HAH! It WASN'T my fat ass AFTER ALL!

For the last couple of weeks (coincidentally since we moved cross country and dragged our shit 3000 in a U-Haul over the river, through the woods, across the Rockies, zig-zagging, slipping and sliding through blizzards, blah blah blah) every time I've sat on the couch, Dan has commented that it SAGS the second my butt hits the cushion (which I really, REALLY appreciate.  Thank you, honey, for your vigilance in pointing this out).  I have said things like, "Do you think it got broken when we moved?" and was assured that no, absolutely not, that couldn't have happened because, you see, DAN LOADED THE COUCH HIMSELF.
Therefore, it simply has to be sagging due to the mere act of me sitting on it.
Happy news for someone who is chronically concerned about the size of their ass.
Oh, and FYI?  His pile-driving ass is also on this couch at the same time he's commenting how it sags when *I* sit down.  But I digress.


Last night, after we had been cuddling together watching something inane on tv, Dan decided to get up and go watch the Mets game in the bedroom.  As he was looming over me, leaning down to give me a kiss, he suddenly stepped back with a look of huge concern on his face.


Me:  What's wrong?


Dan:  *look of extreme concern*


Me:  What's wrong?


Dan:  *look of extreme concern*


(I'm pretty sure this is where I was supposed to read his mind.)


Me:  What are you looking at?  What's wrong?


Dan:  *look of extreme concern*


Me:  


Dan:  *ominously*  Dani, get up.


Me:  *getting up*  What's wrong?


Dan:  *point*


Rather than going with my first reaction, which is to maim and kill out of extreme irritation, I sucked it up and looked at where he was pointing.  The entire middle of our couch was in a perfect vee, with the bottom touching the carpet.
Since this couch is less than 4 months old, this is indeed cause for concern.


Dan:  What the fuck?


Me:  *wisely saying nothing*  (I know, I shocked me, too.)


We flipped the couch over, Dan ripped off the cloth cover on the bottom and suh-prise, suh-prise, there was a CRACK that had split and collapsed along the entire under carriage of the couch.


My fat ass, indeed.


(Okay, he never said "fat ass."  But I'm a woman and when you accuse me of breaking something by sitting on it, the fat-ass part is implied, whether you intend it to be or not.  Word.)


Me:  *casually*  Sooooo... what do you think happened?


Dan:  *struggling to come up with an answer that didn't involve him packing the couch and us dragging it across the country*  Cheaply made piece of shit.


Me:  Riiiight,  So, are you still sticking to the theory that the couch couldn't withstand the weight of my enormous rear-end?


Dan:  *looking shocked*  I never said that!


Me:  It was implied.


Dan:  I never implied that!


Me:  So why is the couch broken, Dan?


Dan:  


Me:


Dan:  It probably had a crack in it that we didn't notice and the move was the straw that broke the camel's back.


Me:  How about last week when you, your mom, and your dad and your nephew were all sitting on this couch eating spaghetti?  That was like 800 lbs of Geer-ass on this couch.  Think that might have helped break the camel's back?


Yeah... sometimes I have a hard time letting things go.  It was a hollow victory, I still have a broken couch, but dammit... it had nothing to do with the size of my ass.


WORD.

It's a BIRD! It's a PLANE! It's a... GIANT PHONE JACK!

Today marks the third week that Dan and I have lived in this apartment.  (Wait... second week.  Third?  Oh hell, I don't know... it's been a few weeks.)
ANYWAY.
I spent the first week busting my ASS putting 48 years and a three bedroom house's worth of STUFF away in this teeny three room apartment.  I arranged, rearranged, hung, hammered, adjusted, squeezed, stacked, and threw away for DAYS, making this a cozy, comfy, peaceful home.
It wasn't easy, but dammit, I did it.
I literally didn't rest until it was done.

So for the past two (three?) weeks I have been enjoying my surroundings and getting used to where I put everything and appreciating my hard work.  Some old habits die hard, of course... I repeatedly go to the wrong wall to turn on the kitchen light, open the wrong drawer looking for silverware, can't remember where I decided the perfect place to keep stamps would be, etc.  (Where ARE those damn stamps??  GAH!)

It was while I was fondling the wrong wall looking for the kitchen light switch last night when I noticed the giant phone jack on the wall, right next to my iron scroll sconce.
I did a double take...
Where the hell did THAT come from??



I mean, it's not SMALL, by any means.  I go to that wall at least 10 times a day and try to turn on a light that isn't there.... Seriously, how could I have possibly missed it????

I pondered for a few minutes and even checked the pictures I had taken after I decorated the wall to see if the jack was there.  (I know, I know... don't judge me).

