Tag Archives: men

The shelf war.

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We started with these 3 foot long shelves under the bar.

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They’re floating shelves… and while they technically don’t float, they are an absolute pain in the ass to install. So when I told the husband I wanted two more on the adjacent bar wall, he was less than thrilled but agreed they were necessary. Of course then the stupid electrician put the new outlets too high up on the wall to install 3 foot shelves at the same height as the others. That’s when the war began.

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I was fine with moving the bottom shelf higher.

The husband was not. Which resulted in a major kerfluffle.

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We disagreed on placement…. and though I had won the 4 versus 3 custom liquor bottle shelves battle, this war ended differently.

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Busy with other things we put this chore on the back burner… or so I thought until the husband disappeared one afternoon and I found him under the bar. Removing my 3 foot shelves and all their contents.

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Unbeknownst to me, he had returned my 3 foot shelves to the store and come home with the 2 foot versions instead. I told him I didn’t want 2 foot shelves. That it would look off balance and not provide enough space.

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To which he paid no attention and proceeded to install the stubby 2 foot shelves. He was determined they fit right into the corner and ripped out the nice trim piece I had our contractor install. When I looked displeased, he assured me they would line up perfectly with the existing shelves and look great.

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I think you know how that went.

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They didn’t line up, despite the numerous hours he cursed like a drunken sailor tinkered with them.

No matter what he did, the new shelves rose slightly above the older ones and wouldn’t lay flat.

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His solution?

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A few pieces of too thick moldy old wood from under the baby barn…. to bring them together.

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Which makes me wonder what part of the invisible bracket floating shelf aesthetic he didn’t understand.

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I’m hoping once we get the double tap kegerator in there the unbalanced shelves won’t be quite so noticeable.

But either way, there’s still not enough room.

😒

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Things I will not be giving my husband for Valentines Day this year.

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Have you ever looked at ads for products and thought, that can’t be real?

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Jerky flower bouquets for the special man in your life?

No way.

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Way.

And they’re not exactly giving them away either.

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The Ball Hammock.

Yes, my Facebook algorithm is back to its old tricks just in time for the holiday. Will I be buying my husband a rocket to put in his pants?

No.

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I will not be asking him to release the Kraken either.

Well, not that one anyway.

And finally the last gift I won’t be buying him…

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Ball therapy.

Just…. no.

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How seriously does my husband take feeding the birds?

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So seriously, that after filling the feeders and scattering seed on the ground for the cardinals during a snow storm?

He repeatedly chased off the interlopers.

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And threw bare handed snowballs at them to boot.

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He even followed them down the hill to the woods to make sure they were gone.

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Did I mention it was a little cold that day? Well, it was.

And just so you know?

This was the third of five hasty retreats the turkeys beat, only to come back and nosh happily on spilled seed when my husband gave up. (And no, I didn’t tell him.)

Turkeys – 1.

Husband – 0.

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I should have known it was coming.

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He already bought the big screen tv.

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And the microwave and the coffee maker.

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He bought the full size refrigerator and is building a bar.

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So is it any surprise he made me go shopping for a mini beverage fridge to put behind that bar the other day?

No. It is not.

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Things got quickly out of hand when he was looking at these….

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At $1,200 per unit.

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But I managed to reign him in and only come home with the one on the left… which, while not a total victory? Was still something to celebrate.

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I should have known this was coming.

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The Barn Mahal is the gift that keeps on giving. It grows. It changes. It morphs into something I no longer recognize as a barn.

Why do I say this?

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Because last week my husband took me shopping for the next addition to his man cave extraordinaire.

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Yes.

He wants a refrigerator.

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And because he’s a man who demands instant gratification, he wanted to go home with it that day… which we quickly discovered was impossible. Thank you Covid 19…. yet another reason you suck.

All the refrigerators pictured on this blog, every last one of the small barn appropriate models that were on the display floor?

Unavailable.

It was enough to send us to our local pub for a drink… or two, and lunch.

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Which for me was a massive fried haddock sandwich with homemade onion rings. For the husband?

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A tool box and the light filtering blind we bought for the window we always sit in front of. The sun shines through it something fierce and we were tired of our bartender talking to us with his hand over his eyes.

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For this kindness we refused payment… support your local businesses!…but received 4 free drinks when the bill was presented.

A win win.

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And then it was back to the elusive we’ll show it to you but you can’t have it, neener neener refrigerator shopping.

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The absolutely only one anyone had in stock was this small, wonderfully inexpensive model.

The husband vetoed that. Not enough room for beer.

So we spent a fruitless day, visited 7 stores and ended up coming home to order this one online.

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Ample beer storage will be had…

But not for a week or two.

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Why does he make everything twice as difficult as it has to be?

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We have a barn that really isn’t a barn. What started out as storage space for motorcycles and lawn mowers has morphed into a custom built man cave… and now that the man cave has a heat pump? The upstairs has to be temporarily blocked off for winter before the staircase turns into a chimney.

This should have been a simple project.

I told the husband – cut a piece of insulation foam. The heat pump installer told the husband – cut a piece of insulation foam. The friend that helps him now and then told the husband – cut a piece of insulation foam.

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Which is why the husband made a hinged door out of zip siding.

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Did I mention the husband doesn’t like to be told what to do?

After a laborious day of cursing and figuring and adjusting and fitting and more cursing….

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The husband came home to cut a piece of insulation foam.

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Which he wanted to attach to that hinged door of zip siding.

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This involved more measuring and cutting ..

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And fitting and pushing and removing and more measuring and cutting.

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Please note the non OSHA approved chunk of wood dismantling the saw’s safety feature.

More fitting.

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More measuring and cutting.

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More fitting.

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Halfway through the process, Mike Pence stopped by to say hello.

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And finally after I helped him measure, cut and fit for 3 hours to no avail… I snuck out.

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For the sake of my sanity…. as well as our marriage.

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Because some things are best left unexplored.

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Facebook ads. They’re never ending and annoying and I pay them very little mind.

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Yes, I like Hint water… but don’t need to see daily videos.

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And yes, those are some sweet shades I could easily see myself rocking next summer, but they don’t need to join the other 15 pairs I never wear in my junk drawer.

While I realize these ads are targeted to me specifically based on algorithms of my search history, every once in a while they surprise me.

As this one did the other day:

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Not being in possession of a pair, I assure you I have never actively searched for ball wash.

Trust me on this.

Of course since it popped up, I had to click. For research/ blog fodder purposes only you understand.

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Don’t be whack, GIVE A SACK.

There’s an ad slogan designed to burrow deep into your frontal cortex.

And while I admit I chortled over this, I’m not chortling now. Because you know what happens when you click on a Facebook ball wash product ad?

This:

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And this:

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I am now being inundated with less than helpful product placement.

Man meat.

What have I done!

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