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.

The Feher's are Moving: Part 1

So, the cat's out of the bag. The Feher's are getting a new address! Lucky for me, this without-a-doubt, highly expected shit show will provide quite the material for this here blog. Let's be real, it already has.

The beginning of this saga started out relatively normal. You know, they researched properties, obtained a realtor, went to some open houses and put in an offer. But that didn't last long.

First of all, the Feher's new neighbors, who C just happens to already know, caught us creeping around the complex at midnight. As we headed over to check out the new place, C was worried about being discovered. Lo and behold,  as we're standing like a bunch of idiots outside the new front door, said neighbors come walking up. So much for a good first impression. At least C and I previously warned M that, under no circumstances, was he allowed to look in the windows of the house, which still had tenants. Thankfully, he complied, because bailing him out jail for being a peeping tom wasn't how we wanted to spend the wee hours of the morning.

Next, there was a home inspection. Which ended up just being weird and pretty dramatic. The Inspector basically told the Fehers that they had death mold sprouting up under the house and that the foundation was being held up by a couple of rusty jacks. He then proceeds to tell M to come take a look. But of course, M had to go home first to change out of his fancy work clothes. Leave it to M to come back wearing his whack basketball high-tops and spiderman board shorts. Then, as M climbs into the crawl space, the Inspector warns him that he could get Lou Gehrig's disease from the mold. Say what? Yeah, your making everyone feel pretty great right about now, Mr. Inspector. The house, apparently, is about to fall down and kill everyone, but, don't worry, cause M is going to die anyways.

What happens next is standard Feher.

M just stands there in his Nikes, looking like he's about to burst into tears and, C, after staying awake night after night, furiously copying their entire financial history and reading escrow papers, just gets mean and runs her mouth, spouting off all sorts of garbage. Meanwhile, M's parents, who came along for support and were only trying to be helpful, were being ignored by the hot mess that is M and C.

The icing on the cake? In the midst of this breakdown, a teenage girl wearing a cheerleading outfit and high pony tail comes bouncing out of the house, past everyone in the garage and down the street. The current tenants don't have children, so we still don't know who that person is....

Don't worry, dear readers, M and C brought in an engineer for a second opinion, who labeled the inspector a quack and settled everyone's fears. The house was good to go!

As of late, C, in her new home owner elitism, has been walking around grumbling about how small her apartment is and going on and on about what a dump the complex is. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. All the sudden, she's too good for a measly two bedrooms. Trust me, she was perfectly content 4 months ago. And M, thinks he's turned into some master home decorator. His brilliant idea is to paint all three bedrooms yellow, orange and red, respectively. What is this, McDonalds? Furthermore, he has decided that he is not allowing the use of the color black anywhere in the home and thinks that it would be so much better to cover up his (real) hard wood floors with carpet.

Moving day is now only about a month away for Ebenezer Scrooge and Martha Stewart. Who wants to take bets on how that will turn out??

My Favorite Story Ever

Here’s a short one for today. But its one of my favorite Feher stories of all time. 

Sometimes, C goes out of town. When she does, M usually reverts back to bachelor mode. You know, nothing gets done and he becomes helpless. He runs out of toilet paper and just steals a roll from his parent’s house. C plans out meals for him, but he still gets chipotle. Everyday.

 Anyway, this one time C hit the road, M needed cash for the week. So C tells him to pull cash from the ATM from their savings account. ( I don’t know why she told him this. But she did).

She asks M, “ You DO know how to pull cash from savings, correct?!?"

“Of course I do!”, he replies.

M is a financial analyst. He knows money and he knows it well. But only if its in the millions. He basically tells CEO's whether they can or can not spend millions of dollars. However, in the Feher home, C definitely controls the funds. She pays the bills, solely knows the passwords to all the accounts and holds the credit cards. The running joke is that if C left M, she would leave him in the dust and take all the money. So one might assume he'd know how to take cash from his savings account. But alas, he does not. 

Two days into her trip, C asks her dear hubby if he had gotten cash from savings.

He replies, “ Yes, C. I went to the grocery store, bought some gum and got cash back”.  

Well, as we all know, that cash didn't come from savings. Oh M. What are we to do with you?

M's Job and C's "job"

So, this is a matter which comes up in conversation from time to time. A topic that I have discussed (that's a loose term because a "discussion" usually entails heavy sarcasm with some raised voices and a profanity or two) with each party separately and one that we have all discussed together.

