Husband Clothes

My husband is a know-it-all. He can correct anyone or anything, and he doesn’t find that annoying, insecure, or at all offensive.

We were in my child’s karate class the other day. The teacher is like 35 and has studied karate for at least 15 years, um like probably 8 or 9 years LONGER than my husband studied wrestling…Notice I said wrestling, and NOT karate.

She said there are something like 15 “judo sweeps” they’ll learn, and she would teach them one of them during this particular class. I know nothing about martial arts or anything vaguely even related to sports or exercise, BUT I gather that a “judo sweep” is a judo move where you make another person fall down.

She explained and demonstrated the judo sweep, and my husband whispers to me, “Ha! That’s not the way to do that move.”

I was like, “Uhhh first of all  you never studied karate. Wrestling is not karate. Secondly, she said there are 15 judo sweeps. This is probably a different one than the one you’re thinking of.”

He responds, “Nope. I know all of them. This is the same one. I guess she’s doing it correctly, but I know a trick that she’s not teaching them.”

I said, “Dear, I’m sure she knows the ‘trick’ you know. She just doesn’t want to confuse the children.” What I really meant by this was, “Shut up, please.” But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings because I love him, despite things like this.

Oh no, he couldn’t have possibly really done this to my kitchen. For over a year, I begged my husband to put latches on our cabinets to make them “earthquake safe.” He finally did this, and now I want to set the cabinets on fire and start all over.

From what I gather, MOST people in California use latches that go on the INSIDE of cabinets to do this. In other words, when you look at MOST cabinets in California, you’re going to see only a cabinet. No odd-looking trinkets sticking out of it. No visually chaotic metal pieces that make you wonder, “What the heck is THAT? Why did they put it on their cabinet?”

But our humble abode (aka dump) is different. We fill our abode (dump) with numerous anomalies, mysteries if you will, that will definitely have you asking who, what, why, and how. And I will not be able to offer any answers. My answer would be “I know my husband intended to make our home earthquake safe. Why he chose those latches, I’m not sure…But I need to go lie down. I am depressed, and my head hurts.”

With all due respect (to my husband), tell me: How bad does this look? Perhaps I’m exaggerating. (It’s okay, you can be honest. You’ve seen the patio furniture. You’ve seen the shelf. I can handle honesty. I just want to know if I seem too picky, or if this actually looks as perplexing as I think it does.)

I thought after almost 10 years of marriage, it’d be hard to surprise me. But I was wrong. For my husband, surprising or shocking me is a cinch. And he doesn’t even try. He just puts on an outfit, for example, and I sit there shocked and dumbfounded.

Take this little get up for instance. Guess where he wore it? Yes, I kind of gave that one away in the title. He wore this outfit, this very one, to a JOB INTERVIEW. I bet anything you just had to reread that sentence to see if there was a hidden joke in there somewhere. There’s no joke. Well, except the outfit itself. AHAHAHAHHA. Good one!

Usually I try to explain why the clothing concerns me. In this case, it’s entirely unnecessary. You see the get up.

HOWEVER, occasionally, I post these photos of perplexing get ups, and a male reader will write to me and say “No offense, but I think that outfit looked fine.” That always alarms me–because the outfits I post on this blog alarm me–but I love getting emails, so I don’t want to discourage anyone from telling me his honest opinion. I will, however, briefly post the points that are horribly wrong about this get up, just in case there is a male reader or two out there tempted to say “Hey, that looks fine.” Because, hey, that really does not, and here’s why:

