Housewife v. Microsoft Wife

"How's it going as being a housewife?" Someone recently asked me. It took total self control not to launch myself across the room at this person. I instead said "uhh, fine."

Now, here's the thing, I'm not a housewife. Just because I'm working from home does NOT and I will repeat NOT make me a housewife. Granted, I have not made a dollar working from home, but that is one tiny detail.

June Cleaver, Donna Reed, and Marion Cunningham were housewives. They were women that were solely responsible for cleaning the house, making dinner, laundry, vacuuming, and grocery shopping, and making their husbands' lunches.

To me the term "housewife" is so 1955. When men could not do anything for themselves, and us women had to do everything for them. Right down to making their lunches! Really guys? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

"So what do you do all day?" This person asked me. I felt like I was being labeled, if I said I sometimes clean, then I must be a housewife. If I said I hung out and wrote, then it makes me come across as a loafer, or a mooch. Which, I am not. I don't think. No, no I'm not. Well... No.

Right, back on track.

So what makes me not a housewife you ask? One, my life is nothing like the "Housewives of..." series on TV. So, that right there helps. I'm not out spending money frivolously, because I can. I'm not spending my days playing tennis, or at the club, or doing anything to make people say "What the hell is she doing?" In the sense that I'm crazy or taking complete and total advantage of my situation.

See, doing better than the housewives on TV.

I'm also not wasting the day by watching soap operas, and talk shows. I'm not sitting on the couch eating twinkies and ho-hos. I'm also not being completely ridiculous. And I'm nothing like the women who are home all day, that I see around town.

You may not believe that I'm not a housewife. I'm not going to say that's fine, because it's not. I'm not one, but knowing that I'm not, makes all the difference.

House Elves and Easter

Hipsters, Twilight, Zombie Jesus, while listening to Ke$ha and Lady Gaga, as we were sitting around a beer pong table eating our Easter dinner, made Easter one of the better ones in memory.

Eight refugees from Michigan came together this holiday, with one requirement. Bring a dish to share along with a chair. Chris and I took over appetizers, and the ham. It was pointed out our appetizers were what you would find tailgating. PERFECT!

The wedding gifts were busted out, and I like to think we had the prettiest display of football food this side of the Mississippi. I grew up in Big 10 country, and it's hard to top those tailgates. We can however, top the Pac 12 tailgates. Amateurs.

Dinner was amazing, surrounded by great food, wine, friends, wine, and well, wine.

Then, it was time for the house elves to get to work. Dinner dishes nearly touched the ceiling, pots and pans were on the verge of collapsing.

It should have been a clue when the elves did not show up to cook dinner, but I figured with it being a busy day, they were running a tad behind, but would be here for clean up. That's a negative.

I don't think I will ever rely on house elves ever again, or at least until next year.

But the clean up was totally worth having the apartment filled with friends celebrating Jesus coming back from the dead, and mocking a man, who probably kept kosher, with ham.

Yes, I am aware the fact lightning did not strike us, is a miracle in its self.

Happy Easter everyone!

Eulogy to Lappy Lap Lap

Six years ago, you came into my life as I was ready to embark on the biggest adventure of my life. You kept me company on days I did not feel like I was worth any one's time, space, or energy. On days that I felt like I ruled the world, you were the first person to tell. You were always there to play that perfect song for my mood.

You kept me in contact with friends whether they were down the hall, and planning a beer/ice cream run, or across the country. You reminded me about their birthdays and life events like first dates, anniversaries, babies, weddings, and break ups.

You helped me with my homework, from the never ending papers to the never ending research to the never ending "what's that word again?"

You were there when I moved across the country, to be with my fiance, now husband. You were the one that became a ski bum with me, and when I was tired and homesick you comforted me. You were the one that helped me plan a wedding and the first to show me my wedding pictures.

You are the one that helps me search for jobs, and are always there with a good joke or a letter from someone I care about.

You were there when I was told I sucked, and there when I was told I was great.

Thank you for being my laptop for the past six years. I will miss you.

Now, please cooperate and give me back my photos, documents, and music that are on your hard drive you poopy piece of machinery!!!

Battle of the Grocery Store

There needs to be a person standing at the front door of the grocery store, waving a green flag, to allow the oblivious shoppers to know they are stepping into a shopping derby race.

The grocery store scares mostly because I am terrified of the stay-at-home mothers who corrects my manners, plows into my shopping cart, and drops cereal boxes onto my head.

Exhibit A:

Little girl is standing in the middle of the aisle, making it difficult to get through.

"Excuse me," I say to the girl.

The girl moves, and is quickly reprimanded by her mother about what to say.

"Sorry," the little girl tells me.

"No worries," I tell her as I continue down the aisle.

"No, the correct reply, is apology accepted!" The mother tells me.

