Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Chronicles of my life with a Blonde, part 17: 1st grader fashion faux pas.

NOTE: Chronicles of my life with a Blonde came to an abrupt end at the creation of "...part 16, How many blondes needed to use an easy bake oven?" Blonde Spousus Apparently No Sense of Humorous threatened gigantus divorcus, so Chronicles of my life with a Blonde saw a brutal and abrupt end. Brunette Wife has decided THIS INCIDENT warranted an exception. So without further ado and at the risk of my marriage, I bring you...

"Chronicles of my life with a Blonde, part 17: 1st grader fashion faux pas."

Monday morning was a wonderful treat, Blonde Spouse had the day off and so kindly allowed Brunette Self to leisurely sleep in and then waking me with a cup of coffee in hand around 10 am. He'd already seen our 1st grader off to school, fed the dogs and taken them out, and all of the usual morning riff raff. Because I had laid Ana's clothes out on the dresser the night before, it seemed I had nothing to worry about and went about enjoying the rest of our day alone together.

At 3 pm, I discovered just how wrong that sense of security turned out to be, when the first grader got home from school. I've got to hand it to the Blonde Spouse, many of the creations that come out of his kitchen are delightful. Alas, that magical combination ability ceases (and apparently curls up and dies a horrible death) when he replaces food ingredients with pieces of clothing. To be punnable, he sure knows how to dress a turkey but not necessarily our first grader, his blonde mini-me. Now, I'm no fashion connoisseur, but even my eyeballs have limits.

The door opens to reveal my beautiful first grader, magically transformed from mummy's lil princess to a banjo playing, spitting through her proverbial missing front teeth, um, daughter...refer to picture below. Somehow, Blonde Spouse saw nothing wrong with the attire. *shudders*

Mini Me was dressed in a long sleeved flannel, with a short sleeve t shirt 2 sizes to small on top of it. As I start to comment on the attire, I note that Blonde Spouse is currently wearing a long sleeved flannel underneath a Spider Man dress shirt. *rolls eyes*

I spent the next hour programming the Blonde Spouse Mini-Me to "Just Say No" to Daddy fashion faux pas and to tell him anytime he approaches her with clothing in hand, "Nooooo! We must go find the color coordinator, the Virgo, to check the ensemble against her clash meter."

Chronicles of my life with a blonde: part 16, How many blondes needed to use an easy bake oven?

Q: How many blondes needed to use an Easy Bake Oven™?

A: 2...and a Brunette to walk them through it. *sigh* Thus begins another chronicle of my life with a blonde, putting the "irony" in "easy."

little Blonde Spouse Mini Me (aka Ana Rasa) to Brunette Self, "Momma, I wanna play with my Easy Bake Oven™."

Brunette Self to little Blonde Spouse Mini Me (aka Ana Rasa), "Honey, how about you ask Daddy to play with you with your Easy Bake Oven™? The two of you haven't played with it together yet!" [inside Brunette Self is thinking Brunette Brother and Brunette Momma have been suckered into playing with Easy Bake Oven™ on a twice rotation, when it is Blonde Spousus Santa Claus who purchased said Easy Bake Oven™ for ages 8 and up for said little Blonde Spouse Mini Me age 5...ha...revenge is mine! BWAHHAAHAA!]

little Blonde Spouse Mini Me replies, "What a great idea!"

Fast forward two days to unsuspecting Blonde Spousus Santa Claus' next day off.

little Blonde Spouse Mini Me approaches said Blonde Spousus Santa Claus, "Daddy, will you please play with me and play Easy Bake Oven™?"

Blonde Spousus Santa Claus, 'fast stepping' replies, "Perhaps another time."

little Blonde Spouse Mini Me tears up. Big mean Brunette Self jumps in and reminds Blonde Spousus Santa Claus that Brunette Brother and Brunette Momma have already played twice with little Blonde Spouse Mini Me and that it's Blonde Spousus [Santa Claus]' turn. Realizing he's been bamboozled, he laughingly agrees.

But alas, revenge was HIS [plot twist]. It began with a frustrating 15 minutes while he struggled with the picture instructions. Brunette Self begins to feel incredibly guilty.

Blonde Spousus Santa Claus then starts poking things into Easy Bake Oven™ trying to "figure out how to get the **&^*&#^$%#@* cake pan IN there! There's no door!"

Brunette Self realizes impending shock hazard and spends the next 15 minutes guiding Blonde Spousus Santa Claus and little Blonde Spouse Mini Me like Wolfgang Puck through the process of preparing the batter, pans and how to slide the cake pan through the oven without ripping it apart.

