Sometimes It's Enough Just to Be Humored

Veronica:  So, I noticed you got a lot of compliments on facebook today.

Jeremy:  I know!  What can I say?  Your husband is a handsome fellow.

Veronica:  Ummm, yeah.  But they were complimenting your sweater.  You know, the one *I* bought you?

Jeremy:  Yeah.  

Veronica:  The sweater *I* picked out ... people are complimenting it.  
Jeremy:  *blank stare*
Veronica:  They like your sweater. And *I* picked it out.

Jeremy:  Yeah.

Veronica:  So, really, it was MY good taste that led to you getting those compliments.  Something to think about. 

The next day:

Good Times with a Good Man

It started out the MOST IMPORTANT DAY EVER EVER EVER IN THE WHOLE WORLD.  Our first Valentine's Day together I spent lots of moola and carefully wrapped the millions of perfect presents and picked out the perfect card and wrote the perfect message in it and handmade tags for the presents and a second card and planned a romantic dinner with candles and music (Note: do not, I repeat, do NOT place a huge arrangement of romantic candles in FRONT of the CD player and then blow the candles out.  Hot wax will fly everywhere, including the speakers of said CD player.  You're welcome.) and bought a special outfit and set up a camera on a timer to take a picture of that magical evening so we could remember it FOREVER!!!!!

Sigh.  Good times.  


Then, we slowly started realizing that we should calm the eff down about some things.  And, like, maybe not spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on each other for EVERY single event, like birthdays, Christmas, Valentine's Day, our anniversary ... the anniversary of our first date ... the anniversary of our first kiss ... 


New love.  I used to think there was nothing like it.  Those butterflies in your stomach.  The electricity.  The giggles.  Everything is new and special and momentous.  Where we have landed now, however ... I like it.  I mean, I know he loves me.  He really loves me if he didn't leave me in my most monster of all horrible states of being: the pregnancy.  If he made it through those hell-acious nine months with a Veronica who fluctuated between breathing fire, crying, spinning her head 180 degrees, and whining, then he is in it for the long haul.  He gave me my daughter.  He gave me the past 8 years, which have been some of the best of my life.  I love him more than anything, and I don't need a huge fanfare and millions of dollars worth of presents and schmoopy cards and candy and flowers and jewelry (although ... sigh.) to prove it.


Valentine's Day is nice and all.  I still like the idea of setting aside a day where everything is pink and red and you give people heart-shaped things and candy, and people are happy and talk about love.  It's just not such a big deal anymore, and that is not sad at all.  It is nice, because I know it means I am so damn happy with my husband that we don't have to spaz out on Valentine's Day -- all our days are happy and filled with red and pink and heart-shaped things.


The card I made for Jeremy a few years ago still sums up my level of devotion to him.  Feel free to print it out this electronic version I whipped up and give it to your loved one(s).

Outside of card:

Inside of card:

Now THAT'S love.


Happy VD to all!

Don't Get Too Jealous When You Read About My Perfect Relationship

Reason #978 that my husband and I are perfect for each other:


Jeremy is goading me about something and getting me all fired up on purpose.  Like, he's standing there smiling while I'm fuming.  He's so dang proud of himself that I let loose on him.


"You know, you can be a real dickwad sometimes!"  I shout as I storm upstairs.  


Jeremy runs to the bottom of the stairs and screams, "Did you just call me a DICKWAD?"  


"Sure did, dickwad."


And then Jeremy went ahead and made me fall in love with him all over again by laughing so hard he nearly collapses.  Then I start laughing hysterically and have to grab the handrail so I don't fall backwards down the stairs.  I truly married my soulmate when I married someone who appreciates the use of the word "dickwad," even when it is in reference to him.


And seriously, if that is how I die -- falling backwards down the stairs because I am laughing so hard with my husband -- I think we have a pretty damn good marriage on our hands.


It's all rainbows and doves and sparkly hearts over here people.  Just as it should be.

The Word "Pact" Means Nothing to My Husband, But at Least the Vows Took.