Whoa! Now, I admit my manners are not as sharp as they once were, but I'm still holding ground that a) no worries is acceptable, especially in the northwest b) I'm an adult and it's borderline rude for one adult to correct a complete stranger on something so arbitrary c) do you not have anything else to do today?!

Exhibit B:

Someones driving directly correlates how they will manage a shopping cart, and vice versa. If there is one place in this world I religiously use my turn signal, it's in parking lots. No matter if I have to stop or not, I do. There are to many crazy drivers in a limited space.

Unfortunately, not everyone observes to conservative driving methods. As I was about to turn into a parking spot, a small sports car came whipping around the corner and nearly kissed my bumper.

As I was walking towards the store, the same car accelerated out of a parking space and came after me like Warren Sapp to a quarterback. I now know how the Road Runner felt, when being pursued by Wili E Coyote. It's not fun having your life flash before your eyes. Luckily, I didn't have to worry about dynamite or anvils.

I'm almost done with my grocery shopping, I'm stoked, it's been an easy shop once I made it through the door, and I'm nearly home free. WRONG!

The same chick who was driving the sports car came around the corner and nailed my shopping cart. Taking a cart handle to the ribs is not a pleasant feeling.

"Watch where you're going!" She yells at me.

I'm in line at the cashier and I feel like a knife has attacked my heels. I turn around and there is crazy lady. I look at her like "WTF mate?"

"You need to scoot up!" she tells me.

Rule number 46: Don't confront a crazy person. I turn around and ignore the lady who is now pushing her cart a fraction of a centimeter closer to me every time the cashier scans my food. I took a long way out the store and to my car to avoid a woman who could have easily been off her meds. She had everyone, even a ninety year old woman running and diving everywhere as she made her exit.

In the words of Charlie Brown: Good grief.

Exhibit C:

Note to self, always wear a helmet.

I'm not the tallest person in the world, but I can at least reach the top shelf without being a spaz. I didn't realize that was a win until I was attacked by Snap, Crackle, and Pop ten times over. I'm okay, the elves are okay, and the woman that makes me look tall is embarrassed but she is also okay.

I know AmazonFresh among other places deliver groceries, and health and safety wise, that's probably a nice benefit. For entertainment wise, the normal grocery stores at least allow you to work on jukes, spins, and dives.

Furniture Shopping

To test the mattress you must jump on the bed.

To test the couch you must run and plop onto it.

It was a beautiful system, a system that allows you to acquire the most comfortable furniture.

Now, that system has to be traded in for the conservative, stop and stare.

It's the most boring thing a person can do on a Saturday afternoon, besides watching paint dry. Shopping for furniture is brutal! And yet, somehow, shopping for furniture for your own place is a quest.

Is this the perfect table? The table that will allow feet to be placed on it, a table that speaks about your stlye, your personality. Who knew a table could tell so much?

Luckily, IKEA is able to help out. We had a table in our possesion, and on our way out, a slightly scratched larger, better, prettier table was chilling there. Let the angels rejoice

Grab it!

This table speaks, this table sings, this is no ordinary table, this table is all about style.

Is it normal to be this stoked about a coffee table?

How (not) to Behave at Adult Dinners

Since the beginning of time there were rules on how to behave, as a child, at an adult dinner. The rule of "be seen and not heard" is older than time itself, but one adults LOVE.

Growing up surrounded by adults, and attending business dinners, rules were put in place, to keep the adults sane, and children (me) from bopping the adults on a head, in a rousing game of duck-duck-goose.

I don't understand why they would not want to play. The dinners are pretty boring.

Other rules for children at an adult dinner:

• Sit in your seat, you are not allowed to walk around the table, unless you're walking to the restroom
• Color or draw silently, there is no reason to sing
• The adults are not gathering to see you, they are gather to discuss work. Please be silent

Now, that I'm adult you would think dinners would be way more fun. And a lot of them are. Then, there are the dinners that duck-duck-goose needs to be busted out.

I know nothing about computers, or programming, or robots. And on occasion dinner conversation leads there. It happens, it's the dangers of being a Microsoft wife.

If there are other wives, girlfriends, fiances, I'll talk to them, but most of Chris's friends are single. this leaves me with a couple options. Either talk to myself, try to follow a conversation I have no understanding of, or use cutlery to build something, anything.

I usually opt for the third option. Please note, I'm silent, I'm not being that distracting, and I'm in my seat.

Okay, at the age of twenty-four, I know I should be behaving better. Afterall, I am an adult, and boring adult stuff is no longer optional, but mandatory.

And to think, I wanted to grow up and become an adult, because it looked way more fun than being a child. At least as a child you have a menu you can color on. Apparently it's frowned upon in the adult world to draw on the special adult menus.