I Married a Knucklehead

Our apartment is two story. Since it's smaller than our last apartment, we have more furniture than floorspace.

Last night, I was downstairs writing and listening to music. My husband said he was going upstairs to his office/guest bedroom to work. His office has his computers and all his work stuff, a bunch of guitars and musical equipment, in addition to a queen-size guest bed. He can occupy himself for hours in this room.

At some point in the thirty minutes I was writing, I remember hearing strange noises from upstairs. I stopped to listen. Then I heard him move around and went back to writing.

I should mention that two weeks ago I was looking through a Pottery Barn magazine and saw a trundle bed. I casually mention while flipping pages that if we had a trundle bed in the guest bedroom instead of a Queen bed, it would give him more space. Big mistake. For two weeks he has been talking non-stop about that bed and how he all of sudden needs his floor space. He has talked about putting the bed we have on eBay, or better yet, just out on the street. We've been weighing all of our options. Switching rooms. Rearranging rooms. Buying different furniture for the rooms to give more space, etc.

Another thing I should point out is that one morning this past fall, he asks me if I've seen his brown scarf. I tell him no. I don't even know what scarf he is talking about. Periodically since then, he has alternated between accusing me of stealing the scarf, or wearing the scarf and losing it, or quite possibly I simply threw it away. To his amusement and my annoyance, at least once a week he mentions this stupid, elusive scarf that I have never seen.

Now I hear him run down the stairs. Then silence. I turn around to see him standing behind me. In addition to the T-shirt and jeans he had on earlier, he is now wearing a nappy, ratty, old faded Nike skullcap and a scarf. The cap was probably originally a dark hunter green, but had faded to a slime green. He is standing perfectly still, grinning from ear to ear like the Grinch, right after he did something really malicious in Who-ville.

He was giddy and proud. "I found my brown scarf. Look, I found my scarf, you didn't steal it. I found it in my snowboard bag."

I ignore the fact that the scarf is actually black, "I see that. And you found a beautiful sea-foam hat as well."

Unable to contain his excitement, "Yeah, come upstairs, I want to show you something."

I go up, and furniture is stacked to the ceiling in some sort of eerie poltergeist effect. Not only are the bed frame and mattresses turned on their top sides against the wall, but everything that was previously either under the bed or on it is now stacked on top of the vertical mattresses. Pillows, blankets, a couple of snowboards, and some miscellaneous items that I don't recognize are teetering near the ceiling.

This is my worst nightmare. I'm in my thirties and my home is already starting to look like my grandmother's house. She took decorating tips from Samford and Son with furniture mysteriously stacked against a wall.

"Look at all the space I have now!"

The entire thing could topple at any minute. I point this out.

He smiles as he presses on the outermost portion of the bed and everything wobbles. Nothing falls. "No, it's completely safe."

Just like a kid. Men are like kids. You have to keep an eye on them at all times because you never know what they're capable of getting into. But, like a kid, you have to laugh and love them, because they are so proud of the messes that they have created.

New York, NY

New York is the only city in the world where people can flat out lie about basic apartment facts before you go look at them. You call and set up an appointment to look at a two bedroom, you show up and only see one bedroom.

The broker tells you that you can put up a WALL and it’s a two bedroom! Hell, why stop there, I could put up thirty walls and make the 200 square feet my own mansion. Do I look like the kind of person that knows how to put up a wall? If I had the supplies and knew how to build, I’d build my own damn place!

I keep waiting to go see a three bedroom and I show up and it’s a parking lot. The broker would say, “all you’ve got to do is put up a roof and a few walls and you’ve got a three bedroom.”

And I’ve noticed in NY that whenever a scaffolding goes up or comes down, it completely changes the neighborhood. You could live in a building for 6 years, and one day some scaffolding comes down and you are completely lost. You could be walking with a friend and be right in front of your building and say “well, that’s weird, I thought my apt was here, huh... maybe it’s another block.”

Flying Solo

Okay, I'm not posting this blog in flight, but found this that I had written and never posted...

Food for thought... As our cell phones get smaller and our waistlines get bigger, is technology driving us into an unhealthy existence? These are the thoughts I ponder as I type on my Blackberry, listen to my iPod, and eat small bags of cookies on a flight.

Sure I love the convenience of modern technology, and the thrill of an electronic upgrade. But I also love chocolate cake and the occasional cigarette, and those aren't good for me either.

I hate to already sound like a crazy old bat, as I barely step into my thirties, but back in my day, you had to walk across the room to change the TV channel. And, back in my day, you had to pull over and walk up to a pay phone to make a call, back in my day you had to walk in and drop off film to see what your pictures look like. And you bought airline tickets at a travel agent, not over a computer!

I could go on and on, but my curiosity lines in how many unburned calories, fat, carbs, whatever you want to call it this week are kept on bodies due to the advent of modern newfangled technology? Would I be burning more calories if I were writing this in pencil? What if I had walked the length of the airport today, rather than taking the tram?

But let me guess, you think this is all hogwash because you exercise. You treadmill. I think the only difference between a human on a treadmill and a caged rodent running on a wheel, is the human is there by choice.

I'm on my slippery soapbox. Before I fall off and am forced to eat a plate of humble pie, because I too, am a technoholic, I have one more Tech rant... Internet dating.

People complain that now-a-days, "it's just so hard to meet people." What? The world is more populated than ever, transportation is better. You don't even have to limit yourself to meeting someone in your area.

Before I get ahead of myself, let's just trace our steps backwards for a moment. Our parents generation met potential suitors at dances and diners, our Grandparents met walking home from school and going about in the community…

So our Grannys dropped hankies and school books to get men's attention. Our generation and sadly the ones to come after us would scoff at assistance from a stranger and grab up the dropped belonging before the attractive person had time to finish, "may I help you..."

It's easy to spot the people who claim to not be able to find a suitable suitor, they are on public transportation, on their cell phones complaining about how hard it is to meet people, or blackberrying, or listening to their iPod, all while a hottie sits down next to them, then quietly gets off at the next stop.

Sigh, cupid's arrow misses again. Any techological gadgit in your ears or hands is the modern equivalent of a wedding band. You are spoken for, even if you're speaking for yourself.

So, if you're looking for someone, you've got to actually look. You’re less likely to meet someone staring at the ground or at a computer. If you're looking for someone, empty your bags and pockets of anything with a battery, and get out there. Even if you're not looking for someone, get out, liberate yourself of the tech gear, you might discover yourself.

Remember the phrase, 'stop and smell the roses.' Memorize it before it becomes, 'stop, take a picture of the rose, then e-mail it to a friend.'

This article would be longer, but I have to turn off my electronic device for landing. One day, that too, will change.

Side note:

If I were just a hair older, like say 80, and had earned the rights that come with aging, I would have rolled up my in flight magazine into a tight column, then spun my little blue headed self around in the seat with a raised eyebrow and crazed look in my eye and popped that little monster behind me on the leg while yelling, "quit kicking my chair, you little stinker, have some respect for your elders." Then I would have smacked the mother on the leg and say, "and shame on you for not stopping him. You should be skinned alive for neglecting to teach that child some manners."

But no, in your thirties, you have no rights, you tolerate it...and glare at the mother when you go to the bathroom.

Sigh, one day I'll be a crazy old bat. I can't wait!!!

Bark Worse Than Bite

Humans are not much different than dogs, when we are scared or angry, we like to bark a few times, then we're okay. We've just got to get it out of our systems. Once someone has heard our bark, all is right in the world again.

That coupled with the fact that we all need a good butt rub once in a while, makes it a doggy dog world.