Tag Archives: family

Fighting with My Husband About Finding Shit

Daily, my husband and I have at least one argument about his inability to find stuff. Usually, he wanders through the house as though he’s never been there before, eyes wide, scratching his head, yelling, “Babe! BABE!” It’s about this time that I decide to take a shower or walk the dog or pretend to read because I know what’s coming.

Earlier this week, I was in the laundry room folding clothes when I hear the water in the shower turn off. “BABE? BABE!” he starts, “Where are the towels? Babe? Where do we keep the towels?” I grabbed my clean clothes and ran upstairs irritated and ready to murder him. I barged into the bathroom,

“Can you please tell me how it’s possible you can’t find shit? Like ever? HOW!? Babe, we live in the same Goddamn house!”

He tried to look helpless, all dripping wet and cold, “I don’t know. You’re better at finding stuff than me!”

I put my hand on my hip to indicate a level of seriousness, “Yes, F, that’s it. Finding stuff is my fucking superpower.” If any of you out there are thinking about marriage, this is it, guys. Bask in the glory. It seems that in every relationship there is one person who is the all-powerful finder of shit and the pitiful loser of shit.

For a second I thought, wow, I am better at finding stuff but then I realized it was a trap. He was complimenting me so I’d take pride in my seemingly magical abilities to find his shoes, socks, jock strap, cereal, and the dog’s leash on a weekly basis. I remembered the way he made his mom locate everything for him last year when we were staying at his parent’s house in Italy. Light bulb moment: He sucks at finding stuff because for his entire life he’s feigned helplessness and everyone (his mom and me) jumped to help him.

“You’re just saying that so I’ll keep helping you! I’m onto you, fuckface!”

He started laughing, “Yes, babe, it’s a big plan to enslave you into being my finder helper.”

“Exactly! Well, drip dry, buddy! I’m not helping.”

“BABE! PLEASE!”

And I caved and got him a towel, swearing I’d never do it again.

For the sake of fairness, I ask him if he’s seen my stuff, too. The difference is that it’s like once every two months and he never gets up to look. He’ll usually just get all blank faced and go, “haven’t seen it,” before he goes back to binge-watching American Idol or Ellen on his iPhone.

I’ve wondered many times why I do it. Why do I rush to find his beanie or face cream? I’ve asked my friends who are also finders why they do it. We’ve come to this conclusion:

It makes us feel like martyrs.

It makes us feel important and elite.

We are control freaks and would rather do things ourselves which turns our partners into helpless asshats.

Their mother’s or fathers broke them and we take pity on them for it.

In my case, I think it’s a little of everything above, in addition, there’s a part of me that helps because in many other areas F is by far more on top of shit than I am. I’m the one who falls down all the time while trying to pet a stranger’s dog, I’m the embarrassing one that will start singing Dolly Parton in the soup aisle of the grocery stores, and I’m the one who will “accidentally,” spend 90 dollars on Amazon for a “very cute bread box.” I give him shit, but deep down I’m also aware that relationships are given and take and while he couldn’t find his ass from a hole in the ground, he’s very good at remembering to change the oil, is an expert at yard work, and only yells hysterically for a short period of time when I internet adopt various animals in Africa for an obscene amount of money.

This is marriage, guys.

 

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Trying To Conceive: An OBGYN I’d Probably Marry

In my last blog post, Just Stare Into My Vagina and Tell Me It Will Be Okay, I wrote about how scared I am to have a baby. Or, how scared I am to try to have a baby, since I’m not actually pregnant, yet. As of then I couldn’t find an OBGYN, with higher ratings than a dominos pizza, that was in-network.

Well, cue the trumpets, I found someone. Two people, actually, and I want both of them to be my best friends. Best friends who have both been elbows deep into my birth canal.

I’m one of those weirdos who Googles everything. Especially healthcare providers and anyone who could potentially kill me or maim me but also pretty much anything because I have entirely too much time on my hands and am addicted to unlimited information. Like six months ago I stumbled on this one OBGYN that has like the highest rating in the state and I was like, I NEED HER. But she was out of network. Well, I checked again recently and she was IN NETWORK! So I made the appointment and was more excited than I’ve ever been to have my cervix aggressively raked. Usually my lady exams are super weird so I’ve written about them way more than a normal person would. Do normal people write about their vagina exams? I don’t know. Anyway.

