Sorry I’ve been unavailable, I’m folding socks…

I wrote a while back about how I don’t do Adam’s laundry… stop judging me, he’s a dude and his laundry is gross. And he generates like, seven times as much dirty clothing as I do so if I did his laundry I’d be doing laundry all day every damn day.

Anyway, I was feeling nice recently (no idea why) and while he was gone for the weekend I decided I’d surprise him by getting his MOUNTAIN of smelly clothes all clean and put away (you know now that I think about it, I might not actually have been feeling nice, but actually super-annoyed that I couldn’t walk through our bedroom…).

You guys, I’d just like to give you an idea of  how long it’s been since Adam actually operated the washing machine. Here is a breakdown of all of the separate categories of clothing – each which constituted a FULL load of laundry – I had to lay out before I even started this chore: 

1. boxers

2. white socks

3. hunting socks

4. button-up work shirts

5. fleece pants

6. waffle shirts (long-john material)

7. orange t-shirts

8. dark t-shirts

9. white t-shirts

10. jeans

11. weird materials (workout shirts, nylon, underarmour, etc.)

12. cargo shorts

13. sweatshirts/sweatpants

14. miscellaneous color load

Okay… I know who I married, so I’m not particularly surprised by most of this, but who the heck has an entire load of dirty hunting socks??? Or really, an entire load of orange t-shirts?


Aaaaaaaand now I’ve retreated blissfully back into my “no man-laundry” rule after a weekend spent folding laundry gave me carpal-tunnel. Next time you see my husband, tell him his socks look clean.

‘Tis The Season

Every year since I’ve been without my mom during the holidays (since 2005), decorating my house has been rough – emotionally. I always cry while I hang family ornaments on my tree, and listening to Christmas music just tugs at my heartstrings. On top of that, Adam gets all grinchy during Christmas because it’s a fairly stressful time for him at work, so I always end up decorating BY MYSELF. How fun.

This year, however, Adam offered to help.


Yep… SuperHubs actually made time just to help Ellie and I decorate our Christmas tree. –pause for collective “awwwwwww”– I was ridiculously happy to spend an evening at home with just my family – Mommy, Daddy, Ellie & Tali. Gives me warm fuzzies just thinking about it. :)

A few gems from that evening:

Adam: Ohp! Gotta do an egg.

Me: What? An egg?

Adam: Duh, I do it every year.

Me: You’ve NEVER done “an egg” – what does that even mean?

Adam: It means cool. Doesn’t it look cool?

Me: I’ve never even heard of this, EVER.

Adam: I do this every year. Call my brother.

—I call Alex–

Me: Hey Bro! Did you guys decorate your tree yet?

Alex: No not yet.

Me: Oh, well are you gonna do an egg this year?

Alex: WTF does that mean?


Also, by the way, the egg IS cool. Adam hollowed out an egg from the fridge and then put a hole in it and attached it to a light on the tree. It IS cool… I’ve just never ever seen him do it before. Being that this is the FIRST YEAR EVER that he’s helped decorate the tree, I don’t see how he could have done this “every year, duh.”

Okay, in the spirit of equality… here is one where I’M the loser, lol:

Adam: Do we have to hang all of these bells? There’s too many bells on this tree. Isn’t there only supposed to be one? Like, every time a bell rings an angel gets it’s wings?

Me: This isn’t Peter Pan, ‘tard.

Adam: Um, it’s from ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’, ‘tard.

Me: Huh. What was Peter Pan then?


Yeeeeaaaaaah. I *may* have been drinking.

Real Men and Smart Phones

Although Adam and I aren’t quite cool enough yet to run out and grab the new iPhone 4s, we did jump at the opportunity to upgrade to the newest operating system (“to the cloud!”).

Three hours and a little bit of yelling/cussing/kicking (common with all iTunes interactions in our household) later… we were blissfully using iOS5. Cloud and all.

What we did NOT consider, however, is that we share an iTunes account… so that awesome cloud syncing? Put all of my contacts in Adam’s phone and all of Adam’s contacts in my phone. AND it merged any contacts that we had entered exactly the same in both of our phones… so when I tried to call my dad yesterday (labeled “Dad”) my phone kept dialing Dirk’s old phone number. Rad.

Because I didn’t want to accidentally lose all of my contacts, I decided to just go through and manually delete the contacts of Adam’s that I didn’t want.


Observe – some of the (hilarious) contacts I came across:

  • Bob man boat
  • boat
  • boo walker
  • ASS
  • Chassis George
  • Dave beer
  • Kenai River
  • kinda
  • Lead Shot
  • mooses

I was cracking up so hard while going through my phone yesterday that people thought something was wrong with me. Apparently, this is how “real men” enter information into their phones.


 (it wasn’t my phone number)





I think I’ve been had…

My dad gave me this beautiful hanging plant that my stepmom used as a decoration at our wedding (I don’t know what it is, but it’s pretty white flowers in a basket). I hung it off of my porch, which lets it hang over the small walkway to our front door — you can’t really avoid walking underneath it to get in and out of the house.

ANYWAY… a few weeks ago Adam comes in and says, to no one in particular, “You know, I like that plant out there, but the downside is that it really attracts the spiders.”