1. Yellow stripes on black clothing (or vice versa) will make you look like one of two things: a bee or a tiger. I ask you, have you ever once thought to yourself, “Man, all I want is a girl who looks like a bee or a tiger”? If no, then why would you think ladies like that look? We don’t.
2. Shirts with stripes must NEVER be worn with pants that also have stripes (or with any other pattern, as I hope you knew). What if they are the same colors? Then of course you can wear them–to bed, as pajamas.
3. I can’t really express in words how bad it is to wear a shirt and pants that each have stripes in different colors. I’m trying to think of words that can describe how bad this is, but I simply can’t. It’s that bad.
4. On mixing and matching Adidas clothing items, I have one word for ya: GYM. If you’re not walking into one, don’t wear Adidas pants with an Adidas shirt.
5. Okay, sure some places of work have casual dress. But not “Adidas” casual (remember: GYM), and NOT for a job interview. You needn’t wear a suit to a Hollywood studio for an interview. At the same time, you needn’t look like you came to use the stairmaster.
6. Last point: I know it can be hard for some guys to MATCH their clothing. This little rule of thumb may be helpful: never combine 5 different colors in one outfit. Way too risky. In addition, be sure items at least match themselves. Per the outfit pictured, the pants don’t match themselves; the shirt barely matches itself. These two items together=lethal to my corneas. Please don’t wear these colors together.

OH, AND he got a job offer after wearing this thing to his interview. Why is it that when I make fantastic blunders, I have to suffer for them? But when my husband makes them, they don’t bother anyone? I remember, for example, when he was missing a FRONT TOOTH, he had job offers up to his ears. Don’t get it.

Hi, I realize I keep posting about hot men. Well, despite how this post might sound, I love my husband and would never, ever, ever cheat. Really. I’m just NOT cheater material. Not only am I not interesting in having an extramarital affair, but even if I was, I’d have NO time for one. I’m way too busy taking care of the fam, blogging, and cruising the Internet.

HOWEVER. There was a Hot Dad sighting today. (This is the Hot Dad who looks identical to my husband, and who I can tell totally thinks I’m pretty, but we never have spoken to each other, and we never will. Cause I don’t think that would be a good idea.)

So we passed each other as I was going to pick up my son from school. And usually I would have looked away immediately. (Otherwise I blush or flinch and do other embarrassing things like that.) But, I was out of it. Probably thinking about what to fix for dinner–see how my life goes from almost-exciting to ultra boring in the wink of an eye? Poor me. hahahha. Just joking. Some may say boring (about my life), I saw AWESOME.

Oh anyway, basically, because I was really out of it, I accidentally stared into Hot Dad’s eyes for like 2 minutes without realizing it was him or that I was staring at him. How embarrassing. The really awkward part is that when I became aware of staring at him, he was staring BACK at me. It’s kind of like we had a staring contest, except that unlike real staring contests, this one was quite enjoyable. I felt I should smile to be polite before looking in another direction, but decided not to. Can’t do it. Too much chemistry. Smiling might lead to flirtation. Forget that. Too hot to handle. No need to get burned. If that’s not foresight, I don’t know what is.

PS. FUNNY aside: My husband just came up to me to ask me if I’m ready for dinner (yeah, I suppose so, as I am the one who cooked it and have been waiting for ages him to get ready to EAT)…He was facing my computer screen as I was typing like mad, and in HUGE letters is written the title “HOT DAD SIGHTING“. Does my husband notice? Absolutely not. Did I get nervous that he might notice? Absolutely not. What does that say about our marriage? You tell me.

WOW. For the first time ever, my husband just picked up our 2nd grader from school. Oh, he was ALL confused about where to go. I said, for example, “The gate in front. Go to the gate in front.”

My husband gets to the school and immediately calls me and says, “You didn’t tell me there were TWO gates.” Uh, correct, I didn’t tell him that. That’s because there aren’t two gates. There is one very long gate with two doors.

I said, “HONEY, wait at the left door where YOU SEE THE HUGE GROUP OF PARENTS WAITING.”

He’s driving me crazy. He’s home 24/7 because he’s doing a project from home. Someone save me.

I had the most interesting flashback this morning while taking my morning walk. I stopped off to get a free city paper, and while still walking, I opened it up to see if there’s a nice, juicy classifieds section. (I’m not looking for anything–I just love classifieds.)