At the appointment, I was shown to a chair and told to wait for the doctor. After five minutes or so she came flying in, apologized for being late, and proceeded to ask me a zillion questions. But, not in a normal doctor way.

” Do you drink?”

“Yes, wine”

“GOOD! Good for you! And you can continue to do that until your pregnancy test says you’re pregnant. However, that doesn’t mean you can put the test off for eight months.”

Throughout my appointment she was informative and funny. She made jokes about dressing up as a vagina for Halloween. During my pap smear she impersonated Trump, “No, really, nobody respects women more than I do.”

When I told her I was pro-choice she high-fived me and told me I was incredibly badass and responsible. I live in Utah where like 98% of the doctors are Mormon and super republican. And while I have many friends and family who are both of those things, I am neither. And I was pretty excited about having a doctor who I didn’t feel like I had to pretend for. I also really liked her because when I told her about my experience with an Italian gynecologist she said, “That’s horrifying. Do you know how many women are sexually assaulted? That would be traumatic.” She also explained absolutely everything that she was doing, why she was doing it, and gave me a forty minute explanation of why they do a pap smear (cervical cancer screening, caused by the HPV virus). Seriously, it was the most thorough, thoughtful, kind, and hilarious appointment I’d ever had. She’s exactly who I’d want by my side while I pushed a giant baby out of my lady garden.

However. I’d just discovered, the day before, that while she is in my network, the clinic she works in, is not. Therefore, she couldn’t be my OBGYN without my having to shell out a lot of money for the out of network stuff. Sigh. I told her all of this and she listened and said, “Oh, don’t you worry! I’ve got you! One of my best friends is an OBGYN in your network! You’ll love her. She’s super progressive and funny!”

Sold.

I haven’t met her yet but I have talked with her nurse a few times on the phone and she is amazing. When I told her who referred me she laughed, “Oh, she’s awesome. Yeah, her and Dr. So and So are like best friends. You’re going to love her, she’s so great.” So, I’m actually excited about my doctor now. Sounds super trivial for most of you, I know, but for me it’s a huge relief. Which is good because I can’t be over here chugging entire bottles of wine.

I have no idea what I’m doing. Oh my God what am I doing?

 

Stuff My Mom Says That I Wish She Wouldn’t

I went to Petco with my mom the other day to get some dog food for my poodle. I weaved through the aisles with her behind me when I heard:

“My neck, my back, lick my pussy and my crack, heeeeey.” In my mother’s voice.

I spun around.

“Have you heard that song?” She asked.

“Yes. Unfortunately. But why have YOU heard that song?”

“Your aunt’s roommate listens to it.”

“Lovely.”

“My neck, my back, lick my….”

“MOM! Please! Help me find the food.”

“Sigh.”

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“Hey! Come check out this shirt I bought your uncle!”

I run downstairs to see my mom holding a sweatshirt up. The shirt read, “If you  have to turn your head to read this you owe me a blow-job.”

“Classy.”

“It’s hilarious! He’s gonna love it!”

“Who wouldn’t?”

————————————–

“HEY! Your dog keeps putting his head near my crotch! Tell this damn dog that that area is for my husband only!”

“YEAH! MINE” My step-dad chimed in.

“Sigh.”

—————————————–

My mom is probably the most unhealthy person I’ve ever met. She lives on coffee, coca cola, and beer (after five or six p.m., naturally), eats only packaged foods and candy, chain smokes and probably hasn’t done any kind of cardio since she was in elementary school.

Yesterday, my husband and I were hanging out at her house when she offered him Cheeze Whiz.

My husband: What is that?

ME: Gross cheese

My husband: No!

My mom: Don’t be such a fucking wuss! It’s just cheese in a can!

My husband: BWAHAHAHAHAHAAH!

My mom: What the hell is so damn funny? It’s just cheese! It comes in different flavors too. It’s good!

My husband: BWAHAHAHAAHAHAHAH!

Me: Wow. I had no idea that you’re a sort of Kraft connoisseur. They got that sharp chedder. That bacon. That American. Mmmm.

My mom: Assholes. Shut up.