Mother F'ing Home Depot

C and I have a love/hate relationship with Home Depot. I know this blog doesn't usually involve me, the writer, but I have spent way too much time at Home Depot with C and, let me tell you, its the worst. And the best. And the absolute worst. 

First off, its too damn big. To find anything, you have to ask someone. More often than not, you have to ask two people. But if any of you are like C and I, you don't want to mess around talking to people. You just want to find your shit; get in and get out. Ain't nobody got time to sit and answer a hundred questions and follow some old ass man around the store. So, that's frustration number one. 

Secondly, half the people there are dumb asses. C and I have decided that the 9-5'ers have some brains, but those who take the shifts on Sunday don't know jack. Today, we literally went through three people to find the drill bit we were looking for. Either they don't understand English or don't know what the hell they're talking about. And don't even think about calling me out for some racist comment, those fools were as white as we are. Then we spoke with three people regarding a piece of wood that C needs for some furniture. I have never heard someone ask so many questions in my life; most of which, were repeats. Ugh. Good God, man, just give the girl a piece of wood that fits the dimensions she wants! But no, Home Depot doesn't do custom cutting... 

Now, Home Depot does have one redeeming value. And its in the form of this one guy at the paint station. I'm pretty sure he has no sense of humor and doesn't know how to smile. But he answered every single one of our questions, didn't flinch when C lost her shit because she thought the color she wanted was discontinued,  paid no mind to C's dad, who spends his time at Home Depot wandering the isles talking to himself, and mixed all our paint promptly and thoroughly. God Bless that man. 

I guess my last complaint is that, whenever I go to Home Depot, I feel like I get stared at like a piece of meat.  But that complaint doesn't really have a leg to stand on anymore, because ever since C and I have been making trips, usually decked out in flannel and sweats, we're 98% sure that everyone thinks we're lesbians. 

So, if I don't make another trip to Home Depot anytime soon, I'll be a happy camper. I'm sure C feels the same way. I'd vote to make M go, but who knows what type of debacle that would be....

M on a Roadtrip

Staycation

M has been really busy lately. Which is understandable because he's been staying up till all hours of the night writing his end of term paper,  studying for finals and still working long hours. Therefore, He's been absolutely useless around the house and hasn't had any time for his gracious and loving wife, C.

Therefore, to make it up to her, he instituted a "staycation". M and his bride were going to spend the whole weekend together, with no interruptions, free from responsibilities and worries. They were going to sleep in and eat out. They were going to catch up on TV shows and, perhaps, take a walk on the beach. And by staying in their new home, they'd save money, too.

Sounds lovely, eh?

Well, I'm gonna go ahead and save you the suspense. That's not what happened. Not even close.

The weekend started out on the right foot: sushi. They ate their little hearts out and then decided to take a romantic dip in the hot tub. C sinks herself right in, as M follows after. The thing about M, though, is that his Iphone is in his pocket. Really, M? And that bad boy is beyond repair. All the rice paddies in the world couldn't save that phone.

Strike one.

So, instead of having a relaxing Saturday morning, the Feher's spend all day at the mall getting M a new phone, along with every other idiot holiday shopper a week before Christmas. That sounds like the worst idea in the world to me.

Strike two.

 After staying up late watching two seasons of Entourage (I guess they did cross that off the list), Sunday rolled around with the promise of redemption for the "staycation" they'd been dreaming of. That didn't last long.

 Around noon, C asks M to water the christmas tree, which is the catalyst that launches one of the weirdest, but not surprising, Feher debacles. Needless to say, he poured in way too much, and as the ensuing flood spilled to the ground, chaos erupted. M and C start yelling about saving the new hard wood floors, as C dashes into the hallway for towels. But, as the tree is situated upon a blanket and piece of ply wood, moving everything to dry up the water is quite the daunting task. M's trying to hold the tree as C kneels underneath with towels. M disappears into the kitchen for a  moment as the tree completely topples over. C is yelling at M and M is yelling at C. This dilemma obviously needs a different approach.

