The Domesticated Wife

Yesterday, since Cleveland was being hammered with snow again (like it's something new!), and the Hubby had a doctor's appointment that I had to tag along to, I decided to declare it my holiday and take the day off. I figured it would also be the perfect time to show him that I'm not just a sweet, smart and pretty wife (hey, this is my blog, I can say anything I want!), but a domestic one as well. I wanted him to think he  married the perfect woman -  moodiness and crankiness aside. You know... in exchange, for being an awesome husband and sending me a beautiful bouquet of flowers at my work!

So right after I woke up, I decided to clean the entire house. I took out the vacuum cleaner, the mop, and all the cleaning supplies. Halfway through vacuuming however, the darn machine decided to break down. With almost two-thirds of the house done, I opted to just move to the next task. Who peeks in corners and under the beds, anyway?

Next... cook a lovely dinner. There I was, sauteing chicken while uninhibitedly dancing to Rihanna's music, when my cellphone rang. It was a friend I invited to our upcoming vow renewal ceremony. And as we were getting carried away talking about the wedding plans, I realized.... wait a minute, I was cooking something! Well, I don't have to tell you how that lovely dinner turned out.

Finally, I decided to just wash the dishes from the other night. Because... that's just how domesticated I am. Just as I'm sure you had predicted, one of the drinking glasses broke, and cut my tiny finger! Blood started oozing out. Lots of it! Now, I have an aversion to blood and faint at the sight of too much of it, so this, naturally, triggered a big panic. But you'd be proud of me. Really proud. Because I bravely took out a gauze, and dressed my own wound! And did it with alternate closing of each eye! Everything went smoothly, until I realized I still have to take a shower so I can go to the doctor. I ran out of those vinyl gloves at home, so you can just imagine the pain I went through washing my hair with one hand.

In the end, I was just so glad that I have a husband who prepares his own lunch, washes his own clothes, clean the house and loves me for who I am. Domesticated or not.

My wonderful girlfriends, are you a domestic woman? And does your significant other care if you are? And for men, is being domesticated one of your criteria in choosing the woman to marry?

One Year

Next month, March 17 to be exact, marks one year of my challenging, but utterly amazing married life.

To some of you who had been following my blog for quite some time now, you're already familiar with how our love story unfolded. But for those of you who are new, you can just always go back to the story of how we met, fell in love, got engaged and finally... got married.

And lived happily ever after. No problems, no conflicts, no worries. Just happiness...sheer happiness.

Yeah, right!

Who am I kidding? This is real life, people! Not some chick flick or a fairy tale.

However, I can definitely say that I'm mostly happy. Especially on days when the Hubby accepts the fact that yourstruly is always right. On days when he doesn't, well... that's a different story.

But kidding aside, my husband is an amazing guy. He's ravishingly hot, unbelievably smart, occasionally funny ;-), and completely sweet. And he loves me unconditionally... which is the best thing ever!

I'd be lying though, if I say that our life had been very easy. As I wrote in my post a few months ago, we've been dealing with some infertility issues. This, naturally, translates to emotional and financial stress. We were planning to have a small but elaborate beach wedding in the Philippines this year ( since we only had a courthouse wedding), but with our current situation, it's hard to make it happen. At least, not for the next couple of years. But, there's a but....

We're going to Las Vegas for our anniversary celebration, and renew our vows at Mt. Charleston in Nevada! Just as we met while hiking on a mini-mountain, we're also getting married on a mountain. Sounds wholly fitting, don't you think? We'll have my sister and seven of our closest friends as our guests, so there's no doubt that that weekend would be filled with love, booze and gambling fun. And thank God, I'd finally get to wear the wedding dress that I bought more than a year ago!

Needless to say, I'm already counting the days!

 

Flowers for Men?

In light of it being Valentines Day (though not a big fan of the day), let me ask you this...

Ladies, would you ever consider sending flowers to a guy you're dating/married to?

Gents, would you feel comfortable receiving flowers from a woman?

The Proposal

A wonderful friend of mine had been with her boyfriend for almost eight years... three of which were spent living together. Like any normal woman who's in love and is dreaming of having a fairy tale family (and also with a biological clock that's ticking), she's dying to have a ring on her finger.

The guy, however, has a different idea. He keeps coming up with excuses.

I'm not ready yet.

I'm not sure if I wanna have kids.

I don't think I have enough money to support a family.

My friend, the ever-patient saint, finally got fed up one day, and told him that if the relationship doesn't move forward in the next few months, she's hauling her tush out of the apartment.

A couple of weeks later, she came home to the sight of her boyfriend playing videogame in the living room. The guy looked up, acknowledged her presence and said...

"Hey babe, your ring is on the table. You said you wanted to get married."

And then went back to playing his stupid videogame.

I'm giving the guy an award. WORST PROPOSAL EVER.

My dear friends, what would you do if a guy proposed to you that way? Would you accept it? Have you ever heard of some horrible proposal stories? Do share.

Miss Independent

Yesterday, I decided to assert my independence and stay at home by myself, while the Hubby visits his family in Michigan. I haven't had a Me Time in a while and I definitely miss Me. House all to myself, with no husband and no puppy to worry about? No complaints here!

I had the whole Saturday planned... wake up unusually late, lose myself in a bubble bath while reading 'I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell' (interesting book by Tucker Max, by the way), indulge in fattening foods, be a couch potato, and have dinner with some girl friends while talking about boys. Sounded like the perfect plan to me.

