*NOTE:  This is not a photo of us.  In case you didn’t know.*

I hate doing home improvement projects.  They’re horrible.  Actually, I hate doing any sort of improvement projects, whether home or otherwise.  (It’s why I don’t even bother dieting anymore.  I hate failure…is that a cookie over there?) I like to think that everything in my life is perfect and not in need of improving.

Unfortunately, my electric bill strongly disagrees.  Recently, we’ve noticed that our house is not overly efficient when it comes to energy.  This is something my house and I have in common.  When it comes to my energy, I also don’t seem to be energy efficient.

I rarely have the strength to walk across the room to throw away my gum wrapper, but I will sprint to the door to greet the pizza delivery driver and throw him an extra $5.00.  I guess I’m just selective with my energy.  So is my attic, but I can’t excuse my attic, as it doesn’t deliver me a veggie pizza.

We purchased our house from a total beotch and at least once a month we curse her and her do-it-yourself husband for all of the “home improvement” tasks they did themselves…most of which involved duct tape and Monster glue.

Although I believe those two items can fix nearly anything (except my first marriage),  they couldn’t help out in the insulation department.

I’ve been wanting to re-insulate the attic for about 6 months.  I kept casually mentioning it to my husband in the hopes he would get the project going.

By the way, do you know how hard it is to casually work into a conversation the words “attic,” “energy efficient”, “insulation” and “fart box?”  (Okay, the last ones didn’t have anything to do with the story but you try fitting those 2 words into a conversation…it’s harder than you think.)

Every time I would casually bring up the project, my husband would say he put it on his list.  “My husband’s list” needs to be a separate blog for a separate day, because that list isn’t so much a “to do” list as it is a “I’m going to say I’m putting this on my list to shut up my wife” kind of list.

I have a feeling he’s not the only husband with such a list.

Most likely because my husband wanted to prove me wrong about his little list, a few weeks ago he surprised me and said he was ready to insulate the attic.  I would have preferred a surprise that involved a day at the spa and a night alone with a pound of guacamole, but this was a nice surprise too.

I’ll take what I can get (and I’d like to get some chips with that guacamole).

Either my husband doesn’t believe in the voodoo of meteorology, or he likes to torture himself, as he chose the weekend when it was 107 degrees as the magical weekend to insulate the attic.  (I think he probably likes to torture himself.  Exhibit A:  he’s married to me.  Obvious torture.)

In addition to choosing the hottest day of the year to do manual labor, he also chose the day before my birthday, which was another strike against him.  (There I go again giving strikes…)


We begrudgingly set the alarm and got up at 7:00 Saturday morning.  I was already irritated.  We headed to Lowe’s to begin our project, or as I like to call it “our marriage tester.”

Anyone who is married and engages in a home project with their spouse (or ex spouse) knows what I’m talking about.  I knew there was a 60/40 chance we would emerge from this project still united in matrimony.  (You can decide which one the 60% represents…)

We actually researched this project the weekend before and discovered we would need to rent an insulation blower along with several packages of insulation….72 to be exact.

The previous week we asked the guy at Lowe’s if we would have any problem renting the machine and getting that much insulation.  He told us they had several hundred bags of insulation so it shouldn’t be a problem.

When we arrived at 7:30 a.m. at Lowe’s to get the machine and the insulation, we were shocked to discover they had only 19 bags of insulation to sell.  Obviously other people in the St. Louis area wanted to test their marriage and check something off their husband’s “list.”  We were in trouble but I was determined not to admit defeat, as I knew I had a small window of time to push this project through.

We rented the machine, bought all the insulation they had, loaded up the truck, and we headed home. (Okay, I watched them load it up.  Whatever.)  We unloaded the machine (okay, Matt and his friend did), and then we made two different trips to another Lowe’s for additional insulation.

couple smiling and paintingIt sucked.  Or should I say “It blew?”  (That joke was terrible but I’ve been away from blog writing for a while and I’m rusty.  Or should I say I’m dusty?  I will stop now with the bad puns.)

Miraculously, our marriage survived the numerous trips to Lowe’s.  I attribute that success to the copious amount of Diet Coke I slammed and the musical stylings of 2Pac.  Nothing says “let’s do this home project” more than gansta rap from the West Side…especially at 8 a.m.

We finally made it home, set up the machine, and spent the next 7 hours blowing insulation into our attic.  We also discovered that although you use a hose to blow everything into the attic, you might as well just shoot dust directly onto everything you own because that’s what is going to happen anyway.

Seriously.  Everything you own.

We finished the project that evening, covered in sweat, insulation, and a new found hatred for the previous home owners…who didn’t put ANY insulation in the attic.  No wonder our house was a hot box!