Flashback to the year 1997. I was sitting at my Dad’s  kitchen table, reading coffee, reading the classified section. Background: I had moved in with my Dad about 2 months prior to this, upon returning from a 3-year stay in Moscow, Russia. (One day I should post about that. Wild times. Anyway, my Dad wanted me to get a good job in the US–rather than going to another country to live, which I almost did, long story–so he let me stay there for free. And my Stepmom did too. So kind.)

Anyway, I’d never lived in the area where my Dad lives. So things felt lonely. The only people I could potentially do things with were coworkers (nearly all of my coworkers were guys) who asked me to go to lunch or happy hour, or acquaintances from college who lived in town. There was no way I was going to go to happy hour with male coworkers. I did that in Moscow and caused HUGE issues. I later learned that to many Russian males, happy hour, dinner, or even lunch qualifies as a DATE. So apparently, I DATED about 5 coworkers simultaneously. SO SORRY I didn’t realize that.

Anyway, due to loneliness when back in the US, I loved looking through the classified section of the Saturday newspaper. It listed all of the activities going on in town over the weekend–cultural activities (my favorite), hobby-related things, live bands and where they were scheduled to play, and so on. Of course, I never went to any–no one to go with.

Well, one morning I saw an ad about a “Russian festival.” Basically it was a Russian cultural event–a little gathering where people could buy Russian food, Russian books, Russian CD’s, and so on. I really wanted to go–but no one to go with…Then, out of the blue, one of my acquaintances called me and invited me to go with her to that very Russian festival. That worked out nicely.

At this point, you may be thinking that I am really pathetic to have flashbacks about classified ads. But wait–there’s more to this ad than meets the eye!!!

So this girl and I go to the event. We sat at a random table to eat lunch. There was this somewhat psycho guy talking to us. He was asking me where I went to church, and then, kept insisting that I should attend church regularly–that was kind of alarming. Also awkward was the fact that I sat right beside a cute guy. I kept feeling like he might think I sat there in order to meet him, but really it was because there were no other seats.

I kept wondering if the cute guy noticed that the psycho guy was lecturing me about church. And, if so, what kind of impression this made on him. I later learned all kinds of things about both the psycho guy and the cute guy. Guess why. That’s because the cute guy ended up being my husband. And after that festival, times were no longer lonely. (But hard in many other ways, and wonderful in many ways.)

PS. My husband isn’t Russian. I wish I could tell you what country he’s from, but it’s so small that if ONE person from there saw this blog, everyone in the entire country would immediately learn about it through the grapevine, including my mother-in-law. It would not behoove my marriage for her to see my stories about her–though they are all her own wicked fault.

Remember that wonderful song “Killing Me Softly” (not the original, rather the AWESOME remake of it by the Fugees in the late 90’s)? That’s one of the songs I sing aloud sometimes when I am taking my daily walks. It’s very embarrassing when people unexpectedly walk up behind me because I sing this song LOUDLY. It can’t be helped–the song is too soulful to sing quietly.

I thought of this song because lately, I am constantly repeating the words “He’s KILLING me” to myself. I think we all know exactly who I mean when I say that.

Last night, he actually DID almost kill me. He barbecued again. And let me tell you–he is trying hard to convince me that he only used “lighter fluid” and “not too much” of it at that. But that substance could not possibly be lighter fluid.

I was innocently using my computer in my room–it is very far from the backyard, which begs the question “How could a substance possibly travel so far ‘by accident’ if you get my drift…And suddenly my lungs felt like they were coated with something radioactive or VERY abrasive…like acid. Then I started coughing and couldn’t stop. I thought I was going to have to call 911!!! Today my throat STILL feels like it’s coated in acid.

I sincerely hope no one within a mile radius of our apartment has asthma or any kind of allergies to any chemicals. Because if they do, they could have been harmed. I’m surprised no one called the fire department. I would have thought this was a dirty bomb if I didn’t know it was coming from a grill in my backyard. I am SO embarrassed. But again, this could just all be a big cover up. A cover up to kill me. And it’s working.