So, furiously, they start removing each and every ornament so that they can unfasten the tree completely from the stand. Once that task has been accomplished, M holds the tree up while C is still crouched on the floor drying up moisture as fast as she can. Then the calamity gets worse. C starts screaming. She's screaming and hopping around like a crazy person. Meanwhile, M is holding the tree unable to give any sort of aid. Then the words become audible, " I've got a motherf*&#ing tree in my eye! A motherf*%$ing tree!"

Strike three.

Good grief, Fehers. Get yourselves together.

The Contract

M and C want to conceive at some point. I know, right.

And, as much as M wants children,  he is convinced that during the pregnancy C will go crazy.  Like bat-shit crazy. He firmly believes that all the hormones, and the sickness, and the discomfort, and the weight gain will make her certifiably insane. Therefore, before said conception takes place, M wants C to sign an agreement; a contract, if you will, to keep himself safe from her rantings, ravings, accusations and impulses. He wants to be able to bring out the contract, at any given time, so that in the midst of her mania, she will logically be reminded of her agreement all those months prior.

"Baby, I just want you to do this beforehand so that Clear-Headed-C can talk to Crazy-C when she gets here" - M

I'm sure you'd all love to read the first draft:

Rule # 1: M Feher is not the enemy. Neither is he the devil, a jerkface, a beast, an asshole or any other terrible name. He is also not trying to manipulate you, control you, or torture you.
Rule # 2: Don't be angry at him when he is just trying to help.
Rule # 3: Doritos are not the answer.
Rule # 4: Ben and Jerry's isn't the answer either. (It never should be.)
Rule # 5: Staying active is the goal.
Rule # 6: No extremes: You cannot turn into a sloth who stays in bed all day and no running marathon's either. (C really has a hard time with moderation)
Rule # 7: Remember, its not always going to be like this. You are not going to die, the pregnancy will end and whatever you're upset about right now, probably isn't a big deal.
Rule # 8: You can, however, sleep as much as you want. (Like that's not normal life now....)
Rule # 9: M did not get you pregnant all on his own. Yes, at some point, you agreed to this, too.
Rule # 10: The name of the child, should it be a male, will be decided with a coin toss. (No one is budging on their respective names for a boy)

Now, some of you might be asking why M doesn't have to sign a contract. Its basically because we already know he'll do a great job. He's really good at doing the dishes, going to the grocery store in the middle of the night, carrying things for her...etc. And let's be real, if he doesn't, she'll raise hell.

In closing, don't jump to conclusions.  They're not expecting now. Or anytime soon. Don't ask. They're just, you know, preparing.

Why Paleo Just Might Kill You

One day, I walk in the house and C is perched in her usual spot on the couch, sans pants. She’s engrossed in  her “job”. I move to the kitchen for a snack when C exclaims, “Oh my god, I almost died yesterday. And your pita bread seriously saved my life”.

Let’s rewind: Friday night I got Greek take-out. I was a little skeptical of the restaurant because I am Greek and I have high expectations. That tidbit’s not relevant to the story. But now you know something you weren't previously privy to. I didn’t finish my meal so, into the fridge it went, along with the pita bread.

Rewind even more: For the last year, C has been doing a (mostly) Paleo diet. For those of you who don’t know, basically you eat meat and veggies and that’s it. And, among other things, there’s no bread. (Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn this delightful blog into some health expose. If you really want to know about Paleo, I’m sure your nimble minds know how to use Google).  Without any carbs in your body, alcohol consumption can be a little tricky (or life-threatening, apparently).

Now back to when C almost died. Shame on me for not storing these two highly important pieces of information in the forefront of my brain, but I really needed some clarification on her outburst. Out comes the story like this:

“So I drank way too much on Saturday night and I was feeling pretty bad on Sunday morning and I thought I wasn’t going to make it and I obviously don’t have any bread in the house and that really was all that I needed and then I saw your leftovers and so I ate the pita bread and I really think it saved my life”.

First of all, dramatic much? Secondly, you’re welcome.


P.S. When the "mostly" Paleo diet isn't in existence,  C undertakes the Ice Cream and Bacon diet. 

10 Things About C

Today is C's Birthday! In honor of her day of birth, here is a list (not a complete list, mind you) composed of various facts that make up who she is.

