Tag Archives: men

Because nothing ever goes smoothly when my husband is involved.

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With the hope that it will rain on our property sometime in this decade, my husband purchased gutters for our baby barn/shed and I attempted to help with the installation.

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Since the project was my husband’s idea and he was in charge of purchasing supplies, this meant 3 forty minute round trips to Lowes and half the day wasted because he thinks making a list is a waste of time.

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Did he buy the right size screws?

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He did not.

Did he buy the correct downspout brackets?

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He did not.

Did he buy a new section of downspout because the piece he had leftover from a previous project was too short?

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I think you know the answer to that.

🥴

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Stone garden border project day 3… aggravated husband day 3.

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Work is slowly progressing on my soon to be fabulous backyard perennial garden border.

Whether my marriage will survive it is another matter entirely.

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I’m not sure why my husband has chosen to take every single little thing I say about this endeavor as a slight, an insult or God forbid…. a question of his manly ability, but he has.

I go out and try to help, but somehow everything I do just ends up pissing him off. He’s sucking the joy out of the process with his attitude and moodiness, but I will not let him ruin it.

I will not.

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If you remember, I advised we buy at least two pallets of stone back at the start. I knew we would need at least two full pallets, but no. My husband knew better and we bought one.

So when he reached the end of pallet number one and wasn’t anywhere near finished?

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He was less than pleased to admit we needed the second pallet I had wanted since the beginning and grumbled that I was gloating.

Me?

No. That would never happen.

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Shopping for a gift in the basement.

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We love our local. It’s not a fancy place just a small rustic pub where, like Cheers… everyone really does know your name. The business is owned by two men… one cook, one bartender and I’m sure it would come as no surprise to either that their decor leaves a bit to be desired. The building is old, built at the turn of the century and the pub room is entirely wood. The few decorative items displayed are vintage Maine… an old sled, some snowshoes etc. A year ago I framed a collection of antique postcards of the town as a gift. Since then my husband has been sputtering about donating something as well. So…

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We went shopping. In the basement. I avoid this part of our house like the plague due to the mess, the clutter and the absolute lack of organization. Truth be told I start twitching after even limited exposure… but I endured, for the pub’s sake.

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The husband was all for giving them random junk but I said no. It had to be something Maine… or at least bar related.

This is what I chose:

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A nice pair of vintage wooden skis.

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And an antique wooden whisky crate. Perfect… right?

Wrong.

As I was cleaning the cobwebs and wiping off years of accumulated dust, the husband looked up the items online. Wooden skis in good shape can fetch a premium price in Maine as summer people like to decorate their vacation homes and cabins, so when he found a similar pair listed for $550? He changed his mind about letting them go. The crate? $55-70 … so it went in his I may sell this at a flea market pile.

Sorry local pub, no gifts for you today.

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These are sure to start a bidding war.

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I stepped outside to this a while back.

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Because when the husband disappears outside for long periods of time with no contact? I know something is being torn apart.

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This time it was the woodshed, which over the years has become an outdoor repository for everything I want to get rid of but he’s determined to keep. This includes a large amount of bricks, mismatched pavers and random blocks.

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Which he started stacking until he came across a batch of tapered arch building bricks left over from the previous owner. Yes, they’ve been there for 20 years because my spouse is a hoarder and you never know when you’ll need to build an arch.

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He moved them to front of our garage and I rejoiced, thinking the next step would be the dump. I was wrong.

After looking them up online and seeing that new tapered arch bricks sell for $6 a piece … he made me list them for sale. 40 (and 1/2 because he wouldn’t even throw out the broken one) used, dirty, slightly mortared bricks – $80.

It should come as no surprise that after 12 days we have had no offers.

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Rocks. Glorious rocks!

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It has begun.

The search for rocks to build a new border for my defunct perennial bed is underway and I can’t tell you how thrilled I am.

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We went shopping…

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For rocks!

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Did I mention the aforementioned rocks are not cheap? Many rocks will be needed for this project so we drove around all day to multiple yards to compare prices.

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So.

Many.

Rocks!

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I think I died and went to heaven right on that spot.

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This will be our border. 1-3” fieldstone. 3,000 lbs a pallet.. and at $458 per it was the cheapest we found. The bed is 10’x20’ … I say we’ll need two pallets , maybe 3 for a finished bed border… the husband says we’ll start with one.

Silly man. Doesn’t he know you can never have too many rocks?

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Bonk… part 4.

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You know the drill. The following excerpts are from a Mary Roach book about sex. You have been warned…

While Viagra is a relatively new treatment, cures for male impotence have been around for a long time. Two testicles not getting the job done? No problem, just get yourself a third.

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Yes, they really did have an add a testicle procedure, though it was not without its issues.

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Ponder that for a moment.

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Feel free to whip up that cocktail at your next dinner party. Gin, orange juice, grenadine and absinthe. Not sure what that recipe has to do with the family jewels, but I’m sure it will be a hit all the same.

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If that’s not trivia to impress your friends, I don’t know what is.

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Sodomization does seem a trifle extreme for pilfering a tomato, but clearly the Romans took their gardens more seriously than I do.

( If you want a good giggle? Do a Google image search on Priapus. That is one massive cucumber. 😳 )

Please, just finish something.

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You’d think with all the free time my husband has since retiring projects would be finished in no time flat. Hell, 10 years ago he built a two story barn on nights and weekends when working full time, but now that there’s nothing definite on the schedule? Everything gets started and nothing gets finished…. which drives me absolutely insane.