Running on pure anger (and a delightful foot long sub from Subway), we then proceeded to return the machine and the extra 22 bags of insulation we bought, clean the house, and put everything back the way it was before we started.  The project was complete!

Finally, we had something to cross off my husband’s list! I was so happy that I wanted to personally check “insulation installation” off the list.  (Doesn’t that sound like an 80s cover band?)  When I asked Matt where his list was, he told me he didn’t have an actual written list, but it was all kept “right up here” (and then he pointed to his head).

I then asked him if the list was kept in the same part of his brain that remembered the lyrics to songs wrong, or if it was in the part of his brain that seemed to always forget which nights Big Brother airs.  I’m still awaiting his response.

Back CameraMy husband is definitely the better looking of the two of us.  He has eyelashes that go on for days and adorable dimples when he smiles.  (I also have dimples, but mine are not on my face, nor are they adorable.)

He is definitely “the pretty” in our relationship, and I’m grateful for that.  I’m sure no one would take us seriously as a couple if we both wore mismatched clothing and shirts adorned with soy sauce.  (Our washing machine probably couldn’t take that either.)

Recently, I realized that my husband truly is the perfect lawyer’s wife.  So I’ve compiled a list of reasons why.  Obviously I have too much time on my hands (and soy sauce.  Why do I have soy sauce on my hands?)

1. He works out all the time

It’s ridiculous the amount of times in a week that guy goes to the gym.  And by “ridiculous,” I mean “annoying.”  Every time I turn around, he is going to the gym for what he describes as a quick workout.  My idea of a quick workout is walking inside to the fast food restaurant instead of going through the drive thru.

Not my guy.  He pounds out a couple miles on the treadmill and then lifts some weights and does ab work.  He’s obviously an overachiever and if he didn’t look so cute in his gym shorts, I would probably be more annoyed with him.

2.  He fits into tiny little t-shirts and fills them out nicely

This is probably a product of him going to the gym so regularly, although I refuse to admit that going to the gym has perks other than having an excuse to use BenGay.  (That stuff feels magical!)  My husband can definitely fill out a baby tee and do it well.

His little Childish Gambino t-shirts look good clinging to his chest, hugging his curves and showing off his pecs.  Granted, he can’t flex his pec muscles individually, but he’s pretty, so he doesn’t have to be talented too.

3.   He enjoys the finer things in life

When I first met my husband, he had feet in need of a pedicure and a back in need of a massage.  (He also had the wardrobe of a 15 year old boy, but we quickly fixed that, although he still has 2 annoying pair of Chuck Taylors that I want to throw into the river.)  Before me, he never experienced the happiness that comes from a day of pampering at the spa.

Now, he’s no stranger to a massage and a dip in the therapeutic reflection pool (which is just a pool surrounded by rocks that most likely is still filled with urine.  But apparently calling it a “reflection pool” allows the spa to jack up the price.  Maybe I will start calling my toilet a “reflection toilet” and charge my guests to use it).

4.  He looks good on my arm

We compliment each other well in the looks department.  (Believe me, this is the only complimenting we do of each other.  We like to joke around a lot and I’m sure our neighbors think we are in an abusive relationship based upon the number of times I tell him that I’m sick of his face).  So maybe we don’t verbally compliment each other like we should, but aesthetically, we do.

He really holds all the looks in the relationship, but isn’t that how a trophy wife is supposed to be?  I think we look like a perfect 10.  Seriously…we physically look like the number 10.  He is the tall and skinny number one and I’m the short and fat number zero. (Is zero a number?)  But for some reason, it works.

Back Camera

5.  He keeps a tidy house

That guy is relentless with the tidiness.  Every time I turn around he’s moved something, even if it’s just a quarter of an inch to the right.  He says he moves it because “that’s where it goes.”  I’ve often thought of trying to shove my foot in his ass and telling him I can’t apologize “because that’s where it goes.”  Something tells me that wouldn’t go over so well.

Although his constant removal of my water glass to the kitchen gets annoying (especially because we both know it isn’t really filled with water, but another fine clear substance), I do like the fact that our house is always clean.  I just wish he would spread cleanliness to my car.  Now there’s a project.

So I guess those are all the reasons I can think of as to why my husband is the perfect lawyer’s wife.  No matter the reasons, I think I will hold on to him for a while…at least until a newer model comes out.  But then again, the newer model probably won’t put up with my numerous falls and medical ailments.  Maybe my husband isn’t so bad after all.  Just don’t tell him.  I don’t want him getting the wrong idea.


Few things that have changed for the bestI had a bad day today.  Not like one of those days where you spill something on your shirt and then miss the Metro.  That’s just a normal Monday for this girl.  I’m talking about a horrible day.  A “kick you in the balls and then punch you in the stomach so you throw up and then are forced to eat your throw up” kind of day.  (Too graphic?)