I didn’t think I was listening… until this afternoon when I was walking in from my car… and I realized that for the LAST FEW WEEKS, everysingletime I leave or return to my house, I duck/sway/cringe/make whimpering noises/leap out of the way and/or cuss to avoid the damn “spider-pot”!!!

And for the record… I have not seen ONE SINGLE SPIDER.

So… was he messing with me? Because it totally worked. And my neighbors probably think I have Tourette’s, dancing around out there in my lovely work clothes every day.

I’ll get you, my pretty… I’ll get you.

Can you find the ketchup?

Yesterday Adam yelled down the stairs at me to “please go out to the truck and get his clean boxers because he’s taking a shower and he already has all of his clothes off…”

To which I replied “you only have ONE pair of boxers that are clean?” and he said “I only have like 6 pairs” and I said “WE’RE NOT POOR, YOU KNOW.”

Anyway, I agreed to run outside. The last words I had heard included “on the floor behind the driver’s seat” so naturally that’s where I looked.

Obviously, I am stupid.

I searched and searched for a good 5 minutes, and then came in. No boxers. Adam told me “Jenny, I SAID they’re on the floor  the driver’s seat toward the back you have to lift it up”!!!!

Oh, my bad. So I went out and searched again following the new/old directions I think. Came in. No boxers.

Adam, superpissed, storms out the front door in a towel, immediately reaches in without even looking and magically pulls out a wrinkled, holey pair of scraggleboxers (actually, a lot like a magician pulling a bunny out of a hat, now that I think of it). “SEE? I was perfectly clear.”

Upon further inspection, I see that he pulled out the boxers from behind the driver’s seat, behind a case of wine, under the folded-down seat, between the seat and the floor. Obviously, I am stupid.

My favorite part of this whole exchange?

Me: Why are you so upset? Because I couldn’t follow your 18-sentence directions on how to find your holey wrinkly boxers stuffed into the inner workings of your truck? 

Adam: GAAAH. I swear, Jenny… this is just like how you get mad at me for not being able to find shit in the fridge.

Oh, I’m so sorry honey. Yes, this is *exactly* like when I ask you to get the ketchup out of the fridge and you look for 5 minutes and then give up.

Let’s play a supergame: Can YOU find the ketchup?


Chapstick = Love

I wasn’t kidding about being a Chapstickaholic – and since I found a photo from 2005 to illustrate my addiction, I’ll accompany it with a sweet story about Adam. It also illustrates how amazing my husband is. <3

I moved to Seattle for a job in the start of 2005, and shortly after I left Alaska my mom decided to move to Idaho with my sisters, brother and stepdad. When Adam and I started dating in July, and then it got serious, I decided to move back to AK. One of my BIGGEST concerns was that I was going to be spending my very first Christmas without my MOM… an unbearable thought. As December 25th drew nearer, I constantly reminded Adam of all the ways he had to strive to make Christmas “real” for me… help me decorate the house, help me decorate the tree, let me play Christmas tunes and burn Christmas-y candles, drive around and look at lit up houses with me, open one present with me on Christmas Eve (a family tradition)… and most importantly, DO NOT FORGET TO PUT CHAPSTICK IN MY STOCKING (I may or may not have reminded him about this important tradition everysingleday for two months). Mom ALWAYS put some Chapstick in my stocking, and it’s always been one of the things that really makes Christmas feel like Christmas for me.

Come Christmas morning, 2005… I woke up to a stocking that was literally overflowing with tubes of Chapstick. In every flavor he could find. There was absolutely nothing else in my stocking but shiny new tubes of Chapstick – about 50 of them.


This wasn't even half.

He loves me… he really loves me. <3

Speaking of Hoarders…

OMG y’all… This hoarding thing has been happening for YEARS and I haven’t been paying attention!! Adam has a disease! This is a blog post I wrote in May of 2009 (over 2 years ago!!) when Adam and I were moving into our new house. I think it might be a pattern… Eeeeeeek!


For the past few weeks, Adam and I have been participating in the loving act of ripping eachother’s heads off arguing about retarded back massager chairs that no one has used in 2 years packing up our beautiful belongings because we bought a new house!

Amongst spending hours trying to figure out WHEN THE HECK we accumulated all of this crap (who has two quesadilla makers?? who even has one?), I have many times been scolded for “keeping too much crap.” Because, apparently, “women never get rid of anything.”


May I present to you… things I have found while packing that I would have immediately chucked into the trash if my husband hadn’t whined and whined and whined for me to keep them:

  • 72 Sharpie markers. All black.
  • An entire drawer full of random knives. Probably like, 45 of them. Some that look like scary “I’ll gut you” hunting knives, which in no way will ever be needed in my kitchen. This is in addition to the two knife blocks we have on the counter.
  • 24 lighters. We’re not smokers… and no one has that many candles. No one.
  • 13 pairs of nail clippers. Only one of which is mine.
  • 67 shot glasses. Not including the 35 from the cabin. Please, someone tell me… when are we EVER going to need 67 shot glasses at the same time? Have we ever had 67 people do a simultaneous shot at our house?

Meanwhile, the pile I’ve created of “crap to get rid of” is slowly taking over the entire downstairs family room.

Interesting, how I get verbally abused for keeping 3 boxes full of shoes that I wear, yet when I try to throw away dry Sharpie markers, rusty knives, half-empty lighters, dull nail clippers and shot glasses from cities we’ve never been to — ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE.