Thirty Minus.... Zero

    Well, it happened. I failed my New Year's goal #5... I turned 30. No longer am I a "30 minus 1" or a "29 and 3/4".... I am just a "30". Everyone always gets so jazzed up about this birthday for some reason. Sure, the days of the youthful twenties have passed, it's halfway to 60, and your uterus takes a nosedive toward the island of Menopause.... But really, what's wrong with the number 30 anyways?
     If we were talking waist measurements, this number would be a vast improvement on the pant-size I'm currently rocking (thank God women's clothing is seldom listed in inches. It's a wonder more men don't off themselves in department store dressing rooms...). And if I recall correclty, Baskin Robins was made popular by offering just a little more than 30 flavors (and you can't argue with ice cream success....you just can't). And if it weren't for every 30 or so days (ahem), there wouldn't be a human race here to even complain about this daunting number in the first place.... In fact, Webster's defines "the 30's" as a stage in young adulthood..... YOUNG adulthood! That's what I'm talking about, right there! I mean, even Jesus totally started cranking out the coolest miracles and saved all mankind in his early 30's... So I say, if it's good enough for Webster and the Messiah, it's good enough for me! I may have failed goal #5, but I'm pretty sure that my 30's are going to be far from failing.

Urine Coffee

    Have you ever ordered a cup of coffee and then regretted it the moment it hits your tongue? I'm not sure why, but it tastes like some coffee shops wrap their beans in dirty socks before brewing time. With that being said, I'm pretty sure that I made the world's WORST pot of coffee today. I know this to be true because I'm pretty sure that I made coffee using one of my client's urine (Beat that, Starbucks!). Allow me to explain....
    So, I was at work and preparing to run a group therapy session on the Power of Positive Thinking. Now, knowing that the people in attendance were going to be begging for it as soon as they sat down, I beat everyone to the punch and ran back to the sink to start making the coffee. (World's nicest therapist, right?) As I reached the back, I noticed that someone was in the restroom right next to the sink I was using. I had the water running and began washing out the coffee pot. As I was doing this, the water changed colors (you guessed it-yellow).... figuring that this was residue from the coffee pot, I didn't think much about it. The water soon began to run clear again and I filled the pot with water and poured it into the maker. Everyone began drinking heartily.
    Had my head not been consumed with planning the session, I may have noticed the odd smell from the sink when I ran the water (occurring at the exact same time that I heard the toilet flush).... or the pipes running from the sink I was using to the wall of the bathroom.... or had I gone into the bathroom, I may have noticed the fact that those pipes connected directly to the toilet that was being used while I was rinsing out the coffee pot. I only noticed these things AFTER the coffee was gone and I went back to wash my hands (wondering why the heck I smelled like pee!). I heard the toilet flush while I was washing and, once again, yellow liquid (now known to be URINE) came pouring out of the faucet. This time there was no mistaking the smell.... no coffee grounds masking the aroma of grossness. I don't recall if it was panic or dry heaves that set in first, but both of them rivaled for my immediate attention.

    Hopefully everyone was thinking positive thoughts about the coffee....

The Red Fuzzy Blanket

    As seen in many homes around America, we have this red, fuzzy blanket in our house that lies over the back of our recliner. Typical, no? In my mind, this blanket is strategically placed so that the occupant of the recliner will have something cozy to throw over themselves when the winter chill hits. HOWEVER.... this red, fuzzy blanket is never to be found. Why, you may ask? Because my husband has decided that this throw would be better used as a cape. (I am so not kidding.)
    I couldn't say why, but my guy has been totally rebelling against clothing lately (keep this in mind, those of you who feel that a friendly visit without a warning phone call is "spontaneous!"). First thing in the morning, he walks in his skivvies to find his cape (he actually calls it this), ties it around his neck, and then walks around the house doing his morning routine. Now, not only does this bring up the whole chest-hair-on-the-blanket-used-by-others situation, but come on.... I work with mentally challenged people all day. Can't a girl catch just a little normalcy in her day?
    I was starting to get used to the cape thing because acceptance was easier than fighting this one. But what I REFUSE to get used to is "the skirt" that has emerged since yesterday. I came home and my husband came walking out of the guest bedroom wearing a t-shirt and the red, fuzzy blanket (formally known as "Cape") tied around his waist, resembling a floor-length skirt (slit up the front....and I gotta be honest, it wasn't super clear if anything else was between that red, fuzzy blanket and a whole other kind of hair I don't want on that throw!). I opted for silence at first. But then I asked him if he would be able to help me carry something up from downstairs.

    "Ugghh! But I'll trip on my skirt!"

    OH MY GOSH, ARE YOU SERIOUS!?!?! Grow a pair, hike it up, and carry up that box or I'm going to do something to you that's going to make that skirt a necessary part of your daily wardrobe! Realizing how utterly ridiculous he sounded, he dutifully went to the basement to carry up the box. Things I Never Thought I'd Hear My Husband Say, Volume 1, coming to stores soon.

Synthesizer Hell

     I've become more than a little bothered by my husband's unnatural love for all things synthesizer. I thought it was bad enough when I first heard him sing and found out that he's tone deaf (really and truly....I attempted to help him with this one night while he was singing along to the Big Bang theme song (well, sort of singing). I noticed that he continually sang off-key, but that he always sang in the same wrong key, leading me to believe that he could be helped. So, he perched next to my piano- eyes bright, ready to learn- as I played two C notes. "Do you hear how these are the same?" I asked. "Yep," he responded. I then played a C and a D together to provide the same distorted sound that he creates when he sings along to a song. "Now, can you hear that these are NOT the same?" I asked. "Nope." -- Hopeless)!
     My long-lost dream of having a Von Trapp-esque family to tour Germany with has finally been laid to rest, but what I CANNOT deal with is listening to synthesizer-based 70's-90's music until death do we part. It's simply not fair and I refuse to do it. Apparently my husband's taste buds, fashion sense, and musical preferences are all very one-note.... afterall, why would we want to eat adventurous foods, wear color, or listen to music that requires a modicum of talent? I get that those good ole songs bring back memories (how fond could memories from the 70s really be, though, honestly?), but I cannot be expected to suffer through another evening of radio wars like we had tonight! The man-child that I call my husband is incapable of leaving a radio station in one place for an entire song.... he listens to about 45 seconds of his "favorite song!" and then switches through the channels until he finds his other "favorite song!", passing each and every station that is playing a song from this decade, landing on a remote radio wave from days gone by that would make the average person cringe, stating, "Yeeaaahhh, that's the stuff...." (And then he tone-deafly sings along-- loudly. Because of course he can remember the words to every single synthesizer song, but he can't be bothered to remember to get his wife a Valentine's Day card.)
    

Flirt Till Five

     In a marriage, I have found that it's extremely important to keep things fun and exciting. A great way to do this is by flirting. I know, I know....flirt with your spouse? Some may be thinking, "What's the point of that? It's not like you have to earn that goodnight kiss!" Say what you like, but flirting is...well... fun! The invention of text messaging, for many, has radically changed the way we flirt with one another. For instance, there's the kissy-face icon that you can add to the bottom of your messages. (Or you can be totally old-school and use the semi-colon wink....it creates an entirely new meaning to "Hey, honey, what do you want for dinner? ;)"....)
Another way to spice up your flirting by text is to send random messages throughout the day telling your lover-boy/girl how much you can't wait to see them, hug them, kiss them.... and so on (if you require further instructions, you're on your own.).
     So, the last couple of weeks, my husband and I have been flirt-texting like rapid fire. We start in the morning and message each other all day. In fact, we could write the BOOK on flirting! We tickle each others' fancies all day, then come home, plan a nice meal for the evening, and then..... Nothing. NOTHING!! Apparently flirting all day takes the energy right out of ya, because as soon as dinner is done, all either of us can think about is sitting down to watch T.V. or going to bed. "We'll try again tomorrow," we tell each other, but deep in our hearts, we know tomorrow's schedule....and we know that we'll be even more tired then than we are now. But we flirt all day, nevertheless. And again, dinner time comes around and we simply poop out.
     He'll say, "Do you wanna?" And I'll reply with something like, "Um, sure! I mean, only if you want to...." And then he'll sigh and murmur, "Well, it's really up to you.... that was a big meal, afterall." And then I'll put us both out of our misery and say, "Tomorrow then?" And he'll respond with a grateful, "Excellent idea!"
     We call ourselves the Flirt Till Five couple. But it's really not THAT bad....I mean, most couples don't spend nearly this much time with foreplay and lovey-dovey goodness! But, then there's the whole pregnancy goal for this year...... I wonder if my boss will understand if I have to start leaving work at 3.....

