Uncreative Expression

    We did it! The apartment is rented and the couple we chose will sign the lease and make the first payment tomorrow. Sure, there was the speech impediment, the limp, and the flaky skin disease (far be it for me to judge a list of legitimate health concerns), but I'm pretty sure they have all their teeth, they smelled clean, and they appear to be very sweet and excited about the rental space. I must admit, I am rather glad to have this task behind us.... it's fairly cumbersome trying to juggle all of those emails, keeping everyone's information straight and setting up appointments that people will inevitably no-show. And when the prospective tenants did arrive for their look at the apartment, it was taxing trying to sell them on the bright fuscia, old-school baby blue, and canary yellow rooms ("creative expression" should be limited to those tentants who aren't blind.... literally, our last renter only had one working eye).

    My husband continually referred to the bathroom as Big Bird's dressing room when viewers cringed and shielded their eyes from the radiant color that was used to "brighten the place up a bit". After staring at any one of the colors for too long, you could see how the rest of the rooms didn't look too bad, afterall. I was still able to put a positive spin on the place as having "great bones" and "unique touches" while pointing out it's usable space. My husband? Not so much. One couple walked through and wasn't seeming very excited about the unit and having to repaint. My husband responded with "Yeah, I wouldn't blame you if you don't want the place...."  This was after he went into lengthy stories that seemed to have no bearing on the renter, apartment, or task at hand. After that, he was instructed to keep his mouth shut unless asked a specific question, and even then, he was to give only short, direct answers.

    Furthermore, it has to be said that people who refuse to clean out ovens, allowing mold to grow on top of old grease (which I didn't even know was possible), should be forced to sit in a bathtub of the greasy mold, allowing it to cake their skin like it did my hands as I was elbow deep in their old gunk this weekend. I rolled over in the middle of the night and woke up, still smelling the citrusy aroma of Goo Gone clinging to me like a damp sweat... But no matter. It's over, we're landlords again. As a nice gesture, I'll even bring the new tenants a housewarming gift... two pairs of ultra-dark sunglasses for each of them to wear in the "special" colored rooms.

For Rent By Owners

    My husband and I own a house in a small town with an apartment above the garage out back, both of which we rent out. Our apartment tenants had to move out suddenly and we were left scrambling to get it re-occupied at the last minute. So, last night I posted the rental online (complete with pictures, like a good landlady) around 10:00pm.... and in 24 hours I have had nearly 55 emails inquiring about the post! Now, why these 55 emailers felt it was necessary to explain their entire life stories to me was beyond reason.... Honey, telling me that you're on disability and going through a messy divorce with your 5 cats isn't exactly a selling point. Another fellow explained that he has terrible credit, but he's just looking for a chance to prove himself.... this is not the Oprah show. We don't do handouts, sir, please move on. Then there's the man that spelled just about every word wrong in his message. Call me passive aggressive, but I couldn't help emailing him back, saying that the apratment was still availlable and culd be redy bye Argust 1st.

    My husband and I decided to stagger some times in the next few days to show the place off to those wishing to see it (and there are many). We even had one woman offer to "make it worth our while" to move her application to the top of our list.... she's either loaded (I'm ok with a bribe) or twisted (please be loaded, please be loaded), but we will find out this weekend! I'm starting to think we may be asking too little for the place.... perhaps we should make an apple pie (who cares about the old realtor trick.... I just like pie), host an open house, and then I'll pull out a gavel and start the bidding at asking price, going up by $50 increments until all but one lucky renter folds (and if they have most of their teeth, smell decent, and their credit check proves worthy, we'll take them!) It may seem odd to have a teeth and odor clause, but we've learned our lesson the hard way. Come August 1st, we WILL have our place rented.... let's just hope our nutcase-repellant is working.

Terrible, No Good, Rotten Human Being

   My husband is a terrible, no good, rotten, human being. Techinically, I could end the entry there and call it a day. However, I feel that the women of the world have a right to know what kind of miscreant walks among them. I was just sitting down to watch television after a long day at work AND after cooking two meals (one for today and one for tomorrow.... turkey burgers with blue cheese and crab meat quiche, just in case anyone is interested) when my husband calls me on the phone from the backyard. Of course, this is his usual ritual. If he knows that I am home, he calls every 20 minutes and says (I quote), "Whatcha doin?" Generally, I respond that it's the same thing I was doing the last time he called, but it's without fail that he will call as soon as it's most inconvenient or undesirable (I'm tempted to block his number...no, I'm not joking).

    So, putting my annoyance aside that he called (again) for no particular reason, he proceded to insult me (UNPROVOKED), sending this nearly-30 woman into a tizzy. My husband (the man I chose....chose....for better or for worse) told me that he has a picture of me that comes up when I call his phone. The picture is from a few years back....my hair was long, I was about 20 pounds lighter, and I looked my mid-20s age instead of teetering into the next decade of life. This man that I "love" had the nerve to say, "I like to remember what you looked like when you were pretty." (!!!!)

    After I fed his supper to the dogs, I decided to inform the world that my husband is indeed a terrible, no good, rotten human being.

