The Girl Who Cried Ghost

Sometimes, Husband likes to play tricks on me. Most of the time I find them slightly more annoying than funny but Husband really loves them. The ghost incident that occurred yesterday was much worse than a normal trick though; it was 99% terrifying and 1% funny [although the more time that passes, the funnier it becomes]. It started like this:

Laying in bed at approximately 0510, Husband wakes me up to inform me that he thinks he heard something. He then goes on the tell me how he woke up way before his alarm because he was convinced he saw something moving in the room. He then leaves for PT, leaving me cowering under the covers, trying to decide if he was lying or if I should seriously consider we have a ghost. I eventually fall back asleep and don't think twice of Husband's story when I wake up.

A few hours later, I decide to jump in the shower so I can have plenty of time to get ready before Husband gets home for lunch. [On a normal day, I would have at least an hour before I would expect him home.] So I'm in the shower, shampooing my hair and singing louder than necessary, when I open my eyes. As my eyes adjust, I realize that there's a face colored blur on the other side of the curtain but with all of the steam and soap, I can't really tell what it is. Instantly, Husband's story comes rushing back to my mind. I immediately begin to question my sanity. To prove to myself that I am not really crazy, I blink my eyes a few times and lean a little closer to the shower curtain to get a better look at the "face". The closer I get, the more I realize that there really is a face on the other side of the shower curtain. For a second I just stand there, frozen in terror, trying to decide if there is a ghost or a kidnapper in my bathroom. I decide neither is good, but either way I'm going to have to face it.

Bravely, I tear back the shower curtain to find Husband standing on the bathmat with the biggest smile on his face. And then I cried. Not just normally tears, but uncontrollable sobs of relief. I hadn't even realized how truly scared I had been until I realized that I was not actually being haunted. Naturally, Husband felt absolutely terrible and promised never to play a trick on me again.

I'll let you know how that goes. 

:]  

Hawaiian House Pets: Husband Edition

Let me just begin by saying I had almost forgotten how disgusting and weird Husband really is. In the year we spent apart, all of the burps and farts and wet PT socks in the kitchen faded from my mind. Within the first week of Husband being home, I quickly remembered. Of all the things that Husband has done in the last few weeks, his "house pet" is by far the worst.

In our apartment, we have two bathrooms. This means I get my own bathroom where I can cover the counters in makeup and hair products without having to worry about Husband messing it all up. While I was busy reveling in the glory of personal space, I neglected to realize how concerned I should be about giving Husband his own space. When I went into Husband's bathroom to collect his towel on laundry day, I looked down to discover the world's biggest spider living on the baseboard.

After bravely snapping a picture, I ran from the room to get Husband so he could kill the beast. When I frantically told him about the monstrous spider living in his bathroom, I was not at all prepared for his response which was, "Oh yeah, I knew it was there. I'm keeping it, like a pet." I'm sure the look on my face was a mixture of disgust and disbelief. Even for Husband, this was a new level of gross and weird.

Obviously I was not about to let Husband keep a "pet" spider in his bathroom. So I grabbed the can of Raid and ventured back into his bathroom. But in the few minutes I was gone, the spider escaped. In an attempt to keep the spider from returning, I sprayed every inch of that baseboard anyway. With Husband's track record, I'm sure I'll walk in to find the spider's dead body on the next laundry day.

Grown-up Girl

Sometimes being a grown-up isn't fun at all. Like when I have to move 3,000 miles away from my home with only the essentials. As if that wasn't stressful enough, when I got here, I realized that the condo I rented was dirty and disappointing. Then I went to pick up the car and it wouldn't start. So I had to buy a new battery. While I was waiting for AAA to install it, I noticed that the tags were expired. I ended up having to pay for new tires and an alignment before I could get them renewed. Top all of that off with moving our stuff out of storage in the constant rain and the last week has been pretty hard.

Thankfully, I had Mom with me. She's the only reason I didn't have a full blown mental breakdown. She was absolutely amazing and helped me make the apartment feel like a home. She helped me pick out my pretty, new couch and even bought me a dining room table, rug, coffee table and vacuum. My apartment that started out as a disappointing mess ended up feeling a little bit like a home.

