Tag Archives: Quirkyville

A Day In the Life

It was a typical day in Liz Carey’s life.

 She slept until 10. Watched an episode of Degrassi. Drove her Honda Civic  to her retail sales job at noon. Stopped by Target for a late lunch where she grabbed a Caesar salad, queso dip and chips and a hard boiled egg. (Look, we don’t judge these things in Quirkyville.)

Then, she wrapped her workday around 8 p.m. in time to zip down the Westport Flea Market to join her friends and family (lots of them) to watch her brother’s improv comedy troupe, the Stitchtactics perform a 10 p.m. show.

And when she was selected from the audience to have this entire day reenacted in front of the audience, she thought nothing of it.

She honked her little horn when the comedians got her day grossly wrong (No, she didn’t take a shower in bed. Just because she didn’t say the shower was in the bathroom means she literally showered in the bed.)

The team used wigs, props and live people to play innate objects (Liz’s brother, Joe played her Honda Civic.) And it was all very, very funny.

But we weren’t laughing at the skit, as much as we were laughing at what we knew.

Because despite the fact that Liz had been on the phone for the past day, texting and calling people to come see Joe’s show, that’s not why they were there.

They let her think that she invited them. We let her think that we all came to support Joe’s show.

Quite frankly, we were all a little stunned that she honestly believed her parents, her sibblings (both of the two not in the show), their spouses (one 8.5 months pregnant) , their neighborhood friends, her boyfriend’s parents, her boyfriend’s aunt, her best friend and her co-workers all came to show their support for her brother. (At the same time.)

But she did.

As the Day in the Life Skit wrapped up, Liz started to head off stage…

But Joe announced that there was more and he needed her to close her eyes so he could spin her around.

She has probably seen this act a handful of times and no one has ever gotten spun around at the end.

But she didn’t question that either.

Oh, that crazy Joe! He must be up to something new.

When she opened her eyes, she saw this…

And then she made this face (as she quickly slipped off a fashion ring she was wearing that night on that finger.)

She said, “yes!”

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Not the bee’s knees

I have a 100% legitimate excuse for not doing laundry in the past 24 hours…

My basement is infested with bees.

And not just happy little bumblebees.

Giant, swarming, we-want-to-eat-you-and-your-little-dog-too bees.

I kind of want to march downstairs and tell that Queen Bee, “Hey missy. Watch yourself. There is only one Queen in this quirky household.”

But then I would run screaming up the stairs, so I fear my threats would seem a little idle.

Instead I think I’ll go the route of, “Oh Mr. Landlord……”

It’s one of those moments where I think, wow. I’m glad I’ve been a slightly hot  mess for the past 10 years and I still rent.

 Photo courtesy of Kodo_85 via Photobucket

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Pants in the pool, sunburn, and a stuffed but still i-phone-less Mr. Quirky

I have about four posts lined up to write this week, including  a follow-up post to this conversation with DD Girl. It’s kind of awesome.

But while you are waiting, I wanted to share a few highlights from the quirky weekend.

I really needed a weekend after the Vegas trip, a full week, including planning and hosting a party on Thursday night on top of a catch-up week at work.

Luckily it was Roomie’s birthday and celebrations were held at at our old (er, my old) pool Friday night.

There was grilling, drinking, swimming, cannon balling and pants in the pool.

That’s right. I said pants in the pool. You must say this to the tune of “Pants on the Ground.”  (Warning: excessive repeating of this at a pool party could result in severe agitation of fellow attendees.)

Anypants, Roomie’s boyfriend came to a pool party in 90 degree weather wearing pants. (He claims  they were appropriate because they were cool pants, but the grief must still be given.)  After dinner, a few beers and a mandatory 20 minute waiting period (safety first) we all got in the pool.

Ok, so we didn’t wait 20 minutes after we ate. Sorry moms. We still wear our seatbelts though.

But not Mr. Pants. He stood on the sidelines like it was the adult swim.

Finally, we egged him on to get in, pants and all. (Insisting that the pants stayed on.)

Then I entertained annoyed everyone with my “Pants in the Pool” rendition. It was maybe funny the first three times.

The next day, Roomie and I decided to spend more time at the pool still in proper swimming attire, of course. This time the sun was still shining, and per my usual, I was armed with my bag o’ sunscreen and floppy hat.

Now, I’m not sure how this happened, but I still managed to get some burnage. Mr. Quirky was very confused about this because I didn’t get even the tiniest burn in Vegas. And isn’t the sun more powerful the farther south you go?

I am chalking it up to the fact that I did not have a big fruity drink in hand to protect me from the evil sun.

Drinking+ bag o’ sunscreen= no sunburn. Not drinking + bag o’ sunscreen = sunburn. Like that math? (Warning: I did very poorly in math as a student, so I probably wouldn’t rely on this formula.)