During these discussions, M usually giggles (yes, giggles) and C puts on her F-you-I'm-not-really-mad-but-I-want-you-to-think-I'm-mad face. And she pouts. Because here's the deal:

M has a Job, with a capital "J". He wears a tie daily. He has special, shiny oxfords and loafers (that he still keeps in their original boxes. ooo la la). Rarely does M leave work before 8 p.m. He attends company picnics and baseball games. His job entails sitting at a desk crunching numbers, lots and lots of numbers.  He worked really hard in college, graduated top of his class and is now getting an MBA, to boot. In the Job department, he's got it going on. The guy may be a little prissy, but he sure is smart.  M has an A+, bona-fide, good and proper Capital "J" Job.

(I write these things because they're true, not because I necessarily want to. You see, when M reads this, I guarantee his ego is going to inflate to the size of Canada and he'll float around gloating his little heart out. He's kind of unbearable when he gets like that.)

Now, let's move over to C. In this "job" of hers, she "works" from home. Glued to her computer. Parked on the couch. Most of the time she doesn't wear pants. Bra's are a rarity, as well.  Sometimes I hear her on the phone, but I swear to God, once she was talking to someone who's child had a name that sounded freakishly close to Honey-Boo-Boo. Oh, and the TV is on. All day. And she burps. I know that has nothing to do with this. But I just wanted to throw it in.

Ok, so I did meet two of her coworkers. They were really nice. That should put a little validity to this "job" thing, right? Interestingly enough, I met them at pool party. In the middle of the afternoon. On a Thursday. Hmm. Its also been reported that they plan shopping days, eat out together multiple times a week and enjoyed a Palm Springs weekend, too. Those are some convenient coworkers.

Look, I'm not going to just come out and say that her job doesn't exist. I'm not going to actually say that there's some sort of triplet conspiracy going on. I'm not here to pass judgement on the legitimacy of C's employment claims. However, I am going to say that regardless of its authenticity, it's just not a Capital "J"job. It's just not. Sorry.

Bring on the giggles. And the F-you glare.

Ketchup, anyone?

"We need Ketchup"

I hope this post doesn't really need an explanation. Because I'm almost positive you can guess who wrote that brilliant note. But for those of you who would like a back story, its not very long. It goes like this:

C arrives home one afternoon. She sets her things down and goes into the kitchen. Whereupon she finds this bottle of ketchup with a note attached. Initially, she thinks fondly of her hubby, silently thanking him for the helpful note and for not putting an empty bottle back in the fridge. However, C's wifely memory is nudging her that there just might be more ketchup in the fridge. Perhaps, her sweet husband just didn't see it. Upon further inspection, her warmth is replaced by scorn and full-blown mockery. She finds not one, not two.....but THREE more ketchup bottles. Three!

M struck out so hard on this one. There aren't many words. Two will suffice. DUMB. ASS.

At least "ketchup"is spelled correctly. But raise you hand if you think he had to double check :)






....Wait. What kind of dumb ass wife keeps buying that much ketchup.....

The Blog

C  has wanted her own reality TV Show for some time now.  Honest to God, I’ve actually heard her say, “I’m think I’m F*%$ing awesome!”  And she was sober. Further more, she thought it would be hysterical to name her own show, Life’s Not Feher.  Obviously, that’s where the name of this blog came from. I must admit, I think its clever.

However, seeing as there's approximately five people who will see and enjoy this, I don’t think MTV or HGTV will be calling anytime soon. So, this blog will have to do.  I mean, M and C are funny; they're just not that funny.

They're also a hot mess. I say that with all the love in my heart, but its true. C rarely showers, there's sandy wet suits drip-drying all over the place, Laundry (with a capital "L" because that's an entire post all on its own, trust me) is done about every eight (?) weeks, and where the dining table should be, twelve surfboards. Twelve. Oh wait, there's also a longboard in the bedroom. 

They don’t have enough space for all their things, we haven't even started on the booze, C has to order M’s schoolbooks for him because he doesn’t know how and I recently found a stack of nicely framed wedding photos. Found is the key word here, because after five years of marriage, the photos are still in hiding...

There's this new generation of Pinterest people popping up. You know, the DIY'ers who like baking and cooking, have cute kids, wear toms and care about things like: records, mason jars and photography.

M and C are not those people. 

However, because I truly do love and appreciate them, I should say something nice now. They have a lot of friends, they really do have some of their shit together and they're heaps of fun.  They are some of the most honest, genuine, good people I know. I'd even trust my kids with them. 

They simply march to the beat of their own drum. Hey, at least it makes for some good stories :)