This Is What Happens When I Take a Migrane Nap and Hubby Has No Playstation

How do I put this delicately? OK, I'll settle for calmly.

Aside from the obvious cure of becoming a knife-thrower with bad aim, I don't know what I'm going to do with this man of mine. I'm beginning to think that he has a gift for making me homicidal...so, it's not a rare gift, but still.

As y'all are aware, Sparky died prolonged happy dance behind hubby's back including, but not limited to, Saturday Night Fever finger points the other day and hubby has been in mourning. But, as any grief counselor will tell you, all grief is experienced differently by different people.

I'd prefer it if he'd do like he did when his brother passed away... got drunk as hell and rode around on the John Deere calling every number he had in his cell phone to expound upon the lessons he had learned in life until he ran out of gas, threw up, and passed out. I'm just not that lucky this time. No, this time, he's exacting his revenge against me because I never loved Sparky. (Yeah, guilty, so fucking what?)

Anyway... as I was lying down in an attempt to keep my eyeballs from jumping out of their sockets and stabbing me in the forehead with machetes, my husband decided that the sound system was not producing the optimal dish-shattering noise sound. The cure for this was to completely flip the living room ninety degrees. *eyeroll ~ which is pretty difficult to do when your eyeballs are armed with machetes, fyi* I found this out when I came out for more Excedrin and could barely get to the kitchen table.

I had already taken deep breaths and called my sister for my own sanity intervention, because I know how I get. And instead of completing the job, he sat his ass down and had to test the sound of the system with AC/DC and Ozzy, while the living room was still so torn up that the only one that could get into the room was someone already IN the room... in other words not me. In other words, I couldn't get back to the computer room to twitter it for further mental help because my sister abandoned me had to hang up when the music became louder than a jackhammer and she couldn't hear me anymore.

Let me tell you something about my man. He is not a planner. Nor does he have any give-a-damn for anyone else when it comes to his *expletivesosevereithasbeendeleted* home theater system. As in, it's too crowded in here, so I'm pitching, LITERALLY PITCHING, as in out the back door onto the lawn, the entire bookcase... Oh, he saved the books, but all of the magazines on it, including my entire collection of House Beautiful the magazines I keep so as to not be all suicidal that I've spent over three years in 540 sq. ft. with hideous nicotine stained would make Stevie Wonder cringe colored paint and 1970's flooring was out on the lawn, buried between broken bookcase shelves. He also informed me that the living room was his room, and it will stay this way; as if we're in a fucking mansion and he can designate any room as his domain to the exclusion of kids toys or much needed storage space in the form of bookshelves.

Once again *all together now, cause you know exactly what's coming* This. Is. Where. I. Lost. It. (and where I, in retrospect, give my extreme gratitude to the Universe that my son was completely engrossed in Harry Potter in the back room and was clueless to what was going on.)

I went into the bedroom and started unloading the drawers of his stereo magazines. The ones that he has read and re-read like a porn addict with a lone copy of Playboy... and I flung them in piles out the back door just as he had done with the bookcase... all bajillion-gazillion of them. Punctuated with an exclamation point in the form of pitching out the plastic drawers we got a while back to keep them in... (once it was empty, cause that thing was heavy!) Because I am nothing if not an eye-for-an-eye kind of gal. which is why nothing else wound up getting pitched out, or like the wrong side of a bat being taken to the entire AV system cause hell yes I was that pissed off but I was still coherent enough to recognize that retribution is a bitch and the computer room doesn't have a lock on it

It took most of the next day and my rescuing all but the October '08 issue of House Beautiful before we spoke again, and wouldn't you know it? The living room and bookshelves were not the issue. There was another deeper issue that needed to be addressed and worked through. that being the one where I discovered, much to my surprise, that I am way more damaged than even I knew and I was fucking things up on purpose because I was a closet pussy ass scaredy cat hiding inside a grown woman's body Which we did... at length. And things between us are much better than they have been in a very long time. mainly because I didn't throw heavy stuff at his head even though I wanted to, so Yay Me It's probably why I don't cringe when I walk through the living room and take in the new layout despite the fact that hubby has never once in his entire life read House Beautiful, which he really needs to do before rearranging another room, cause DAMN.

However, we've run out of money 4 days before payday, and hubby is out of smokes... so the next post may well be full of more Jesus Christ, I'm so glad I'm not her drama. Read: Look for me on the news, I'll be the one in handcuffs!

"And how was your weekend?" She trilled in a Disney-princess-sing-song with a plastic smile that she didn't mean for one millisecond shellacked across her face...

For a way funnier post about feuding with your husband from a much better blogger than me, go here.