Posts tagged ‘Men’

The Colors Are All The Same

Every now and then something happens in a family that turns into a good story. And then it gets told over and over so that they can all re-live it. Unfortunately for Stephen, he is the main (and only) character in one of these stories. Back before we were married, Stephen joined my family for Thanksgiving in Austin. He called ahead of time and asked what to wear. I answered, “Just something comfortable. You don’t need to dress up. ” I had no idea how those words could be manipulated. Now listen, my family is casual. We are all very comfortable around each other and don’t feel the need to dress up for special occasions. But just because we are casual, doesn’t mean we are sloppy. So we’re at my aunt and uncle’s house and in walks my wonderful boyfriend… wearing pants that look like these (blue pants, yellow stripes):

pants

with a shirt that looked like this (but more blue and yellow):

shirt

It was terrible. Even my dad and brother who refuse to pick out their own clothes knew it was bad. Stephen had two defenses. 1. “YOU said to dress comfortably!” 2. “It’s blue and yellow… and blue and yellow. That matches.”

As disgusting as it looked, he was a good sport. I knew that since he lived through that day, he could handle my family… till death do us part. This story comes up regularly and we all have a good chuckle. Stephen usually ends up rolling his eyes and telling us to shut up. It was even told at our wedding. In Stephen’s defense, that was really a one time offense. He has yet to make a fashion faux pas of that magnitude again. And he knows that there is such thing as “too matchy”- you don’t have to match blue with blue and yellow with yellow.

Stephen and I often don’t see colors the same. He has a shirt that I think is a mix of brick red and maroon. He calls it his red shirt. He has a black shirt that is old and he continues to call it his black shirt. I didn’t know that shirt when it was black. To me, it is gray. It’s really quite shocking that we were able to agree on a paint color for our bathroom in just one evening. Maybe it’s because we weren’t trying to explain the color, we were just deciding if we liked it.

I got a pedicure in Kansas City last week and tried a new color. A little insight to the men (all two of you that read…). Women often find a color at the nail salon that they like and stick with it 80% of the time. Many of them can even tell you what that color is. I believe my friend Kelly will prove that point as soon as she reads this. So anyways, as I was saying, I tried a new color. And here was my conversation with Stephen about it:

C- I really like this color on my toes.
S- Yeah me too.
C- I think I’ll use it again.
S- What is it? Red?

(Let’s take a pause… Red? RED? If you EVER see a bottle of nail polish called “Red,” please show me.)

C- Red? This isn’t red!
S- Yeah, kind of. Light red?
C- No.
S- Oh. Well what color is it? It’s some kind of red.
C- It really has an orange tint to it.
S- So orange? Red, orange?
C- It’s called Tasmanian Devil Made Me Do It.
S- Oh…

At least he had the conversation and he told me he liked it. I guess we’re okay if we don’t discuss colors. We should just stick to “I like this, don’t you?” “Yes, I like it.” And then we’re on the same page!

Ladies, don’t you love it?

NLA44_opi_nail_polish

 

(I may be posting a picture of Stephen and his infamous outfit if we can locate one… Stephen may have burned them all! So come check later. Trust me, it’s worth it!) Here is a picture. I love this unmatching man!

StephenThanksgiving

June 16, 2009 at 9:49 am 11 comments

Marital Bliss

No long story today… Just a quick explanation of why marriage is unlike anything you will ever experience.

This morning on the way to work, Stephen cleared his throat. It was one of those nasty, man throat things… where he may or may not have hacked up a hairball. In this instance, it was the former. And it was not a hairball. It was a loogie. The kind that only males know how to produce. (I think they learn this in 4th grade when the girls are in the nurse’s office learning about periods.)

C- I don’t know why you do that when you’re driving. We are on the freeway. Now you have to hold it in your mouth. Gross.

S- (almost incomprehensibly) I don’t get to choose when it happens…

Of course I think this is gross. But I’m also secretly jealous. Why don’t I know how to do that? Last week my head was so full of mucus I thought my eyes were going to pop out. I would have given my right arm to be able to get some of that out. But noooo. I’m a lady. Ladies don’t get loogies. Ugh. So anyways, we finally exit the freeway and get to a stop sign.