[Sorry for the crappy pictures]

Sadly, Mom had to go back home and now I'm forced to become a real grown-up girl and live on my own for a while. Some moments it doesn't seem so bad. Others, it feels absolutely impossible. Hopefully I survive.

Wordless Wednesday

Now I remember why I hate bikes...

The Comedian

My Dad is one of those people that says exactly what's on his mind, as soon as it pops into his head. He has no filter and thinks the more inappropriate and socially unacceptable he is, the better. He also "doesn't believe in": sunscreen, driving the speed limit or being early to anything. As children, he would always make my brother and I get in and out of the car like speedy, miniature Nascar drivers and would then speed to our destination because "Veterans can drive 5 miles over the speed limit". [To this day I still get in and out of the car faster than anyone I know.]

Once, when I was about 13 years old, I managed to trick my dad into arriving at the movies a little early. I lied to him about the start time of the "show" (as he calls it) so we wouldn't miss the first 5 minutes like we always did. Big mistake on my part. Minutes after we took our seats, my Dad was standing and began making his way to the front of the theater. He stood in the front and announced to all the other movie-goers that he was going to entertain us until the movie started. By the middle of his little stand up comedy act, I had sunk down so far in my chair I was practically sitting on the floor. Then, to my horror, my Dad pointed right at me and introduced me to the entire theater full of people. Everyone turned in their seats to stare at me, the comedian's daughter. My Dad and I didn't go out in public for a while after that.

With experiences like that under his belt, I should have known better than to invite my Dad to Zumba. I really don't know what I was thinking. Let's just say the class began with him dressing like a gangster, sagging pants and all, and ended with him discussing the quality of instructer's butt.

I don't even know how we could possibly be related.

Welcome to the 21st Century

When it comes to technology, I have the skills of an 80 year old woman. I am, without a doubt, technologically challenged. I've had my Nook for about 3 weeks and I'm just barely learning how to use it. I take all of my pictures with my cell phone camera because I can't figure out how to get the other one to charge and checking my Facebook is pretty much the extent of my social networking skills because Twitter is absolutely impossible. [How the heck do you work all of those # and @ signs, anyway?!]

So, with my skills completely lacking, there was no way that I would be able to work a smartphone. Until my old, easy to work phone broke. Three times in the last week and a half. In my last trip into the Verizon store, the salesman lured me in with a promise of a better camera and talk of SkypeMobile. [Husband is deployed after all.]

So as of today, I am the proud owner of this beauty:

[picture from Verizon.com]

It sure is pretty, but I have absolutely no idea how to even make a phone call, much less Skype.

I need a technology tutor.

Am I the only one with this problem?

No Hangers Allowed

I'd like to think that I'm a pretty good wife. I cook, I clean, I do laundry. And when husband is home, I do loads and loads of it. After the clothes are washed, I promptly fold and put them away. Since husband deployed, I have developed the terrible habit of living out of my laundry basket. After my clothes are washed, they go into the laundry basket and then straight onto my body. No drawers or hangers required.

And let me tell you people, I love it! No folding, no organizing and everything is exactly where I can find it. If husband was home to witness this atrocious lack of housekeeping skills, he would probably have a heart attack. But since he's not here, I have begun to let my laundry situation get completely out of hand. I have literally lost all motivation to live like a civilized human being. I have officially become a heathen.

How do I know, you may ask? Yesterday, I crawled out of bed to find this mess:

Shocked by my own messiness, I knew I had to do something. However, the thought of dragging out the hangers and putting my entire wardrobe back into the closet where it belongs seemed like pure torture. So I found another, easier solution to my little problem:

I cleared a path to the door. Problem solved.

Well, at least until husband gets home and I have to resume folding clothes like a normal person. Until then, I'm allowing myself the pleasure of living like a heathen. Allowing myself to live this way may prove that I have actually gone off the deep end this time. So, is this a bad idea? Maybe, but I really don't care.

Do It Yourself

I love HGTV. You know, the channel where all of those regular, every day people take on big, home improvement projects? It amazes me how those people can effortlessly complete projects obviously meant for professionals. So of course, after watching countless hours of do-it-yourself-ers take on projects meant for the pros, I thought to myself, if they can take on a whole house as a do-it-yourself project, then surely I can take on a much smaller, less serious one! 

Not my best idea.

Do-it-yourself eye brow waxing is a lot harder than it looks.
Just so you know.