By end of process, Blonde Spouse Santa Claus and little Blonde Spouse Mini Me have retired from the kitchen, leaving Brunette Self to complete the cake. DAMN. :D

Chronicles of My Life with a Blonde, part15: Medication Mgmt

With the turn of the seasons always comes the rounds of colds and flu in our home, and this year was to be no exception.

Our 5 year old daughter and Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus came down with the nasties first, immediately going into massive snot production and dry cough hackiness.

Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus ventured out to the market to buy cough drops to help with the hackiness that threatened to leave them both parallyzed in fits and waves of coughing.

Most of this first day, Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus diligently gives daughter and himself a cough drop every 2 hours to help with the cough. Oddly, the hacking is unabated. Daughter is overly willing to take a cough drop, something she usually despises as it "tastes all funny."

Brunette Self begins to wonder if the cold is now a "super bug" and investigates medication Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus brought home from the market, now tucked in on the back of the counter.

Brunette Self is greeted with this a package of Werther's Original Hard Candies.

Brunette Self bites tongue and suggest a cough drop with an actual horeshound derivative might be more beneficial, goes to market and returns with cough drops. Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus and 5 Year Old With A New Mouthful of Cavities immediately cease coughing fits.

1 week later Brunette Self finds herself hacking away, Blonde Spouse Sniffle-uf-a-gus looks through medicine cabinet and advises me we are all out of cough drops, but he found another bag of Werther's Originals. *rolls eyes*

Chronicles of My Life With a Blonde, part 13: The UnHandy Handyman

On Wednesday of last week, the Blonde Spouse and Brunette Self agreed that the main bathroom shower/tub unit needed recalking. Blonde Spouse heartily agreed to take on the task. Brunette Self feels sense of foreboding. *shudders*

"Hon?" Brunette Self ventures.

"Yea, babe."

"Do you know where you put the caulking gun and supplies?" Queries Brunette Self, and directs reader to refer to part 12: Dis-Organization for further details. "We cannot afford to get more caulking and a new caulking gun right now, King County wants their blood--er, TAX money on the 31st."

Blonde Spouse diligently removes trim around top of tub/base of shower surround and treats area with mildew preventer. Blonde Spouse places trim, with nails still in it, with nails pointing upward on the base of the tub. Brunette Self asks why nail points are pointing up (and figures explaining REMOVING NAILS FROM TRIM IS MOST SAFE OPTION is too difficult and lengthy to get into at the moment), and Blonde Spouse snappingly replies it's so the nails don't scratch the tub. *BITES TONGUE*

Blonde Spouse forgot to remove remaining tidbits of caulking prior to using mildew preventer. Tidbits of Napalm like caulking hang dripping with mildew preventer (that Brunette Self is highly allergic to) around the shower surround. Blonde Spouse also forgot to take into account drying time of mildew preventer, thus extending the project back into his work week. Brunette self, several eye rolls later and pondering if we can budget in anti-histamines to combat the welts and swelling, offers to complete the project if Blonde Spouse will locate caulking and caulking gun.

Blonde Spouse states, "There behind the door in the master bathroom."

Brunette self simply ignores nagging need to try to rationalize why Blondus Spousus Dis-Organizedus would consider this the most prime location for home maintenance supplies, and simply says, "Ok."

It is now Sunday of next week, Brunette Self has managed to remove napalm dripping caulk tidbits from unit without putting herself into the hospital. Brunette looks behind doors in master bathroom for caulking supplies and caulking supplies and gun.

Brunette Self musters up the courage to educate Blonde Spousus of the Work Week Grumpus on Monday evening, "Hon, the caulking stuff wasn't where you said it would be. Are you sure you didn't move it?"

Blonde Spousus of the Work Week Grumpus pretends not to hear Brunette Self. This tells Brunette Self that Blonde Spousus of the Work Week Grumpus has dis-organized these items so far that even he does not know where they are...they are indefinitely MIA.

Having a family of four share one bathroom for the next two weeks awaiting Blonde Spousus Dis-Organizedus' next paycheck in order to purchase new caulking supplies and gun: ANNOYING.


Chronicles of My Life with a Blonde, part 12: "Dis-Organization"

I've come to realize that my Blonde Spouse has some pretty odd habits when it comes to organization. He will look at a box of random items, select the biggest thing in the box (say, "a pan") and determine it is all kitchen stuff. We've lived in our house for over 4 years now, and I still can't find everything he "organized."

Yet, Blonde Spouse is surprisingly anal about the weirdest things: his pillows must be arranged perfectly perpendicular to each other in order to sleep, toilet paper must be folded and not bunched, just to name a few.