Naturally, the pictures I had taken cut off the wall exACTLY at the edge of the sconce, leaving out the entire section of wall where the phone jack now appeared.



Yeah, it's almost like I PLANNED this.  I am SOOOOOO Karma's bitch sometimes.

Even though logically I know that the phone jack absolutely had to be there when we moved in, somehow I couldn't wrap my brain around it.  If it had been there, I would have seen it.  I mean, I hammered in nails and hung a three foot sconce an inch away from it.  I look at that wall eleventy billion times a day.  I keep thinking there's a lightswitch there, for Christ's sake.  I've stared at the white thing that's above the phone jack and tried to figure out what it is.  (Does anybody know?)  I could not have missed it.  I simply could not have NOT SEEN IT if it had been there.  I'm not THAT oblivious... am I?  AM I?

Me:  Hey, Dan?  Was this phone jack here when we moved in?

Dan:

Me:

Dan:  What?

Me:  This phone jack.  Was it here when we moved in?

Dan:

Me:

Dan:  What do you mean, "Was it here when we moved in"?

Me:  Was it?

Dan:  What the hell are you talking about?

Me:  Nothing.

(When your husband stares at you as if you've lost your marbles, it's time to shut up.)

My bottom line is this:  Either ghosts, goblins, aliens, and things that go bump in the night managed to sneak into my apartment without alerting me, Dan, or the dogs and install a phone jack OR I truly am that completely unaware of my surroundings.

Since it can't POSSIBLY be the latter, I'm going with the aliens.

Damn dogs need to hone their alien attacking skills, yo... unless those bastards sneak in and install a garbage disposal, which would be completely acceptable.  FYI.

Sign Language

Apparently, after spending 10 years together, my husband expects me to read his mind.  Every nuance, every raised eyebrow, every facial expression, I am supposed to know EXACTLY what he is thinking AT THAT MOMENT without him needing to utter one word and react accordingly.


Truthfully?  Since he's really not that complicated?  I probably could.  The thing is, I don't want to.


A typical conversation as we are driving somewhere goes like thisl:


Dan:  *nudge nudge*  *point*


Me:  *looking up from my Kindle*  What?


Him:  Never mind, you missed it.  


10 minutes later: 


Him:  *nudge*  *point point*  *nudge*


Me:  *looking up from my Kindle*  WHAT?


Him:  Never mind!  You missed it!


Ad infintum.


Eventually, it will increase to more exaggerated pointing, punctuated by him loudly speaking my name:


Him:  Dani!  DANI!  *point point*  *raised eyebrows*


Me:  WHAT!  Jesus, just use your damn words!  Tell me where to freaking look and what I'm looking at!  GOD!!


Him:  Never mind.   You missed it.


GAHHHHHHH!!!!


It's pretty much the same at home.  The following is a little scene from our bedroom, circa 4:00 a.m.


Dan got up to pee, and as he is completely unable to do anything quietly, I got to wake up with him.  He grunted and stumbled to the bathroom, kicking his boots which were left conveniently next to the bed (where he took them off), swore, bumped into a few walls, crashed and banged his way into the bathroom, peed loudly and obnoxiously, clanged and banged his way back to bed, fell in next to me, and farted.  


Since I was already awake (thank you, Dan) I figured I might as well pee, too.


Got up, peed, came back to bed.  Neat and efficient, no noise involved, up, down, up, down.


Ahhhhhhhhhh... back to sleep.


I was just drifting off when I hear:


Dan:  Dani.


Me:  What?


Dan:  *poke poke*


Me:  What??


Dan:  Dani!  *poke*


Me:  WHAT!


Dan:  *poke poke*


Me:  WHAT??!!


Dan:  Don't you hear that?


Me:  Hear WHAT?


Him:  You seriously don't hear that?


Me:  *listening intently*  Hear WHAT?


Him:  


Me:


Him:  You seriously don't hear that.


Me:  Dan!  Hear WHAT!  USE YOUR DAMN WORDS!


Him:  You left the fan on in the bathroom.


Me:  I didn't TURN the fan on in the bathroom.


Him:  Yes, you DID.  It's running.


Me:  No I didn't, and no it isn't.  Go to sleep.


Him:  *poke* 


Me:  *urge to kill*


Him:  *poke*  Dani.


Me:  *stomping out of bed and into the bathroom*  THE FAN ISN'T ON.  *stomping back to bed*


Him:  


Me:  *fume*


Him:  What's that noise?


This went on for about 5 minutes, until I finally figured out he was hearing the refrigerator running.


No jury would convict me, y'all.