Newlywedded

I Need to Get a Wife

A few weeks ago, I planned a girls' night out. 

ME: "Honey, this Saturday, I'm going out with the girls. Is that OK?"

MIKE: "Perfect!"

ME: "What do you mean?"

MIKE: "I'm going to hang out with Matt, then, and watch the Laker game."

Ah yes, Matt and Mike...husbands forever. I had forgotten that my husband already has a life partner-for those of you who haven't been following, Matt is my dear friend Lisa's husband and Mike and Matt are obsessed with each other. 

Anyway, here I was, worried that I was going to have a conversation like this:

ME: "Honey, this Satuday, I'm going out with the girls. Is that OK?"

MIKE: "Honey, Saturday's OUR night. That's the night we're supposed to be going out on a date."

ME: "Oh sweetie, it'll only be for a few hours and then I'll come home and we'll have our date night, OK?"

MIKE: "I don't know what I'll do without you."

How could I have been so wrong? Before I could even say the words, "Sounds great," he was already texting Matt making plans for their big night in. As his thumbs danced on his Blackberry, he mumbled, "this way, we can watch the game UNINTERRUPTED."

A few nights later, before Mike and Matt's big date was going to take place, we were hanging out with Lisa and Matt, Matt turned to me and said, "Thanks." I was confused. "For what?" I asked. "For letting us watch the game...UNINTERRUPTED." 

That's where the Twilight Zone music was supposed to come in. 

And just when I thought the two husbands couldn't get more serious about their relationship, Mike spent the entire week before his "date" planning and planning. 

ME: "So, honey, are you guys going to hang out at Matt's and Lisa's place?"

MIKE: "That...or we'll hang at Matt's parents' house."

ME: "Why Matt's parents' house?"

MIKE: "Well, Matt's barbeque-ing ribs and we're having some people over and his parents have the back house which will be perfect..."

ME: "For your dinner party? It sounds lovely."

MIKE: "Plus, they have a jacuzzi."

ME: "Wait a minute. You and the ladies are going to use the spa?"

MIKE: "Hey! I like the jacuzzi."

ME: "Babe. Guys use the jacuzzi when girls are around but they don't use the jacuzzi when it's just dudes."

And in a huff...

MIKE: "Well, I'm bringing my bathing suit anyway."

The next morning, my cell phone rang. It was Lisa. "Did you hear that Mike's planning a jacuzzi soak for him and the boys?" "Yup," I replied. "I mean, it's like they're a bunch of girls on Spring Break," Lisa continued. "I know," I said. "I wonder if there'll be pillow fights and mani pedis."

But it didn't stop at their dinner party. They've been texting and giggling all day, every day ever since. Yesterday, I picked up Mike's phone because it beeped with an email from, guess who? Matt. As I scrolled through his emails, I started cracking up because I'm sure most women peek at their husband's phones when they're suspicious that he's cheating, but not me. No. As I glided through the emails and texts every other person was MATT NELSON ... MATT NELSON...MATT NELSON. Of course, every text read something like this: "forget the trade. he's weak." "don't underestimate so and so. he's a killer." "woo hoo! another win!" It was like reading a teenager's in code text messages. Soon, I'm going to have to start speaking Laker.

"Babe, every email on here is from Matt Nelson." He snatched the phone away from me as if he were a 15 year old teenage girl angry at her mother's prying. "Give me that. God!" I started cracking up. Then, you know who called and they started gabbing away. I had just returned home from work, and Mike had just had a pitch meeting that I was dying to know about. Just then, his husband called. "Honey," I whispered, "I want to hear about your day." He raised his hand up "Hold on, I need to tell Matt about the meeting. He's dying to know." So I stood there and heard all about the meeting through the husband gossip mill. I poured myself a glass of wine and went into the living room. I turned on HGTV and felt, suprisingly, thrilled that my husband has a husband. Why not, right? It takes the pressure off. I can hang with the girls, watch my crappy TV and not worry that hubby has no one to talk to. So, I picked up the phone and called my wife. 

ME: "Hey Lisa? It's me...Yeah...I figured we'd chat since our husbands are talking to each other. So, how was your day?"

What Women Want

Last week, I celebrated my birthday.

