep!  I just thought it was too funny, so I thought I would give you a buzz and have a laugh.  :)

Me:  Thanks.  He doesn't exactly mow shirtless, but he does have his own brand of class, right?

....we chatted awkwardly for about 30 seconds longer and then said "good-bye" after a few niceties.

How nervy that this wife-of-a-lug-nut would call me just to say that my husband resembles the kind of knuckle draggers that are featured on "Swamp People"?  Those people need SUBTITLES, bitch!

I couldn't even mask my irritation.  We haven't really run into eachother since that fateful morning.  Peculiar!?  I think not.  She should rethink her angle before punching my digits into her phone next time.  After all, she's married to the dude who mows his 100 sq ft on a RIDER!  Maybe this is his idea of "a warm up" before he starts shopping in "The Scooter Store" catalog?  MAYBE?  Hmm?  Hmm?  Idiot.

~Ethel~

It's Time To MAN UP!

I'm sick. Terribly sick. I think I have the flu. I went to the doctor yesterday and was told that it is some sort of "virus." I should be good to go in 7-10 days. The problem is, my dear husband doesn't get it. He thinks that I'm not-so-sick just because I didn't get a prescription. Perhaps I should appease him by taking some sugar pills? I don't know.

Last night, he dragged me all over town running errands, with the promise of dinner on the other end. I was so tired I could barely eat. He did the same last Friday, the day I first got sick. He expects me to keep up with the kids, laundry, chores, and all just because I'm a woman and that's what I normally do anyway. Yeah, it's my job. Well, guess what? He's off work this week. If he's going to invite his brother over to dinner (which he did, he comes tonight), then why can't my dear husband get off his lazy ass and pick up all of his crap?! If the doctor sends me home to bed, then why can't I just go there? Why? Oh, right, because I'm not that sick.

Now, in all fairness, my dear dear husband has spent the better part of the past few weekends working around the house, doing home improvement-type projects. He's in the middle of one now. But, you know what? The project is outside and it rained all day yesterday, yet who do you think was still stuck changing the baby's poopy diapers?  Man, he needs to man up. I'm going to bed. I'll get up when my cough, aches, and fever are gone or the house falls in.

Lindsey

Discover a myriad of musings, tales, recipes, random thoughts, and quotes of the day, all taken from snapshots of the adventures of One Creative Housewife.

Thanks Lindsey for being our first ever Guest Blogger!!  Come on back and sit a spell...there's dirt to dish, and friends who want to hear what you have to say.

If I Had a Hammer...

...and my name was Ricky Ricardo, I would put the fucking thing back where it belongs so my lovely, dear wife Lucy could find it.

Ricky and I have been married awhile.  This isn't a new complaint.  In fact, in order to live in harmony, I bought myself my own little tool kit within the first five years of our marriage and kept it under the kitchen sink.  It was a small box with a hammer, screw driver, measuring tape and various sizes of screws and nails.  That's all I need, really.  And then one day, I went to find it and it was missing.

I asked my dear sweet Babalu if he happened to know what happened to it.  "Umm, yeah... I got it out because I didn't feel like going outside and I broke the hammer."

So I went awhile without one and complained enough that Ricky bought a new one to replace the one he hijacked.  It's been sitting happily under the sink ever since.

So, this morning, I decided to put out all my fall/Halloween decorations.  Ricky is away on business and I can't find the fucking toolbox.  I just spent the last hour in his stupid shed and found an assortment of sockets in every size, wrenches, screws, other "I-don't-give-a-shit-what-this-does-and-therefore-don't-know-it's-official-name" tools.  But not one fucking hammer or one fucking nail.

That's all I need.  A hammer and a nail. 

How hard is that, really?


~Lucy

I Need to Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair

My husband, Ricky, was transferred to a new job with a whole new schedule about five months ago. His new job sucks. He works "twelve hours shifts" from 7pm to 7am. I put that in quotes because more often than not, it is 14 and 15 hour shifts. There is no overtime pay. We rarely see him.

A friend told me that I would like it much more when the kids started school and I had them out of my hair and I could accomplish tasks and would have the added benefit of spending my husband's days off with him. Just as a couple, sans kids. I was excited about this prospect. My husband works weekends too, so his days off are Wednesday through Friday night.

The kids started school this past Tuesday and having just come off his shift, my husband slept most of the day. I got some things accomplished, but I couldn't vacuum, or put away laundry or clean out the attic because he was sleeping. I told myself no big deal because I could do that on his days off.

Yesterday, I drove Ramona to school while Ricky stayed home to put Geezer on the bus. I got home around ten a.m. and Ricky was sitting on the couch watching television. That's fine with me, he works hard, he can rest and relax. I put some groceries away and fixed myself a late breakfast and sat down on the couch when husband smiled at me and said, " Let's go have sex."

**sigh**

I can see this plan is really going to suck. It isn't that I don't love my husband or that I don't enjoy being intimate with him, but I have been waiting all goddammed summer to clean out the fucking attic and on the first bloody day I get a chance to do it, all he can do is think about sex.

Then, after that little detour in my plan, he passed out and went to sleep (of course). I climbed up in the attic and began tossing things down. I was apparently too loud and woke him up upon which he began stomping around the house with attitude because he was trying to sleep and I interrupted him.

I have had LESS time to myself than I did with the kids home! I only got to sit down here and play with blogger because, thank God, he is napping again. Shit... it's like I finally got to send BOTH my kids off to school only to gain another one at home. And this one is MORE demanding and temperamental.

Where the hell is my ME time? FUCK FUCK FUCK. Thank you very much almighty governmental establishment that screwed up his job and hours. When duty calls, it is all about YOU and not about ME. And we all fucking know.. it IS SUPPOSED TO BE ALL ABOUT ME!

Goddammit!

~Lucy