1. One time C crashed a vespa into a light pole in France. (there will be a post following that one up)
2. For breakfast today, C has already eaten  two brownies.
3. Therefore, her deadly sin of choice is gluttony. Ask her. She'll admit it.
4. C used to wear really fancy designer jeans in college, yet paired them with dirty "wife beaters" with colorful bra straps peeking out and still called herself classy.
5. One time C tripped at the gas station and knocked the gas cap off the car. Not only is the cap still off, but it now lives on the coffee table in the living room.
6. Today is also All-Saints Day. She doesn't think that's a coincidence.
7. Instead of turkey or PB & J, Christine's school-day lunches used to have liverwurst sandwiches.
8. One time M told C that he was driving with his eye's closed (he really just closed one of his eyes). He instructed her that all she had to do was tell him when he needed to turn next. She believed him and wanted to try it herself.
9. C snores louder than any person you will ever meet.
10. She's not allowed in Library's because she doesn't have an inside voice.


And today, for her Birthday, C will be getting the keys to her new house! I'd say that's a pretty good present! If you love C, tell her so! Not like she needs the ego boost :)

The One About the Butt

Ok. So remember how in the very first post, it was stated that C wanted her own reality TV show. This here blog was supposed to be a sufficient alternative for that desire. But, as it would turn out, C will, in fact, be on television. And it is very much a TV show about real life. Don't get your hopes up though, she wont' be cozy-ing up to Snooki or cursing out a housewife.

side note: C loves The Real Housewives of any and all cities. I kid you not, one time I awoke to the symphony of numerous women fighting and screaming. It was the Real Housewives of New York reunion.  At 6:30 am. 

Moving on.

In all seriousness, C was asked to be a guest on a show called The Doctors. You know the one with all the really good looking MD's who chat about all things health and wellness. Well, as some of you may or may not know, C has Crohn's Disease. You can find out more about it here. Crohn's is a chronic inflamation of the digestive tract, caused by an overactive immune system.  Basically, her insides look like a chewed up 'now and later' and, as a result, she's had 5 surgeries on her ass. She sometimes jokes that her rear end is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. I guess you could say she's kinda like Beyonce.

While it is entirely unfortunate that she has had to battle this disease for the past 10 years of her life and, at times, the side effects and hospital stays have been almost too much to bear, C has remained immensely positive. Not only have there been some significant goodness throughout (M first told C he loved her in one of those hospital stays), there have been countless humorous occasions, too. Which is par for the course in the Feher life. For example:

- One of C's doctors was an Albino. No, he didn't just need a tan, he literally was Albino. He only visited C in the night. Like an Albino Vampire.

- One time C received a giant, and by giant, I mean GIANT get well card. Think full body size. Upon opening said card, a picture of huge butt popped out at her. Feel Better Soon!

-Because this condition often prompts frequent and urgent bathroom breaks, C possesses a special "get-to-the-front-of-the-line" card. Should an urgent situation arise, C may give this special card to a patron waiting for the bathroom and get a free pass to the toilet. No waiting required! Let it be known, however, that C has never used the card.

-Oh, but M has. Sometimes, he has his own frequent and urgent bathroom breaks. But that's a whole other story in itself.

-Recently, C went to a Crohn's Fair. Someone setting up the event thought it would be a great idea to have a blow up colon tunnel. For those of you who don't understand what that is, it is a tunnel that is inflatable and is in the shape of a colon. For the life of me, I can't understand why C wouldn't want that at her next birthday party!

-Also recently, C spent three nights in the hospital. She was, for lack of a better term, backed up. The culprit? Carrots. Lots and lots of carrots. Somehow, the plethora of orange sticks wedged themselves together down there. Truthfully, there was nothing the hospital could do. Except wait. Which means C had to wait until she pooped before she was allowed to go home. Yay.

-There have been way, way, way too many people who have seen her tushie.

And last, but not least, is the fact that someone actually put her on television to talk about her own ass?!? Oi vey. And now we have come full circle.

For those of you that are interested, the show might air sometime next week. We'll try to keep you posted. But until then, be grateful for your regular bowl movements :) Its a good sign of health; something C doesn't take for granted. Because now, after so many years, so many surgeries and so many medications, C's Crohns is very much under control.