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WordPress locked me out last night–my own fault as I waited until about 11:45 to try and post.  So, May NaBlo is lost.

Meanwhile, we had big winds last night and shingles fell off our roof and R. is flipping his shit.  I prefer to wait to flip my shit until we find out if the builder will do anything about it.  We have different approaches to worrying, and so we’re annoying each other with our own ways of worrying.

This is the first time I really had to stop myself and say… we’re married now and I need to change my approach.  Instead of getting mad at how he worries about little things that nothing can be done about at that moment in time, I have to take a different approach.  I don’t know what that approach is… but I can’t keep bull-headedly go my own way and take no prisoners.  I need to reassess… to COMPROMISE.

And then he told me I was stressing him out–and that is why men die earlier than women, because wives stress their husbands out.

Compromise my ass.  He’s going down.

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My Mom always told me to marry someone handy.  My Dad is not and so my Mom does much of the home-improvement type stuff.  Still, my Dad will attempt home improvement and knows the different tools.  He’s mildly handy, my Mom is moderately handy–and I think I lean more towards mild than moderate myself.

And then there’s R.  He’s not even REMOTELY handy, so I failed on taking my mother’s advice.  And now I have to step up and become the handy one.  I started my first handy project this weekend: hanging curtains.  I was a little afraid of taking on this task because one mistake equals uneven curtains and holes in the walls.

Nevertheless, I did it–and the end result was pretty successful.

Bedroom

Bathroom (I loooove these curtains).

Messy Dining Room.  The curtain rod was too big, so I had to take off the ends.  I’ll need to figure something else out in terms of rod before I hang up the smaller curtains.

Just call me Bob Villa!

*Get married and move into a house in the same week

*Have 3 chapters of your thesis due two weeks later

*Put off the thesis that is due two weeks after moving/wedding.

*Assign a 10 page paper to be due on your birthday, one week after your wedding/moving/etc and have to have 75 of them graded within 2 weeks.

*Let your significant other shop at Walmart

*Go to Home Depot for a fridge (curbside delivery, wha?)

*Forget your $100 gift card at home when you purchase your fridge

*Wait until you get the keys of your house to call for TV/Internet hookup.

*Shop for fruits/veggies at Shnucks on a Sunday night.

More and more, I wish I lived in 1892.  When I tell people this, they ask me–but what about computers, TV, indoor PLUMBING?  And, yes, it would be unfortunate not to have those things–but if you never had ’em, you wouldn’t miss ’em.

The appeal of 1892 is that you were in charge of your life, man.

There were not banks telling you that you need copies of CHECKS YOU’VE DEPOSITED in order to close on your house in 1 WEEK even though your bank says it will take that week to get the damn checks.  Ahem.

If there was, say, water leaking into the basement you were in the midst of building–you would fix it, because you would be the builder.  You wouldn’t sit and stew and wonder and wait for the walk through for them to talk you out of  worrying that your basement will implode the minute you sign your name to the house.  In fact, there would be no signing.  Hell, live long enough on some land and it is YOURS.

And there would be no cell phones, so your fiancee could not call you thirty times while you’re TEACHING to bitch and yell and be a general DOWNER about both situations.

Everything will work out.  We can only do what we can do.

R: Can I tell you something very important?

Me: Yes.

R: My uniforms in the closet are clean and pressed.

Me: Okay?

R: Please do not put them on and wear them while you are drunk. And please, PLEASE, do not post the pictures on Facebook.

Me: …That never happened

R: Promise, or I will take the vodka.

Me: Okay, I promise.

Bachelorette Party Tonight! Vodka + Gilmore Girls = Way Better Than A Stripper.

I have a mind for trivia.  This is why I love Jeopardy.  And also, Trivial Pursuit.  And just about anything revolving around trivia.  This is also why the only person who will play me in Trivial Pursuit who is one of my best friends who is the only person I’ve played with who can *almost* beat me (it’s her knowledge of European History that gives her a leg up on the others).  Luckily, my knowledge of sports, literature, and old TV generally keeps me ahead of the game.

Besides freaking people out and/or making people mad–my trivia has never come in handy for me.  My parents are trivia-ers, but they poo-poo the good stuff like books and concentrate on the pop culture.  I dig it all.  So, despite passing on some good brain genes for useless knowledge, they haven’t helped me out in the usefulness translation either.

However, there is this thing around these parts (perhaps around the nation–though I had never heard of them until we moved here) called Trivia Night.  It is usually a fundraiser for a school or something–and you buy seats to play trivia.  Since I don’t have kids in school (or kids at all) and I’m generally not charitable, I thought this day would never come.

R. has signed us up for a trivia night with some of his coworkers.  It isn’t for a few months, but I am stoked.  (I think I am actually a little more excited about it than my wedding… I hope that’s just invite frustration talking).  It is the first thing that I see as truly “adult” that I am 100% excited about.  I mean, I am excited to get married and have a house, but with those excitement comes fear and nerves.  Trivia Night, on the other hand, I WILL DOMINATE–No fear, no nerves.  It is my one skill I am totally confident and comfortable in.  If only it were a more translatable skill.

This weekend was a bit of a roller coaster.  The biggest dip was finding out our house is not going to be done until the middle of April…. even though the sales lady assured us it would be March–which is when our lease ends!

She was all, “They won’t tell you this, but it’ll be done by March.  They can’t put that on the paper–they’ll have to put March/April to be safe, but they’re always done in 90 days.  Really, REALLY, they will be done by March.”  Over and over.  There would be No! Problem! Being! Done! In! March!  (She talks with a lot of exclamation).  “We will get you in by March!” She giggled maniacally.

Unhappy with the progress of the house in the past few weeks, R. and I finally sucked it up and went in to talk to her.  And she went on and on about “how fast” our house has gone up.  “Can you believe how fast it’s going?” she demanded.

R. and I kind of looked at each other because, um, they’ve been working on shingling the roof for about 3 weeks-and while I realize weather really slowed them down–they had NO trouble roofing the ranch down the street that started 3-4 weeks after our house did.  To me–that’s not really FAST.

“I guess the weather has been a hold up,” she finally agreed really reluctantly.  Then she told us our scheduled closing dates.

16. Days. After. We. Were. Supposed. To

3. Days. After. Our. Wedding

3. More. Days. Off. Despite. Not. Having. Subs

Living. With. Parents. For. 2+. weeks. without. R. including. after. we’re. married.

I’ll admit it, I lost my shit last night–if you can’t tell by all those misplaced periods.  There was some throwing of things and some yelling.

Luckily, R. is very wonderful and went and got our lease extended another month today and it will only cost about 200$ more than our usual rent.  I have recollected some of my shit.

But, I have learned a valuable adult lesson: Don’t trust sales ladies.

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