While I was soaking up sun, Mr. Quirky was soaking up barbecue sauce.

He judged one of Kansas City’s big barbecue contests this weekend.

That meant he got to eat meat for about four hours.

When he got home, he said he had lots of  little piggy’s, chickens and moo cows in his belly. And his belly was done for.

So what did I do? I whisked him off to dinner with my family.

Because that’s what sensitive wives  do after their husbands have just spent the past afternoon stuffing their faces with lots o’ meat. “Let’s go to dinner, honey! ” (This is typically the kind of wife who who washes her husband’s  i-phone.)

And no, poor Mr. Quirky did not get his new i-phone yet. He is hoping they get more this week. And if they don’t, I may have to build one for him.

Luckily, he has a phone for work that can be used in an emergency.

And by emergency, I mean the cutest nephew in the world is on your lap.

After dinner, Mr. Quirky and I went to see Toy Story III. It was adorable.

And sentimental.

And it made me miss my childhood toys.

How could I ever have been so cruel as to grow too old to play with them?

Good thing I had Sunday to lie around doing nothing, so there was plenty of time to get over my toy abuse guilt.

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My winningest moments of late

<=== W. Stands for Winner. And I’m a real one.

Especially lately.

In fact, after you read about my winningest moments, I’m pretty sure you will be so jealous that you aren’t me, that you may stop reading this blog.

All together.

I’m prepared for that. It’s a risk I take in sharing.

Winning moment #1 – After a few glasses of wine at Fire & Wine night last week, the dishes and trash from our delicious brined chicken legs and mushroom risotto just didn’t seem all that important to clean up. Mr. Quirky (God love him – a statement I will make so often during this post, we should abbreviate it. GLH. ) removed food debris and stacked dishes for me .

The next morning as I was getting out of the shower, I heard an odd crunching noise. Thinking it could just be Gertie pacing around the bed deciding if she should jump in, I went into the bedroom. Gertie?

From downstairs, I heard her familiar collar jingle. Gertie is never downstairs in the morning alone. That was not a good sign.

She came running upstairs, after hearing my call.

Crunching on the remains of a chicken leg bone.

It was left in easy reach of doggy’s nose.

I went hysterical. Chicken bones can splinter and  kill dogs.

Mr. Quirky woke up and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take her to my parents’ for the day. My mom can keep an eye on her.” (GLH.)

(Update: she is fine. She has had some, um, interesting poops, but it seems the chicken bone did not do any damage.)

Winning Moment #2

I was a little behind on the laundry.

And I had to rewash a load I left in the washer for a few too many days. (Stank.)

Mr. Quirky wanted to know if there were any clean socks in the house.*

Uh….

The next day, he asked again.

Uh…… (Followed by some excuses as to why I hadn’t done laundry.)

The third day he asked again because you know, he really didn’t want to wear another dirty pair of socks again.

(GLH.)

*Note- Mr. Q is happy to do laundry, but I insist because I’m a girl and I have many items of clothing that I don’t dry. It’s way too complicated to keep Mr. Q up-to-date on which items those are. So I do laundry in our household. Or rather, I don’t do laundry. I remain in a constant state of catch up on laundry in our household.

Winning moment #3

I farted at a party.

And not just an SBD fart I could walk away from.

A loud, while I was talking, there was no denying it was me fart.

I’m glad my friends like me so much.

Winning moment #4,5 &6 –

Last night, I left my cell phone at DD Girl’s boyfriend’s house. We had been there farting and celebrating his birthday with friends. (Ok, I was farting. See Winning moment #3.)

I discovered this when I went to look for my phone knowing Mr. Quirky had gone to Chipotle to pick up some lunch (GLH). I knew he might have questions about my very picky order. He’s pretty fantastic about delivering my picky food orders (GLH). But it was gone.

I went into a tailspin of panic. Where was it? When had I last seen it? Did my huge purse eat it? I dumped the contents of my purse out. No phone.

Crud.

Meanwhile, sure enough, Mr. Quirky was trying to call me. (Did I want chicken or the veggies in my bowl?)

I greeted him at the back door.

“My phone is missing.” “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

We said these things at the same time. Then he searched my purse (“it never hurts to look again,” he told me) my car and our house. (GLH)

Luckily, a text to DD Girl from Mr. Quirky’s phone located my phone and all was well.

Thank goodness because I couldn’t imagine life without my precious i-phone.

“Do I have any clean socks yet?” Mr. Quirky asked as we were getting ready to run a few errands later on.

“Do you really need to wear socks to Game Stop and ice cream?” (I had stopped making excuses and just started redirecting blame.)

“I guess not,” he sulked. (GLH)

After a post-ice cream nap, I decided I should finally do some laundry. Mr. Quirky was in the shower, and I noticed his shorts were on the floor. Remembering that he was sweating pretty bad following the wiffle ball game at the farting birthday party last night, I thought he might appreciate me washing his shorts.