Other ways he’s killing me but not softly:

1. He accepted an offer for an upcoming project that is 3 hours away. AGAIN. But guess what. This time it will last for much longer than last time. YAY. No need for him to come back. I’ll be dead, and the children will be living with my sister. Because I can handle a lot, but a newborn, a toddler, a 2nd grader, and a job (but no husband)–that’s gettin’ sketchy folks.
2. He has no project right now–5 weeks till the 3-hour away one. BUT he’s being ALL picky about what salary he needs to take a project now. Doesn’t that sound FUN? I’m like, “Hi. Is the offer you just got more than ZERO dollars? Because ZERO is what you’re getting paid right now.” I realize that was mean. But accurate nevertheless.
3. He’s staying up till about 3:30am every night (or perhaps I should say every morning). It’s driving me insane. I’ve never felt we must go to bed at EXACTLY the same time. However, at the very least, can we keep our bed times on par with humans, rather than bats, owls, and bugs?
4. Obviously as a follow-up to #3, he’s rolling out of bed at some ridiculously late hours. I’m so annoyed right now that I ignore him at all times regardless, but give me a break. Getting up at 1:00 in the afternoon is for college kids, not grown men with families. Am I right, or am I right?????

I might add items to this list as the days go by. Since it doesn’t appear he’ll be taking a project anytime soon (and will therefore be home 24/7), I assume the list will grow a great deal over the next 5 weeks.

Hello All! I’m so happy. My husband is finally home after 3 weeks. Not surprisingly, we’ve had some embarrassing incidents in the past few days. The MOST embarrassing of all was our grilling “fun” that took place on Saturday.

I’m going to let you know right off the bat that the FOOD was MUY DELICIOSA. I mean, we are talking meat so soft it had the texture of fine bread. Perfect marianade. Perfect taste. Perfect vegetables as well. My husband was the lone chef.

Brief aside: I didn’t lie in the many prior posts when I said he hadn’t cooked a meal for the family in 9 years. That was all true. But recently he took up a sudden interest in grilling, and he has now cooked for the family 3 times. Yep, 3 entire times in 9 years. Let’s do the math. This means that my husband has cooked approximately 1/3 of a meal each year for 9 years. HAHAHAHAHAH. I’m so funny…

ANYWAY. The grilling is marvelous, except one thing. Let me describe my concern by comparing this grilling experience to the times my neighbors grill. Every time my neighbors grill, I notice a succulent scent that makes me feel like I’m floating toward the grilling food, like Sylvester the Cat in the old Looney Tunes cartoons. But when my husband grills, the smell is smoky. As is the view. I’m talking, I can kind of discern a thin layer of smoke in the air around my room, plus I feel that I need to cough.

Now granted, my apartment is a shoebox, so the bathroom window isn’t all that far from my bedroom. But I also noticed that all of my neighbors had closed their windows because when we were eating the grilled food outside after my husband finished preparing it, one by one, our neighbors peeped out at us, then opened their windows quietly. I almost felt that they were saying “Okay everyone, the coast is clear [of heavy smoke]. If he’s eating, he must be done grilling.”

There’s no way you can know for certain how much smoke was in the air–I can only tell you that it concerned me that my baby wasn’t wearing a gas mask. QUESTION: Is this normal? When I went down panicking about it, my husband said, “Oh Holly, leave this to the expert. [He meant himself. Please.] EVERYONE makes this kind of smoke when they grill.” Is this true? Do the neighbors think this is fine–that we are effectively smoking them out of the clean outdoors and forcing them to shut their windows and stuff??? Please inform.

This was a somewhat traumatic day. First day of the new school year. My poor son was soooo nervous. When he gets nervous about things, he sometimes has nightmares. So last night he kept saying “Boy I’m nervous. I hope I don’t have a nightmare.” We talked about it, and I kept trying to get him to visualize playtime (sorry so geeky), as his best friend is in the class–I thought this would help. Apparently it did because no nightmares.