And sure enough, for half of the day, it was.

I was in heaven... pure, unadulterated heaven!

That is, until I started to leave the house, opened the garage door and saw 10 inches of freaking snow in the driveway!

But of course, being a Miss Independent, I told myself... no worries! I've lived without a man before. I can do anything a man can do! How hard could it be? I've changed my own lightbulbs, hang my pictures on the wall, assembled my new furnitures... shoveling snow shouldn't be any different!

Boy, was I ever wrong!

Fifteen minutes into shoveling snow, and I was freaking exhausted! Every inch of my body was screaming pain. Especially my lower back. If it weren't for my dying desire to hang out with my girlfriends, I would have locked myself inside and just stayed home the whole weekend. But I wanted to get out. Bad. For a while, I contemplated waiting for some sort of a miracle that would get my car out of the driveway. Like a sudden intense global warming to melt the ice on my side of the planet, or my white lighter husband unexpectedly orbing home to shovel the snow. But if my luck with raffle tickets or lotto is any indication, I knew such miracle would never happen to me. So while chanting,' You can do it Chloe, you're Miss independent' over and over, I finished shoveling half of the driveway. Yes, half! Just enough to let my car out. The Hubby can call me Lazy Butt anytime he wants, I don't care, he can do the rest when he gets back.

And fine, I concede! Screw independence! I definitely need a man.

If only for the purpose of shoveling snow.

I guess that explains why the Hubby still hasn't bought a snow blower.

Love is a Grave Mental Disease

"Love is a grave mental disease." ~ Plato
So last night, one of my best friends called me up and tearfully asked me what should she do with a piece of garbage...okay, okay... a man, she was madly in love with.

I gave her the most brilliant suggestion I could come up with: knock on his door, kick him repeatedly with her 3-inch high-heeled shoe where it hurts the most, and show him that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

This pathetic excuse of a man calls her up, have sex with her, disappear for days, calls her up, have sex with her, disappear again, calls her up... get the drift?

Now you're probably wondering, why does she put up with it? Beats me! Although... she said she's in love with him, or something to that effect. Which is even more of a mystery to me. Granted, he does have a nice body, but... I just don't see the attraction in other departments!

Okay, I'd probably understand if she's a plump version of Cruella de Vil that the only guys she can attract are losers and a-holes, but... she's a beautiful woman! One of the prettiest women I've met, in fact. Good guys are lining up to worship the ground she walks on. But just like the rest of the love-crazed female population, she gravitates towards the I-drink-like-there's-no-tomorrow, party-like-crazy, have-an-ego-the-size-of-a-pregnant-blue-whale, come-chase-after-me type of guys. And to think she's got a Masters degree in Chemistry! You'd think she's smart, right? And she is... just not in the love department. Apparently.

But who am I to talk? Really! I was the woman who went gaga over a guy, and for almost a year of my young life, stood by him through his black-to-yellow-to-blue-to-blonde-to-black-again hair color changes (talk about confusion!), hoping at some point he'd get struck by a meteor or cupid's arrow or whatever, and realize that I was the the woman of his dreams! Turned out years later, he wasn't looking for a woman, but the man of his dreams. What the hell was I thinking? I mean, how the heck did I miss the signs? It was so blatantly clear when he enthusiastically agreed that Mark Wahlberg was freaking hot! Was love really that blind?

But... it has been ten years since, and it's all water under the bridge now. Sure, I still cringe in embarrasment when I think about it, but I more than made up for it when I married an amazing, no-question-about-it, totally straight man.

Anyhoo, years later, after I found out the shocking truth, I immediately took out my Mr. Right Requirements list and crossed out an item.

#8. Wants the same thing in life as I do.

I definitely didn't want a man who also wanted a man!

The One With My Attempt To Do a Public Service Announcement

A friendly reminder to all the clueless drivers out there...

1. Just because you signaled your intent to change lane doesn't mean I should give way to you right away, and let you cut me off and move to my lane the minute you want to. You don't own the road, and it's my right of way, you know.

2. A YIELD sign means, well... yield. That is why, when you're trying to merge to a freeway and see that yield sign, you should do exactly that and yield ( I can't stress this enough!), instead of speeding up and trying to get ahead of me. Again, it's my right of way.

3. There's a reason why the law prohibits tailing and specifies a safe distance between two cars on a highway. Because it's safer! Yes... S-A-F-E-R... safer! To prevent 'clueless drivers' (and by that I meant another word) like you from running smack dab into the car ahead, in case the other person had an absolute need to stop immediately. In case you don't know, you need longer distance and more force to brake on time when you're running at a speed of least 65 miles per hour.

4. A yellow light doesn't mean... hurry up and do a left turn, while you're waiting right there, in the center of a four-way intersection! There's a big chance you'll run into another idiot on the opposite side of the road who also thinks that yellow light means speed up before it turns into red.

5. If you're gonna drive below the speed limit, please, I beg of you, stay on the right lane.

6. And finally... no, don't take George Carlin's words seriously, because he was only kidding when he said that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot and anyone going faster than you is a maniac. Contrary to what you might be thinking, you're not the best driver in the world. So stop the road rage, refrain (as best as you can) from honking and giving the finger, and lay easy on calling people idiots. Okay, okay... you can, but only when they're tailing you too close or when they cut you off! And even then, just keep it to yourself to avoid huge fights.

I say all these with the best intentions.