After a few years of marriage, most husbands learn that, for women, birthdays, like anniversaries and Valentine's Day, are "loaded" holidays. They're rife with expectations and contradictions, leaving men bewildered and traumatized. Women LOVE to make statements like, "I don't want to do anything for my birthday this year," and "Don't get me a present. I just want to spend time with you." This year, I too, left my husband with little idea as to what would make my birthday "special." After doing the "I don't want a present" tango, followed by the "let's not have an expensive dinner" waltz, I was left feeling, as many women do, as if I'd made my bed..a messy bed...a boring bed...a bed that was certainly not a fun, birthday bed. So, in perfect wifely form, I decided to do a 180.

MIKE: "Where do you want to go for dinner for your birthday?"

ME: "You pick. I don't care."

MIKE: "Don't do that. You know you don't want me to pick because then, you won't be happy and it'll be so annoying."

ME: "Make some suggestions."

MIKE: "Lucques?"

ME: "But I thought we weren't going to do a fancy dinner."

MIKE: "It's your birthday, do you want to go to Tere's Tacos? C'mon..."

ME: "Lucques sounds great!! That's where I wanted to go all along anyway..."

MIKE: "When you insisted you didn't want to go somewhere fancy..."

TRANSLATION: You make no sense. You're full of lies. You're a typical woman-you can't be trusted. And it's true. When women say they DON'T WANT, THEY WANT. When they say YES LET'S, they mean LET'S NOT. She said no, but she meant yes. 

And so, my big day rolled around and it was a busy, working Tuesday. All day, all I could think about was what Mike had gotten me for my birthday. But, wait a minute, I'd told him I didn't want anything. But I knew he'd at least get me flowers and a card. For sure. All day, I imagined a tall bouquet of lillies (my favorite flowers) sitting on our dining room table-their delicious aroma permeating our normally "dog" scented house. They would be more beautiful than any present he could ever get me. When I arrived home, there was our dining room table-covered with mail, Mike's gym bag and an empty bottle of Arrowhead. And then, I did something that women have been instructed NOT to do forever and ever. I abandoned all "codes," contradictions and coyness...forget it...I wasn't playing games. Out with it.

ME: "You didn't get me flowers!!!"

YUP. And he looked as if his second grade teacher had reminded him his book report, which he hadn't even started, was due today. I figured I was screwed. I was the biggest bitch in the world. He would cancel our dinner reservations then and there. You made your bed, now lie in it.

MIKE: "Oh f-ck!!!!!! I knew I forgot something!"

ME: "It's OK."

There she goes again-saying it's ok when it's not. Typical typical...

MIKE: "No, it's not."

I walked into the bathroom and two seconds later, I heard the front door slam. Ten minutes later, he was back, lillies in hand...their perfume wafting towards me.  

ME: "I love you. Thank you."

MIKE: "I was NOT going to screw that one up. No way. Happy Birthday."

A few days later, we were going to have a few friends over for dinner in honor of the birthday. Mike sister, Jenna, and I were talking about what she was going to cook...

ME: Don't you think that, in this situation, Mike should get me a cake? Isn't that the husband's responsibility? 

JENNA: I guess.

ME: I went to a birthday dinner once where the husband gave the wife a birthday cake with her picture on it.

JENNA: I'm sorry. What HUSBAND do you know who does that?

ME: That guy!

JENNA: No. That wasn't his idea. That was the wife's best friend's idea. In fact, the wife's best friend ordered that cake and let him pass it off as his idea.

ME: I still think it's cute.

JENNA: I'll make it happen.

She calls Mike.

JENNA: Let's get Alexis a cake for the dinner.

Jenna nods her head and mouths "he loves the idea." 

JENNA: It should have her picture on it too.

She mouths again..."he loves it. He's going to do it!"

I wanted a cake. I got it. I wanted flowers. I got them. No games. No expectations. No ESP. Of course, the cake had a picture of me lying on a couch, exhausted from a New Year's Eve party and looking sort of like a wasted groupie but that was beside the point. It was delicious and it tasted even better because it was exactly what I'd wanted. My husband was happy because he'd knocked it out of the park, and that made ME even happier. So readers (ladies, especially), if you spend your relationships, your marriages, your time, expecting and waiting and hoping that your significant other will know what you're thinking...you're making a messy bed...one in which you'll be tossing and turning all night long...

Cake anyone?