Lamb Flops

    Despite the horrendous heatwave of the summer, tonight I braved the kitchen and cooked up a stupendous dinner that even Shari Lewis would be tempted by. Lamb chops marinated in greek herbs and oils and then grilled in its own juices, fresh oregano, and garlic until lightly charred on the outside. The lamb was accompanied by sauteed green beans and followed by a refreshing strawberry/banana/chocolate malt for dessert. I set out the grape leaves and hummus to make mini lamb rolls.... absolutely divine (if I do say so myself). However, my husband took that beautifully marinated meat, neglected the hummus and grape leaves, choosing instead to douse his lamb chop in A-1 sauce. All of the mediterranen flavors that took hours to infuse into that juicy little sheep flew right out the window when he poured that Texan sauce all over his meal. I mean, it's not like we spent the day herding the cattle onto the ranch, slaughtering us up a big ole' bull, and then grilling it over an open fire. There was hummus for crying out loud. He took my gorgeous lamb chop and turned it into a lamb flop! As he would tell it, "You eat it your way, I'll eat it mine." I should've just made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, because the art of intricate flavors is completely lost on that caveman of mine.

"Will Cuddle For Food"

    I don't know if it was PMS, this insufferable heat, or just plain being cranky, but last night, no matter what he did, my husband drove me crazy! First off, he LIKES to get under my skin, so much of his antics were intentional I'm sure. After being in 95 degree heat the entire day, I found a modicum of solace in our one air-conditioned room (where it was probably only 10 degrees cooler at best)....that is until my husband and dogs entered the room and proceded to lay all over me, covering my body like a furry blanket. My guy ALSO found it hysterical that I nearly took his head off each time he asked to "cuddle".... as if! It's 95 flippin' degrees and he wants me to let a large, sweaty man smother me? I continued to tell him exactly what I thought of his idea, until the urge hit me that I seriously HAD to have pizza.... AND chocolate.... immediately! So I quickly ended my nastiness and turned on my whiney sweetness, slathering on my request for pizza like a thick coat of syrup. (Oh come on, he wanted it, too.) We argued about who would go downstairs (to what was beginning to feel like the center of Hell itself) to get the checkbook. In the end, I won.... I had to agree to a morning smothering, but at least I got pizza and a mini chocolate lava crunch cake.

Smart Vs. Stupid

    No, I'm not talking about the difference between our IQs, but I AM talking about mine and my husband's difference in opinion between phones. Having lost a gazillion calls on my cell today, I decided to give my wireless provider a ring to see what the trouble may be. Sure enough, a tower is out.... AND a new phone upgrade is available to me this month! These words cause the average electronics spaz to quiver with excitement, salivating all over the shiny new toys that could be theirs with a simple click of a button. But to me, it's yet another horrendously difficult decision I have to make regarding something I understand NOTHING about.
    My husband is a smart phoner. I, on the other hand, have chosen to bury my head in the sand and pretend that the world ISN'T being taken over by these obsessive little computer devices. So I spent an hour plugging in the different phones that looked pretty to me (yes, because this is how I choose my cell phone), comparing and contrasting the various capabilities of the darn contraptions.... touchscreen... touchscreen slider... 3G, 4G, mobile hotspot, skype mobile, GLOBAL TETHERING!!!! Oh my gosh, does the phone even make phone calls????? 'Cause that's not mentioned anywhere! The only exciting thing I saw was a candybar feature.... not sure what it is, but if someone throws in a Snickers, I'd buy any phone it's added to at this point just to get the decision over with!
    As I sit here with my stupid phone lying next to me on the desk, my husband's comments of coming into the 21st century ringing in my ear, and my frustration with paying for features I don't even understand building within me... I think I need some more advice. So if you have any input, please feel free to settle this silly debate in our house between Smart vs. Stupid phones. (All comments or emails are encouraged.... however, you will be promptly deleted from my social networking world if you use any sort of complex computer language that makes you sound intelligent and me sound as stupid as my Stupid phone.)

Sgt. Costa

    I couldn't take it anymore, I had to cut my hair. Now, for me, this is a run of the mill activity. I used to get my hair cut whenever the whim hit me (and it hit me a lot.... generally after a bad test grade, argument, or if I got up on the wrong side of the bed). Hair cuts are a girl's go-to when she feels down. Nothing says, "You look gorgeous!" like a new do when you're depressed or having a fat day. Don't get me wrong, chocolate works wonders, but getting my hair done doesn't leave me feeling guilty, nauseous, or self-loathing. Although I adore chopping, coloring, and styling my hair in new and fun ways, my hubby is less than thrilled when he sees my day planner marked with a trip to the salon. Like most men, he prefers long hair. He also prefers straight hair (I should've warned him when he met me that my hair was not naturally flat.... in fact, in it's natural state, I bear a strong resemblance to a teased-out chia pet), but needless to say, I refuse to keep my hair in a state of annoyance just to keep my picky husband happy.
    During the week leading up to the big day, my man made the usual comments of not wanting me to look "butch" or like I'm joining the marines, nor does he want to hear the word "sassy" come from my lips to describe my upcoming chop. Alas, hair cut day arrived and I gave my stylist the go-ahead to remove the unnecessary 4 inches that were creeping down my back in frizzy spirals. She snipped and cut, gelled and dried, straightened and styled. I left feeling sleek and light-headed (literally, my head felt lighter). I arrived home and my anxious husband summoned me to the kitchen so he could yell at me for being a huge disappointment in the hair realm. I strutted into the room with all the confidence of a rock-star, wrapped my arms around him, and planted a big kiss right on his lips. Sergeant Costa reporting for duty! A coy smiled crept across my guy's face as he showed me (in no certain words) that he did, indeed, like my cut.