Stephen opens the door, spits his treasured loogie, and turns to me, apologetically, with a smile:

S- You’re pretty.

June 5, 2009 at 9:10 am 7 comments

A Stranger in a Foreign Land?

You know that warm and fuzzy feeling you get when you go some place familiar? There are no surprises, no confusion, everything seems right. The people in Cheers had it right… sometimes you do want to go where everyone knows your name. And even if they don’t know your name, they atleast know your face. At least when you walk in, you don’t feel like a fish out of water.

 

Last night on the way home from work, I had to stop at the grocery store. I’m normally a Kroger’s girl. But I had an HEB gift card so I thought I may as well do my quick trip there. Honestly, when I pulled into the parking lot, I felt like I was cheating. What had my dear Kroger’s ever done to me? The trip doesn’t start off well. The parking lot (as usual) is packed. At MY grocery store, I’m always in the first 5 spots. So I pull up to a spot about 15 spots back and there is a lady in the next spot over unloading her groceries. I’m not quite sure why, but she has chosen to park her cart in the empty parking spot and walk back and forth to her trunk. Besides the fact that this is completely illogical, it’s also rude! So I sit there with my blinker on. (Because if I had passed this spot up, I’d have to drive at least 10 more spots… no thank you!) She finally wheels her cart over to her trunk (not because she’s being courteous, but because her cases of water are too heavy to carry.) I pull in and get out. She turns to me and says, “Would you like to take my cart?” Okay now lets not kid ourselves. She wasn’t asking because she thought they may have run out, she was asking so she didn’t have to put it away. She was politely telling me to take this away for her. I smiled my biggest smile and said, “Well thank you! I’d love your cart”  and made my trek inside.

 

I walk in and as I do, I notice big boxes of firewood outside. I remember Stephen mentioning that we should get some more. But now I’m inside. And there are mobs of people coming through the “IN” door. I’m new here, is this the type of place where I can walk out the IN door? Should I leave my cart and run out and get some? But someone may steal my cart… and if I just had to walk across a bumpy parking lot listening to the awful cart-rattle, there was no way I was going to give it up. I stand there for a second, thinking it over. I turn around and an old man is staring at me annoyed because I’m blocking his way to the berries. At my grocery store, I’d hold my head up with confidence. Say, “Excuse me sir, I need to get around you. I need fire wood.” But not here, I’m on his terf. Defeated, I walk on and ignore the fire wood.

 

Next stop, avocados. I prefer the smaller ones since they are cheaper. I had perfect access to the large ones, but at $1.69, I decided I’d make my way to the small ones. Standing there was a girl with her mom. She was probably a junior or senior in high school but looked like she was 25, wearing an elegant cardigan and a sleek, short haricut. I heard her saying, “Regardless, I don’t expect you to be one of those helicopter moms. You’re just not that way Mom. You are much more mature and you trust me.” I stared for a short second and the both looked at me. “I, uh, need some avocados,” I sputtered out to this grown up girl. She looks at me and bursts out, “Oh my! I didn’t mean to block you. I apologize ma’am.” MA’AM? I’m a ma’am at HEB? Oh dear God, we aren’t in Kansas anymore Toto!

 

The rest of my shopping trip was similiar. It was unfamiliar. I had to back track numerous times since I’m not used to the layout. I was frustrated. As I walked up to my cashier, he greeted me with a smile. What? Happy employees? This really wasn’t like my Kroger! He’s scanning all of my goods and I look down on the counter in front of me. I see a shopping list, so of course I read it. (I should have taken it for proof, but see below for an abridged version.)

 

Shopping List

-Potatoes (these are just past the veggies, on your left. Just get a few (3) big bakers)

-Milk (skim)

-Olive Oil (this is on the aisle with all of the baking supplies, call if you need help picking)

-Bread (whatever kind you like)

Thanks honey! Call if you have any questions.

 

I smile as I realize that this HEB isn’t much different than my Kroger… men don’t know how to shop here either!

January 22, 2009 at 10:16 am 4 comments


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