We got to school on time today and didn’t even have to run! I had the baby in a baby carrier. I was dressed up nicely, tidy little hairstyle, looking all ready for our big “baby debut.” I thought I’d see all of our friends and familiar teachers from last year. However, I didn’t see a single friend! BUT guess who was the FIRST person I noticed as we entered the school yard…Hot Dad. Not A hot dad. THE Hot Dad.

Yes. Hot Dad from last year. The one I secretly loved. This Dad and I have never spoken, but we have chemistry. I can tell because we do that accidental staring at each other thing all the time, then look down at the ground really fast when the other one notices.  But not to worry. As you all know, I am very faithful and dedicated to my husband. So my little crush-from-afar on Hot Dad will definitely never lead anywhere–even to a conversation. And I maintain a distance of at LEAST 15 feet from him at all times. When we drift too close, I walk away. (Oh, it is probably important to note that Hot Dad looks almost identical to my husband.)

By the way, should today be one of those off days when my husband reads my blog, I’m not sure how he’ll feel about Hot Dad. He’s not what I’d call the jealous type. BUT, if a man called me, he’d definitely ask who it is. And we don’t have one of those marriages where he or I have casual lunches with the opposite sex. My husband wouldn’t get that. A group of coworkers together, sure. Me and one male coworker–oh heavens no. But why would I want to have lunch with one male coworker? Unless I loved him. hahahahhahaha. (That’s what my husband would think.)

Oh, I just realized, doesn’t that one-on-one forbidden coworker lunch kind of make my husband the jealous type? Hm. Good to learn. Oh sorry, this post is going nowhere fast. Let me summarize the points and be done with this topic, which is making me feel nervous and confused:

1) I saw Hot Dad at school today. He looked hot.

2) I will never, ever talk to Hot Dad–and I’m not sure why that is. I just don’t want to.

3) Since I just discovered that my husband is probably the jealous type, it might not be ideal for him to see this post. However, I will leave it up, as this could help me learn more about my husband. Probably, I will learn that he never reads my blog.

4) As always, Hot Dad and I had no contact whatsoever. But he did look very cute, and for some reason, this made me happy.

I am thrilled that my husband is finally wearing summer clothes–he hasn’t worn a T-shirt for 9 years of marriage (until this summer, per previous postings). Now he wears T-shirts all the time. Well, he wears ONE T-shirt all the time, despite having purchased oh, 10 or 15 new T-shirts for himself over the past year. But hey, I’m just thankful it’s not the usual sweatshirt or turtle neck he usually wears in the summer. Too embarrassing.

BUT he is wearing the T-shirt with sweatpant like things. They are the thin, somewhat shiny material sweatpants with stripes down the side–I can’t remember the precise term for them, but there is one, and usually people laugh when they say it. But that’s okay. Also, the T-shirt is black, and the sweatpant things are dark blue with white stripes. Why his master’s degree in fine arts didn’t result in better color coordination, I would like to ask. Perhaps someone out there has some ideas?

But after 9 years of looking at these clothing shortcomings, I am pretty sure I am not fooling myself when I say, it doesn’t even bother me anymore. Wanna wear black and blue together? Wanna wear sweatpants in the summer? Oh, somewhat off topic, wanna have a full, very full might I add, beard and shave your head bald as you did today? Also off topic, don’t mind that long hair that is sticking out of your nose? Be my guest. I no longer notice details like these, except perhaps the nose hair. Whatever. He’ll cut it eventually. Fortunately, my husband has beautiful dark, mysterious eyes, a hot jawline, and a very pleasant build–I try to focus on these things.

OH, but back to my story. His dark blue sweatpants somehow ended up with a kid’s white sticker thing stuck to the butt. I pointed out the sticker to him, and he pulled it off. It left a huge patch of semi-transparent white sticker residue. So, in short, there’s a white spot on the butt of these pants.

To make matters worse, these are “the pants of the month” (meaning he wears them each day for about a month). He keeps wearing them every day. I finally reminded him that there’s a white spot on the butt, and it’s really visible.

His response, “Oh I know. No one cares about that.” And then he just keeps wearing the pants. To work, to stores, wherever he wants to go.