So, I threw them in my basket and headed downstairs.

It dawned on me briefly that turning on the washer might impact his shower, but I figured he was close to being done. (I’m awfully considerate, aren’t I?)

“Hey, did you take those shorts on the floor?” he asked when he got out of the shower.

“Yup!”

“Did you get the receipts out of the pocket?”

“Uh…”

And a few seconds later.

“Was my phone in the pocket?!!!!”

Clunk. (That was the sound of my heart hitting the floor.)

Sure enough, the phone was taking a spin in the machine.

There were many tears shed.

Mr. Quirky told me not to cry. It was just a phone. (GLH)

I cried some more.

And then I felt so guilty that I finished all the laundry and even haphazardly folded his underwear, socks and shirts on top of his dresser.

Because nothing says “honey, I’m sorry I washed your i-phone”  like a pile of haphazardly folded undies.

Especially when you post a picture of it on your blog.

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Wife Fail Part II

In one of my more genious moments of 2010, I decided that BioFreeze would help Mr. Quirky’s aching back.

I dug some out of my medicine cabinet. He was still sleeping, so I woke him up to let him know I had in my hand, the cure for his pain. I told him to roll over and applied the gel.

Within seconds he was screaming, “It burns! It’s on Fire!”

Thinking maybe he was being a tad overdramatic about the icy hot sensation, I gave it a minute.

Then he began rolling around in true agony screaming for me to grab a towel and wipe it off.

It was too late.

I left for work as he was still writhing around on the bed moaning that it was on fire.

Oops.

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The Quirkys: Weighing In

It’s no secret that weight gain is common during the first year of marriage.

So I wasn’t surprised when my clothes started fitting a little more snug, and even my mom jeans were hard to pull on.

Mr. Quirky has been on me about the laundry because it turns out, he only has two pairs of jeans that fit him. (Also because I am a horrible slacker when it comes to laundry in general, but that’s another post.)

But when I learned Gertie has gained six pounds, I declared something had to give.

Seriously.

Gertie!!!

Notoriously Ms. Slim and Trim has put on an entire six pounds since we got hitched. I know this because right before the wedding we took her to the vet and she weight 150 lbs. Saturday, she weighed 156. I made them weigh her again just because I couldn’t believe it.

This is the dog that never puts on weight.

It was time for something drastic.

Weight Watchers.

No, not for her. For me. For the 10 pounds I’ve gained from being newly married and NOT working out due to the broken tail bone. The way I figured, it would be a trickle down method of weight loss for us all. But it has to start somewhere, right?

It’s so hard to be the Queen sometimes.

For example, every Saturday & Sunday morning, I scramble two eggs. I eat approximately 3/4 of the eggs and put the plate down and let Gertie finish it. It’s something we’ve been doing for two years now.

But on Sunday, I only scrambled up one egg. Sure enough, as soon as she heard the sounds of my egg, she came running. But instead of my usual portion sharing, I proceeded to eat it without sharing. Gertie looked horrified. Finally, I gave in and gave her the last little morsel of egg. You see how this is going to work? Default doggy diet.

And Mr. Quirky is also going to diet default style when I begin omitting butter, cream and cheese from our dinners and adding in more veggies to keep things within my point allowance.

While this is all good and well, and sure to get results, I just want to share one thing: Her highness is hungry.

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New wife fail

This is the face of disgust. Two months in.

Except I keep telling people it’s been three.

All that wedding planning, you’d think I’d get the post-wedding time frame down. But no.

Fact: Mr. Quirky is better at remembering how long we’ve been married.

Additional fact: I forgot his birthday.

Well, truth be told, it wasn’t anywhere near his birthday. I was just talking about his birthday and got the date wrong. (In front of his sister.)

I will never live it down.

Trust me. He won’t let me forget.

Kind of like he won’t let me forget that I have the most wretched dish washer loading skills on the planet.

From Mr. Quirky’s standpoint: 40% of these items do not belong in the dishwasher at all.

20% certainly not on the bottom rack.

And, 10% are just poorly placed.

And then there’s the laundry. Or rather, the dog bed.

This shot may have been staged, but Mr. Quirky found Gertie sleeping here last night.

Because I wouldn’t let her in the bed because she smelled like a camp fire.

And despite threats, I was too lazy to bathe her.

So, she found the next best thing.

I really can’t blame her. Just like I can’t blame Mr. Quirky for being slightly annoyed when he has to wear his boxers inside out because there were no clean undies. I’m just lucky I have an ample supply of granny panties I mean underwear to get me by for a few weeks.

Marriage = awesome!

Editor’s note: No husbands or dogs were completely neglected in the making of this post.

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