I feel like my day had nothing on Daniel’s Powter’s little diddy about having a bad day.  (Seriously, that guy made a ridiculous amount of cash on an annoying song that says what everyone thinks about Mondays.)

Instead of boring you with the details of my horrific day, I’ve decided to focus on why things are better than they used to be.  Yes, I’m trying to brighten my mood by pointing out  how our society has changed for the better.

(And if you think I’m going to talk about recycling and humanitarian efforts, you clearly have the wrong blog.  I’m going to discuss things like 10 ply toilet paper.  Thank you Charmin!)

1.  We no longer use handkerchiefs

…Or at least normal people don’t use them.  Who wants a wadded up snot rag in their pocket taking up space?  Not this girl.  My pockets are reserved for hand fulls of peppermints I casually snagged from the restaurant at lunch, a miniature golf pencil and different colors of lint.  (I have no idea how the second and third items get in there, but they always do.)

What kind of hygienic person blows their nose into a flimsy piece of cotton and instead of throwing it away, simply folds it and says “I’m gonna hang on to this for later.”?  Obviously a crazy person, and this is one of those few times I’m not in that crazy person category.  Ah-chew!

2.  Woman don’t have to wear pantyhose

Wait, do they?  Maybe they do still have to wear them, but I’m telling myself that women don’t have to wear pantyhose, so don’t burst my bubble if that isn’t true.  I figure people are lucky that I even bother to change out of lounge pants and throw on a dress or skirt, so no one should expect anything more from me than that.

If I don’t throw on makeup or deodorant, I’m certainly not going to throw on nylon stockings that scratch my legs and bring the heat index in my crotch up to 100 degrees (just like Ryan Gosling does).  No thanks.  You can look at my ashy legs and deal with it.

3.  The DVR was invented

I realize people think the wheel and fire were important inventions, but neither of these allow me to watch Project Runway while taping Big Brother at the same time.  Obviously the wheel and fire aren’t that important; and just like Journey sings, “The wheel in the sky keeps on burnin,'” it totally does.

So I’m thinking those inventions are going to be around for a while and are old hat (just like Journey, even though their music still totally rocks).

I’m so thankful for DVR because I’m too important to be bothered with commercials about erectile dysfunction.  Although I’d love to sit and figure out how a guy with ED is able to fill two bathtubs with water in the middle of the wilderness overlooking a mountain with no running water in sight, I have better things to do with my time.

But seriously, a guy who is that inventive could certainly figure out how to get it up every now and again without a pill, right?  Fast forward!!!

And DVR is conducive to my super important super busy schedule.  (I’m a big deal.)  I used to have to wait until 7:00 to get my fix of Alf, but now I never have to wait to see that furry creature from Melmac.  I can watch him anytime thanks to my DVR (and to TV Land).

4.  The drive thru was invented

You knew there was going to be something on here about food.  Come on.  Although I pretend like the drive thru is such a demonstration of how lazy our society has become, I’m the first to use it if I can.  Why would I want to park and walk the 10 feet inside the store to get my 5,000 calorie meal when I could stay in my car and rock out to Tupac?

Who needs exercise when you’re getting ready to inhale that many calories?  Yeah, like the 10 calories I burn walking into the store is really going to make a difference.  I don’t think so.  Ooohhh….is that a special on McDonald’s apple pies?

Okay, that’s all I could think of for now.  I wanted to come up with five things, but since my day was so crappy, I’m impressed I was able to come up with four positive things in this world.  I’m considering going into my bedroom, blowing my nose with a disposable tissue, laying bare legged and watching DVR while eating food obtained through the drive thru.  God bless America!


woman with plane

First off, isn’t this picture of the woman with a paper plane incredibly creepy, yet awesome?  I’m scared of her, yet I want to know her story.

I was recently at Dulles National Airport in Washington D.C.  Not so much because I’m super important and the government needed my guidance (although I am, and it does), but more because I was visiting a friend out there.

However, I did make myself available to the legislators during the time I was there, advising I would be willing to provide advice on how to lead the country.  Most of them responded with threats of a restraining order.  (Um, drama!!!!)

I had a great time in D.C. (more stories to follow), but I was tired and ready to get back home to the Midwest where the temperatures were in the 100s and I had an excuse to lay around doing nothing.  (Note:  Although the heat is miserable, the exhaustion it brings is the perfect way to get out of anything you don’t want to do.  Thank you, heat wave.)

I had an early morning flight (10:20 a.m. is early, right?).  I arrived at the airport around 8:00 a.m., allowing additional time for the inevitable strip search that some TSA official would deem necessary on me.