Clorox Wipes

     It's flu season.+ My clients tend to have poor hygiene. + I use my own car to transport clients from point A to point B. = Therefore, I decided that purchasing Clorox wipes to keep in my vehicle was not only wise, but it is necessary (afterall, I had a hyper-manic female wipe her MRSA infection all over my pen AND sunglasses before saying "Ooops....maybe I should keep these?" Um, NO....but thank you very much for making my skin crawl.).

Earlier this week:
     (Pat) Did you use your Clorox wipes yet?
     (Me) Nope, not yet. I've had an agency vehicle so far this week.
     (Pat) Rats.
     (Me....suspciously) What did you do to my wipes?
     (Pat) Nothing! Geez!

A few days later, in the car:
     (Pat) Did you use your Clorox wipes yet?
     (Me) Ok, seriously, what the heck is it with you and those wipes?
     (Pat) I'm just asking if you've used them yet!
     (Me) Yeah, 'cause it's just like you to ask multiple times if I've used WIPES lately? I know you're not THAT concerned with my car's cleanliness....
     (Pat) Oh my gosh, I was just asking!!!
    
     Huffily, I reached into the back and grabbed the wipes container, eyeing it with caution. Did he use one and then not close the lid, causing all of my wipes to dry out? Or maybe he put something gross or creepy (or both) inside to play a practical joke....
     I held the wipes away from me and slowly opened the lid. Inside was a piece of paper cut into a circle to perfectly fit the inner rim of the container. On the piece of paper, written in my husband's handwriting, were the words "I Love You".
   
     (Me) Awww! I love you, too!
     (Pat) Yeah, that's right.

And then I got the flu.

Joint Checking Really Will Kill You

     I know that I was the one that said a joint checking account wouldn't kill us, but I may have to recant that statement.... this checking account is literally trying to take my life. We're only a few weeks in and, sure, it took some getting used to, (well, it WILL take some getting used to when we actually take the time to sit down and go through all of our bills together) but we've done well of informing each other of significant bills going in or out of the account. And, to my husband's credit, he's only lost 2 receipts so far (which is a big deal, especially since he was not used to keeping a ledger or saving receipts at all... kudos to him!--even though this IS probably all his fault).
     So, last night I sat down, ready to pay our bills (I'm even willing to compromise and try the online payment option for some of my bigger bills in order to save stamps and envelopes.... it's akin to having me get a Brazilian, but I'm willing to make this attempt on a trial basis because my husband won't stop harping me about it) after entering in all of our receipts, paycheck stubs (all 1 of them), and pending bills. I added everything up and ATTEMPTED to balance our checkbook, only to find that we are over $400 off from what our bank says we have! With a slight sigh of relief, I can report that this error is in our favor, but I am not the type of person that can handle a mystery load of cash floating around in bank-land. I need answers! WHERE DID IT COME FROM!?!?!
    Three hours later, I had checked and re-checked each receipt, deposit slip, and bank statement from the last 3 months-- Nothing. Honestly, I have no idea where the money came from, because it wasn't there before we joined accounts and my husband's statements showed no such money either (you see? this is what happens when you try to do anything with a boy.... even his money is throwing a wrench into my system!). Somewhere between tears and hysterical laughter, I gave up, accepted the fact that money may, in fact, be asexual, and that I will simply allow our funds to reproduce like rabbits in heat. Maybe someday the nice bank lady and I will be able to figure out what happened, but until then, I will try to refrain from being killed by our joint checking account.