In an attempt to be perfectly attired for the Ducks game last week I bought a pair of black Converse. My goal is to have a standard Ducks outfit I wear to each game. I also do the same thing for Disneyland (and sadly, no, that's not my confession).
I settled on an orange shirt, black cardigan sweater, jeans, and black Converse--it's a kind of retro/Ducks/Clash inspired look. The only problem was, the Converse looked too new: screaming white laces and perfectly clean heels are a dead giveaway I just bought the shoes. Can't have that.
So, to "dirty them up" a bit I took an old black mascara wand and dotted it all over the shoes then rubbed it in. Then I took some brown eye shadow and smeared it here and there for a "these shoes have been through it all" kind of effect.
When I got to the game I was telling Sara about what I did and it occurred to me that I did all those shenanigans so my new shoes wouldn't make me look like a dork, but, ironically, BECAUSE I did all that shenanigans, I AM precisely that--a dork.
For other confessions, you can go here. There are some pretty good ones in there.
No man likes his wife to boss him around. Period. They hate that. Don't do it. In public it's brutal to watch, and in the privacy of your home it's just counterproductive.
A husband will instinctually tune out the rest of any sentence starting with "Today, will you..." Your normal guy would rather stare hard and long at the sun than look over that "to do" list you've thoughtfully put together, no matter how cute the stationery. This is hardwired in them and is no fault of their own.
But stuff has to get done, right? To help remedy the situation, I have come up with a clever way of getting your requests "out there" without one tear shed. The only catch, it only works if you have kids--possibly a dog--but most effectively with kids.
This is what I do, let's say it's Saturday morning and I have a list as long as the guitar solo in Free bird. I sit the kids down, with Larry in earshot, and I tell THE KIDS what we are going to be doing that day.
"Today kids, we are going to Target to get lightbulbs to replace the burned out ones in the bathroom, and then we're going to clean up the garage and next...blah blah blah." You get the idea. The kids are Sweden. They're neutral ground. As long as they hear the word "Icee" in there somewhere, they're golden and now your plan has been firmly placed in the day's activities.
Three rules when executing this strategy:
Never make direct eye contact with your husband the entire time you are talking. Bossy is a primal assailant to the masculine ego and can be sensed easy by just a glance.
Be precise with your words, and your voice should be a little louder than usual, but breezy. Like you're ordering into a takeout window.
Never mention "daddy" by name in the whole line of events. It's "we."
After you're done, make bacon. Heat up the skillet and fry up a whole pack of bacon. I am not really sure why this helps, some sort of counterbalance. The aroma must kill any hint of tyranny that might still be lingering in the room after your little speech.
Now that I think of it, this is more a tip than a confession. You're welcome. I should be some sort of freggin marriage counselor or something.
For Confessions 1-10 click HERE. The other confessions are less helpful and way more embarrassing than this one.
I really hate it if I think someone doesn't like me. I just simply can't stand it if a person doesn't find me charming and the thought that someone might actually think I'm annoying or pesky is intolerable.
I don't mean it in any significant way, like if I have an opinion that differs from a person and they choose to not like me because of it, well, that's fine.
I mean more in a petty, superficial way.
So, right, we're at the first Duck's game last night with our new season tickets and our four seats are right next to...
He was making fun of me.
I would shout, "Yay, Ducks!" and he would say "Yay, Ducks!" and wave his hands around spastically. I would scream, "Get it out of there Perry," and he would say, "Perry!" in a girl-voice.
Alright, so he found my perfectly appointed enthusiasm irritating. I get that...but I just can't accept it.
I assume that he has season passes, as well. So, I will be sitting next to him every other game. I have made it my mission to make this mean, hog-the-arm-rest-guy like me. I can't help myself. I will go to great lengths to make sure people I care NOTHING about think of me in a favorable way.
For confessions 1-9 click here and PLEASE try to keep the shred of respect you still have for me intact after reading: Confessions.
Yesterday, I ate at one of my favorite spots: PCH Dog on Chapman, in Orange.
When I poked my head in the little window to order, I was too ashamed to order my usual, it just seemed too much like man-food--chili cheese fries AND a sauerkraut dog--so I thought I would throw everyone off with a clever ploy, "I'll have one chili cheese fries and one...let's see what did he want?...um, one sauerkraut dog, oh...and just one Diet Coke, please."
I am CERTAIN no one caught on it was all just for me...and even MORE certain no one cared.
I completely emptied the dishwasher down to the last spoon before I realized it hadn't been run yet. The worst thing about doing this (yes, I've done it before) is that I have to go back and find every last dish, cup and glass I just put away...or do I?
Last night while I was putting my son to bed I heard kids skateboarding out in the street. I heard the grinding of the boards on the curbs and the enthusiastic "Whooaa" of the boys.
I quickly ran downstairs to make sure my car doors were locked.
(When did I become THIS person? Skateboarders!)
The other night I was at a charity dinner-- unfortunately the guest speaker turned out to be a long-winded phony with questionable credentials.
After a particularly improbable statement, I rolled my eyes high and big. Well, I then realized that people might be watching me since I was sitting right in front. So I did it again, but this time with a little less enthusiasm, and then again, faintly, in hopes that if someone were watching, they would think it was just a nervous tick or weird mannerism I had.
When someone is talking and I say, "That's interesting," it means I don't think it is interesting.
If I think what they are saying is really, truly interesting, I won't say anything at all. I'll just listen.