My Brunette Virgo-ness has begun to wear off on Blonde Spouse, the last time he packed for a camping trip, he proudly announced, "I have made a list." My Brunnete Virgo-ness' heart jumped with joy and promptly fell to my shoes when he presented me with "the list."

"The list" consisted of a complex drawing with arrows, curved lines connecting items and the occasional "oh, shit, I don't know where that is" comment. There were bubbles connected to other bubbles, big X's over duplicate items, etc. Blonde Spouse determined that we required 6 rolls of toilet paper (for a two day trip), replacement flashlight bulbs, but apparently plates and silverware were not important items...neither was propane or the tent. ?? I attempted to point this out but angered Blonde Spouse, who stated "I can do this!"

We arrived at said campsite to discover he had packed the tent (after I suggested it), but forgot the poles. We had 3 replacement light bulbs but no batteries for the flashlights. We had six rolls of toilet paper but no biodegradable chemical for the port-a-potty. We had tarps but no rope to hang them. We had signs to post but no staples to post them. *sigh* Brunette Virgo-ness has taken over the packing lists, and has resigned herself to composing a "secret" list to assure this never happens again.

Chronicles of My Life with a Blonde, part 11: Ordering Take-Out

Sometimes my Brunette Self is afraid to order anything with Blonde Spouse, fearing disgruntled food service workers may spit in my food in frustration with the order.

We roll up to the order menu, “May I take your order.”

Blonde Spouse, “I’ll take a cheeseburger, please. No ketchup but mustard, no tomato but onion, no pickles but mayonnaise.”

Disgruntled food service worker, “So, you want a cheeseburger with pickles and mayonnaise?”

Blonde Spouse, “No! No pickles but mayonnaise, with onions but no tomato and no ketchup but mustard.”

Disgruntled food service worker, “So you want a cheeseburger plain?”

Angry Blonde Spouse, “NO! Mayonnaise no ketchup, mustard no pickles, onions no tomato!”

Brunette Self, “I’ll just get a #3, please. Surprise me on the pop.”

Angry Blonde Spouse, “Did you get that?”

Disgruntled food service worker, “*audible sigh of annoyance* Please pull forward to the first window.”

Brunette Self turns to Blonde Spouse, “Why don’t you just order a cheeseburger with mayonnaise, onion and mustard?”

Blonde Spouse, “Because that would be too complicated.”

Chronicles of My Life with a Blonde, part 10: Painting the Fence

A few years ago we installed a 6 foot tall wooden privacy fence in our backyard and drowned it in clear sealer. Sadly, only two years later, it needed to be re-sealed.

The original sealer did a lousy job of keeping it’s beautiful cedarness, so we opted to stain it this time around in addition to sealing the wood. We only had enough redwood stain to do one side of the fence, and enough red mahogany stain to do the other side.

Brunette self, “Hon, why don’t we mix the two stains together?”

Blonde spouse, “Why would we do that? We might run out of color!”

Brunette self, taking deep breath, “Honey, wouldn’t we run out regardless of whether or not we mixed them, since we have equal parts of both?”

Blonde spouse, “No way! I’m going to paint the outside redwood and the inside mahogany!” Result? Two toned fence.

Brunette self resorts to abandoning ill-logical debate and wonders if Blonde spouse shouldn’t be running for president.

Chronicles of My Life with a Blonde, part 9: Urinal Soap

We went camping for my friend’s “21 again” birthday, in which our usual campsite had been closed. We found ourselves, begrudgingly, at a new site hosting no water but a port-a-potty.

As Oponn and I journeyed to town to purchase water, we left our daughters (Oponn’s Nemo, age3; and my Ana, age 4) in the care of the Blondus Spousus of the Dingle-Dorfus.

Upon our return, we discovered Ana had a terrible bout of diarrhea. Taking Ana to the port-a-potty for her third trip of the afternoon, I stayed to keep her company while she finished. Ana points to the urinal on the side of the port-a-potty and asks me what the pink ‘soap’ is for. I look at Ana and tell her, “Ew, that’s where boys pee!”

Ana, looking quite mortified, exclaimed angrily, “But Daddy (Blondus Spousus of the Dingle-Dorfus) said it was soap! He did!”

I sigh and turn to yell down the hill to Blondus Spousus of the Dingle-Dorfus and ask him if he did, indeed, advise the girls the urinal cake was “soap.” Blondus Dorkus yelled back that he had, citing he felt it was safer than referring to it as "cake."

Ana began to cry and said, “Daddy said it was soap, so Nemo and I washed our hands with it.” Aha…no wonder child is experiencing diarrhea. Spray down both children in lysol and demand Blondus Dorkus be in charge of their diarrhea the rest of the weekend.

Unbelievably, Blondus Spousus of the Dingle-Dorfus is still breathing!