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Last week he started redoing the back yard stone wall.

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He squared one corner and then stopped, leaving my rose bush dangling precariously.

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It’s hard to tell from the photo but the rose that our neighbor gave me in honor of my mother when she passed, the one that’s bloomed beautifully for years… now has a channel of air on the right side where the dirt and mulch used to be. I keep threatening to fill it back in but the husband hollers he’s not done with the wall.

So finish it!

We have a small home office with two desks. Mine is free and clear and organized, his? Not so much.

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It’s cluttered with stamps he started identifying, first day issues he started researching, price tags for a yard sale he’ll never get around to having, random old coins and airworthiness directives from a job where he is no longer employed. And while I try to ignore that mess, it’s a bit harder to ignore this one –

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The strategically placed pile of boxes, bags and packing material that accompanied the multiple loads of crap he belched up from the cellar two months ago. He says he’s still sorting and going through them, but he’s not and probably never will.

Sigh.

I’m too type A to work this way. I start something, I see it through and move on. It really makes me wonder how I’ve let him live this long…

🤣

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That person was my husband.

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The year was 1984. I had met and married my husband in 6 days. (He was on leave from the Marine Corps, had to be back on base in North Carolina in a week and was determined to take me with him.) I stuffed clothes, shoes and jewelry in black trash bags ..crammed as much as I could in the back of his Datsun 280ZX and off we went.

I’d just turned 20 and was journeying into the unknown. Married to a man I hardly knew, leaving home for a brand new life. His family was shocked. My mother was hysterical. I was young and in love… life was good!

Until we pulled into his rental bachelor pad down south. The house was small… and bright turquoise. Inside and out. Not his color of choice, but he didn’t change it either which speaks volumes. It had all the prerequisite bachelor ecoutrements…. plywood and cement blocks entertainment center, mismatched thrift store chairs, beach towels in the bathroom. But as awful as that was? I was undeterred. Men are works in progress, I could rebuild him.

And then I walked into the bedroom.

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Not my picture, but it could be. I ignored the fact my man only had one pot and 2 plates in his kitchen cupboard. I turned a blind eye to the boot stand made from a power line wooden spool. I shrugged off the dented foot locker coffee table. But a waterbed? That I would actually have to sleep on? That was a bridge too far.

The husband didn’t mind with me filling his kitchen and bathroom with appropriate items. He encouraged me to buy new furniture and paint the walls a less objectionable color. But he loved that abominable liquid monstrosity and refused to give it up.

We lived in the sea sickness inducing bachelor pad for 8 months and then bought our first home. It was considerably larger than his extremely shabby and not so chic rental abode so we purchased a dining room set, an office suite and den furniture. We built a deck and loaded it with porch furniture, a fire pit and a grill. It was great! Until I realized we had run out of money before we reached the bedroom.

I spent another year sleeping on that horrible rubber life raft but my husband still balked every time I broached the subject of replacing it. I dreaded going to sleep at night. Every time the husband rolled over, a wave rippled under me. It was bizarre.

And then one night, Morpheus smiled upon me.

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No, not that one.

The God of Sleep heard my prayers and we both woke up shivering at 3:00am. For those who don’t know, you can’t just fill a waterbed and call it good. There’s a heating mechanism under the mattress that keeps the water warm. You can’t sleep on cold water, it will draw out your body heat in an attempt to level the temperature difference. And that’s just what the last vestige of my husband’s bachelorhood did.

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The heater broke, the water temperature dropped and we were shivering popsicles by morning. I was ecstatic! The husband was bereft. I did a happy dance of epic proportions. The husband may have wept.

We stripped the bed, siphoned out the water…. not a small task…. and discovered that not only had the heater ceased to heat, it had completely burned out and scorched the wooden frame beneath, dropping burnt ash on the carpet. I suppose being burned to death by a waterbed is technically impossible since the flames would eventually be extinguished by the burst of water…. but that’s a wood fire- burning rubber- electrical nightmare I’d rather not be slumbering on thank you very much.

The waterbed went bye bye and I said good riddance. I really wish I could find the picture I took of the husband that morning. (pre digital so there’s no telling where it could be) We were curling up the rubber mattress to push the last bit of water out the hose and he was sitting in the corner, desolate, head in hand… watching the last drop (literally) of his single life go out the window (literally).

Good times.

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So much thinking.

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The husband has a standing Sunday afternoon pool game with the little old man up the road. He’s a widower my other half met years ago at breakfast, and as soon as we remodeled the barn into a man cave… the weekly game commenced.

Last week a few other friends showed up and team play got underway. There was a lot of laughing.

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And a great deal of thinking.

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It seems like every time I went out to refresh the snacks, there was one shot taken…

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And then more thinking.

So much thinking…

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More often than not, the mild mannered 85 year old widower cleaned the table while the rest of the men continued thinking.

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He may be small, but every little bone in is body is competitive.

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No matter. Beer, chili and cornbread are great equalizers.

😉

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The piece of jewelry no woman wants.

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Men? I’m going to give you a little free advice so listen carefully.

I believe I speak for all women when I say we don’t want this.

We don’t this for our birthdays. We don’t want this for our anniversaries. And we definitely don’t want this for Valentines Day.

Uh uh.

Nope.

No way.

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The fact that this abomination is listed as “low in stock” is proof positive men are basically clueless gift givers and will benefit enormously from reading my blog.

Please spread the word.

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