ONE time I made a snide remark about the TSA uniforms, and that forever puts me on a “list?”  Someone needs a better sense of humor…and a new uniform.  Seriously.  They look like rent-a-cops.

Surprisingly, I got through security quickly, and found myself at the terminal a few hours early.  Since I was awake, I was obviously starving.  I’m not a huge breakfast person, as breakfast food is typically healthy and I prefer to eat junk all day.

Starting my day with eggs is misleading, as it suggests the rest of my day will include consuming healthy, organic products.  Not true.  I’m nothing if not consistent, so I like to start my day by eating crap, and continuing to do so all day.

For this reason, I knew I didn’t want breakfast food, but realized it may be difficult to locate a place that sold regular food for breakfast.  And then I saw it…the one sign on the horizon that gave me hope (and made me salivate).  Could it be?  Was it a mirage?  A figment of my imagination?  Did the full body search from the poorly dressed TSA official alter my vision (along with the way my underwear sat)?

dog with bowl

It was a Chipotle.  Yes, a Chipotle.  For those of you who are new to this blog, please know that I love Chipotle.  (And for those of you new to this blog, I’m impressed you’re still reading.  Seriously.)  I love Chipotle the way some people love their spouses…in a good way…not in a “I couldn’t take your gum smacking anymore so I stuffed your head in the freezer” kind of way.  Chipotle completes me, and if I could eat it for every meal, I would.

So when I saw the familiar Chipotle sign, I thought maybe it was a dream.  I immediately looked around for Ryan Gosling (because if it was a good dream, he would be involved…sans shirt).  I didn’t see Ryan or his bulging biceps, so I knew it had to be real.

I approached it slowly, careful not to appear too eager so as not to alarm the employees.  I figured I would alarm them for other reasons, but speed and excitement wouldn’t be one of them.  I arrived at the counter and said “Chipotle for breakfast?  Yes, please!”

The woman behind the counter didn’t understand English well…and she certainly didn’t understand sarcasm.

“No.  We no have breakfast items.  Only burritos.” She said, eying my flabby stomach and judging me for being so seemingly stupid.

“Oh,” I responded.  “I was just saying that I was glad to see I could get Chipotle for breakfast.”

“We no have breakfast,” she said to me again, looking irritated.

“I meant that I would like to eat Chipotle for breakfast.” I said, trying to clear things up.

Crickets.  Okay, not really crickets, but if we were on television (as I always like to pretend that I am), there would be crickets creaking during the silence as she blankly stared at me, most likely wondering how I managed to get through security.  (I wondered the same thing).

“You know what?  I’ll take a burrito bowl” I said, trying to get past the awkwardness.

sick girl

She prepared my meal, I paid and then and quickly moved to the dining area where I could molest my Chipotle in private, the way one is supposed to.  I ate every last bite (duh), and sat there pondering why Chipotle isn’t typically open for breakfast.

As I began drafting a petition for this cause, I felt a serious rumble.  Was it an earthquake?  A bomb threat?  I heard it again and realized it was coming from me…and my stomach…and my nether-regions.

Uh oh.  Airport Chipotle was fast acting!  I needed to find my way to a “safe place” as soon as possible. (And for you non-geniuses who are having difficulty following along, the “safe place” I’m referring to is a restroom.  Try to keep pace.)

I casually picked up my things, trying to control the strong signals coming from my bowels.  I saw a sign for a restroom and headed there trying to look casual, although I’m pretty sure running while squeezing my cheeks didn’t look so casual.

If you are picturing me running and holding my face, I need you to stop reading here.  You obviously don’t get me…or my bowel issues.

I walked into the hallway that had the restroom sign and already felt sweet relief…until I saw the string of urinals.  Um, unless D.C. is super forward thinking, women’s restrooms don’t typically have urinals in them.  (Right?)  Crap!  (Literally, crap.  It was becoming a necessity at that point).

I turned around and raced out of the men’s restroom before I saw something I didn’t want to see.  I came upon a “family restroom” and decided that I was a mother of three dogs, so that would work.  I ran into the family restroom and looked for the light, and couldn’t find it.  The strong door closed behind me and I was in complete darkness.  Seriously?  It was like I was in a closet, and I just hoped the closet had a toilet.

I frantically searched for a light switch but had difficulty doing so due to the lack of light.  (Ironic, huh?)  Finally, I decided light wasn’t necessary for what I was about to do.

As I sat there in darkness, listening to Don Henley belt out “Boys of Summer,” I realized maybe there was a reason Chipotle didn’t serve breakfast.  I crumpled up the petition I drafted and decided to leave Chipotle’s regular hours as they were.  Maybe they knew what they were doing after all…