Since I am still a total wet blanket and dying of pregnancy, my husband and I made a deal to keep Valentine's Day low-key.  More specifically, I made him SWEAR that he would get me absolutely NOTHING (Other than the obligatory card.  We are card people. Deal with it.).  

I thought he was on board with all of this, seeing as we are having a baby AND totally destitute, but I still checked in on him on more than five occasions.

"You PROMISE you didn't get me anything?"

"Yes."

"You SWEAR on your surround sound that you have NOTHING planned?"

"I SWEAR."

So I felt pretty confident that my perfect card would be a hit, seeing as it would be part of an equal exchange.  WRONG.  Here is what a pact to do NOTHING looks like:

1.

Red roses, placed by my bed so they were the first thing I saw when I woke up.

2.  

A plate a hand-dipped strawberries (in DARK chocolate, since milk chocolate makes me vom) left in the fridge for me to find while Husband was at work, along with a note that said "Valentine's Day snack.  I love you."

3. 

My favorite meal in take-out form so I wouldn't get all stabby in a restaurant packed full of people.  With candlelight and music and a fire in the fireplace.

Does this look like NOTHING to you?  Now, before you get all mad at me and start shouting things about how I don't appreciate all the loving and didn't properly swoon over all this, please consider this:  All I had to give this man in return was a lousy card.

Granted, the card was perfect, and I found it four weeks ago and was all psyched and bought it and hid it (and then spent two hours this morning trying to remember WHERE I hid it), but it was still just a card.

I swear, this man is always doing this.  He does wonderful romantic things, but makes me feel like a fool.  Like the Christmas where he bought me a TV AND a digital camera (seriously).  Or the next Christmas where we made a pact to only spend $25 on each other to come down from our wild spending.  Yeah, that year he gave me $25 worth of presents, and THEN brought out pearls.  And when people asked me what I got him, I had to say a DVD and the argyle socks he wanted.  How embarrassing.  

This man is wonderful and amazing, but he needs to quit making fake pacts and letting me spend as much time and effort on him as he does on me.

Fake pacts.  I should take him to court.  For giving me romance.  That'll show him.

I Just Remembered I am Mad at My Husband

... and boy-oh-boy am I glad I remembered, because I have been super nice to him lately.


So, my husband committed the ultimate betrayal.  And the person he betrayed? His lovely, considerate, NOT overly-dramatic wife.


Imagine this: Your entire life, you have been told you look like a certain celebrity.  You don't think you are this person's twin, but it is nice to be told you look like a celebrity, and you enjoy it every time a new person says it.  It makes you feel a little good about yourself, even though you realize being told you look like said person in no way means you share her fame or cash flow.  But it's nice all the same.


Okay, have you imagined it?  Good.  Because all my life I have been called Julia.  People think I look like Julia Roberts.  And the Internet confirmed it.

Yeah, I agree.  Probably the huge mouth and big chin, and we certainly aren't twins, but there is SOME resemblance.

So here is part two of the scenario I would like am forcing you to imagine:  Your husband says he thinks Julia Roberts is hideous.

YEAH.  HE SAID IT.  TO MY FACE.

And maybe it happened a long time ago, but I am just now realizing how deep he cut me.  I mean, good god, man!  If people say your wife looks like someone, don't say she is "hideous" or  "looks like a horse" or "has the biggest, most obnoxious teeth in the world."  Just don't.

Instead, maybe say something like "Oh, yes, she is lovely.  I can see the resemblance!  People must say you look alike because you are both just so gorgeous and have those big smiles that everyone adores and would NEVER say look like horse mouths!"  

But that's just my advice.  

And now, I must decide what to do to make Jeremy, the husband who claims he loves me and IMPREGNATED me, realize the error of his ways.  I mean, what if the baby comes out with my huge mouth and pointy chin?  Will he tell him/her that he/she also looks like a celebrity he finds hideous?  Because I'm pretty sure CPS would have to get involved at that point.  And DAMN IT, NO ONE IS TAKING MY CHILD AWAY!!