The Birds

Our child, by which I mean, our dog, is not cooperating with the plan we'd set for him. As parents, we've done everything (or so we think) right. He's been stimulated with play--numerous tennis balls have been chewed up, thrown, batted around, and lost in the ocean. He's experimented with different types of foods--numerous bags of trash have been consumed (including but not limited to packages of raw chicken, rotting chinese leftovers, wet paper towels, sponges, bottles of beer, etc.). The dog knows what he likes--a dip in a pool, a nice sun bath and a hard chew toy will satisfy him to no end. He knows what he doesn't like--baths, ambulances, and strawberries. He's been raised with strong values, he respects his peers and most importantly he respects himself. Mike and I are sure that parents of teenagers experience this all of the time--you're convinced you've done it right so where did you go wrong? When did your child start behaving like an ANIMAL?

Given that Mike and I are parents in training, this is a question that's been raised recently since the dog's taken up eating poop (by now, most of you know this). I'd like to think that poop is a delicacy, the value of which, as humans, we'll never understand. So this is a new habit that I've reluctantly come to accept. It would be as if our teenager were addicted to her iPod or Wii or whatever. At some point, you have to say, "It's not killing her...so we won't fight it anymore." Unfortunately for us, Louie's self destructive behavior hasn't stopped at poop...no, it's continued with a new habit: knocking down the bathroom trash and spreading it all over the house. At first, we were convinced that this was a symptom of some ridiculous steroid given to him by our overzealous and overcharging vet who'd pumped him up with cortizone (as if he were Lebron James) to rid him of a tiny limp. We'd chalked the trash spreading up to 'roid rage if you will. Again, as if our teenage son had started smoking pot once in awhile, we'd say "maybe he's just experimenting because he's stressed. Let's not give him too hard of a time for it." Unfortunately, the bathroom trash was just a gateway drug. As if the snotty tissues, dental floss and other bathroom trash accoutrements littering the house weren't enough, he's taken to the KITCHEN TRASH...his new HEROIN.

Rotting meat, windex soaked paper towels, apple cores, tea bags, and anything else you can imagine appears in corners throughout the house when you least expect them to. We tried to keep quiet about this but it became impossible to ignore. When guests came over the other night...

GUEST: "Oh my god!!!"

ME: "What?"

GUEST: "There's....trash....all....over your hallway! What happened?"

ME: "Oh..."

MIKE: "Uh..."

ME: "It's just a bit of 'roid rage. The dog's on cortizone so he's really unpredictable."

That ended the conversation with them, but it was just the beginning of the conversation for us. 

ME: "I think he's trying to get attention. I think he's unhappy, you know? Maybe he doesn't like his food, or maybe he wants to spend more time with us, you know? Go to the beach or have longer walks or...or...I don't know. Maybe it'll get better..."

MIKE: "Let's see what happens."

So the other night when Mike and Jenna were walking the dogs...

JENNA: "Oh. My. God."

MIKE: "What?"

JENNA: "I think I'm going to throw up."

MIKE: "What?"

JENNA: "Look at Louie."

Our child was defecating on our neighbor's lawn...as usual...except for the fact that...

JENNA: "Is that a tampon?"

So now we have a real problem on our hands. As parents, we decided to cut off the supply. So, the bathroom doors remained closed every time we left the house and for a while this worked just fine. Everything in the house remained in tact and cold turkey was the way to go for Lou. He had a hard time at first, but once the withdrawals subsided, he seemed more alert and less panicked...until New Year's eve when we arrived home, tipsy and exhausted to what looked like we were in Hitchcock's movie, The Birds. There were mangled black birds all over the living room. Feathers were everywhere. 

MIKE: "Oh my God!!!! What the hell happened??!!!"

And I started laughing. I couldn't stop.

ME: "It's....it's...those..."

MIKE: "Dead birds!! How did they get in here???!!!"

ME: "They didn't. Calm down. They're my Halloween decorations! They're these little black crows! He found them and...I guess I need to find new decorations."

Our sweet, loving baby has turned into something we don't recognize. Sure he still has his adorable face, droopy eyes and disgusting farts but there's a side of him that his parents will miss...It's too bad there's no Promises for Puppies...a place where he can truly kick his habit. But all we can do is support him, show him that we care, and help him take his 12 steps (which will include my steps over to Bed Bath and Beyond to buy a trash can with a lock on it) one day at a time.