The Coffee Cup Caper

My husband has a problem. He is a hoarder. Truth be told, this is not so much his problem as it is mine - He is totally fine with his hoarding ways. If it were up to him, he would have an entire house and yard filled with the treasures he holds dear. Treasure, you ask? Well, I'm glad you inquired. Let me define "treasure".

Rocks. To some, they are a part of the landscape. To others, they are interesting to look at, but nothing more. And to the women of the western world, the only rocks that matter are those that sparkle. But to Mr. Greene, rocks are something to be squirreled away and stored for an indefinite period of time. You never know when a rock may come in handy. One day, I was minding my own business as I was getting into the shower. As I opened up the shower door, I was met with a startling scene. Right there, in my very small shower, was a very large boulder. Not your run of the mill rock, mind you. Oh no. It was a boulder. The kind that you worry might crush you in your vehicle were there to be a landslide as you were driving by. The kind the mob ties to your foot when you are sent to sleep with the fishes. The kind that has no business ever being in your shower.

Unless, you are a Greene. Then all bets are off and boulders may be found on any given day in the shower.

When confronted with the obvious question, Mr. Greene offered this answer in defense of the shower boulder. "Babe. It's a beautiful rock, and it was dirty, so I put it in the shower to clean it off." Ah, yes, of course. What a logical explanation to such an illogical situation. So shimmy into the shower I did, where I proceeded to shampoo alongside said boulder.

Plants. These are another huge item to be hoarded in our household. Now, you might say to yourself, but Brooke! Plants are lovely. One really cannot have too many plants. They add so much to the landscape. To that point, I must say that though plants are indeed beautiful to look at, they have the potential to take over. I have seen Little Shop of Horrors and that horrible Mark Wahlberg movie that was so bad I can't remember the title. But the plants killed people, and that's all you need to know about that. Now while these plants Mr. Greene insists upon cultivating will most likely not kill anybody, they are indeed taking over. A couple of true stories:

I once looked in the closet where the water heater is kept. I don't know why I did that, as the water heater section of the house is not my domain. However, look I did, and it was there that I found three plants huddled together in the dark for no particular reason. Then there was that blissful period in our marriage when we lived in a house with a his and hers bathroom. He didn't use my bathroom, and I didn't step foot into his. It was wonderful. But one day, being the good wifey that I am (albeit slightly nosey and a tad controlling) I decided to clean his bathroom. Upon opening the shower door (why I still do that after the boulder incident, I do not know - I am a glutton for punishment) I discovered a lovely tropical plant growing right there in the confines of tile and plaster.

And yet one more true plant story. We had finally made it to our new home in San Diego, and set about upacking the contents of our UHaul. I wheeled in a kitchen cart, and in front of my mom, dad, and sister, I opened the cupboard doors of this cart. Out fell a plant, spilling dirt onto the kitchen floor. We all stared at this, a bit perplexed, and at that very moment in strolled Mr. Greene. He took one look at the scene before him, and said these haunting words: "Sweet! My succulent!". That's my hoarding husband in a nutshell.

There are more items he loves to gather and store for indefinite periods of time, but at the moment the most infuriating might be the coffee cups. I wake up in the morning and stumble into the kitchen, bleary eyed and cursing as I am no gem to be around that early. I reach for the coffee cup, and to my dismay I come up empty handed! Why, you ask? Please refer to the picture posted below. Mr. Greene likes to stash coffee cups in his car until there are no coffee cups to be found in the cupboard. These were the most recent cups to be recovered in the rescue effort.

I have tried to combat the hoarding many different ways, but I will save that for another day. Most involve tough love and dumpster diving, but for now I have attempted humor in a desperate plea for the restoration of coffee cup order in the Greene household.

Love,

The Coffee Cups

Have You Met Dolly?

You must. She's fabulous.

And sweet.

And my best friend.

http://www.dollyscottoncandy.com/

Alone Again...Naturally

As you can see from the title, I have a cheesy Paul McCartney song stuck in my head....and I'm shameless enough to own it!

The husband is off traveling again for work. This time he's in Oregon, and he'll be gone for two weeks. Now, I'm a strong, independent woman and all that other new age mumbo jumbo, but that's a long time to be home alone talking to the dog. You might think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Coco and I get into deep philosophical conversations on a variety of topics, like what to watch on tv or what exactly I should cook for dinner. I'm cooking for one, after all. Coco keeps hoping I'm going to fall further into my home alone psychosis and start inviting her to sit at the table and serve her people food. It hasn't happened yet, but I'm not ruling it out. I get a little loopy by Day 7.

To make matters worse, I work from home. I know, everyone is getting out their tiny violins and playing me a sad tune. Poor Brooke, she works from home.

Let me tell you something about working from home. It's awesome, for the most part. But some days I don't change out of my pajamas. Some days I go to the gym in the morning and don't change out of my disgusting, smelly gym clothes until I am about to go to bed. I don't put on makeup for days at a time, and I am probably known around town as the Smelly Girl who frequents Trader Joes and Target in the same clothes every day, all day. I have become totally undisciplined, and sometimes the tv is on all day just to keep me company. Well Good Morning, Real Housewives of (Insert city here - I watch them all), how are you today? I will watch your lives and feel better about myself because while I am a tad unhinged, I am no trainwreck. Not yet, anyway.

I have started talking to myself. I have always had conversations with myself in my head, but since the husband is never home and I always am, these conversations have manifested into full fledged discussions with myself. Out loud. Once in the parking lot of Target while loading my trunk full of things I didn't need but bought just because. Well, I did need the bird feeder. Now I have a backyard full of happy little birds who don't mind that I talk to myself because I feed them. I realize how crazy I sound. No comments are necessary here.

On a side note, Jeremiah will be gone on Valentine's Day. While I am not particularly fond of this holiday, I would like to pose this question: What is the point of being married if you have to be alone on a greeting card holiday? That is blasphemy, pure and simple.

This is Day 1 of exile. Stay tuned.

Photo Courtesy of NatalieDee.com

Growing Pains

The other night, while watching my new favorite show Parenthood, I found myself in a conundrum. I no longer related to the rebellious teenagers or to the angst that haunted me well into my twenties. I mean, I get that parents just don’t understand, but I also thought they were acting like little brats. Though I am not a parent myself, I was struck by how much I identified with the adults in the show. Well, this presented me with a terrifying thought – have I, at the ripe old age of 29, finally entered into the realm of adulthood? Say it ain’t so!

It’s odd being in your late twenties. Here I am, staring down the barrel of 30, and yet I don’t feel like an adult. I mean sure, I’m married and pay my own rent. I have a car payment and a professional career. I wear business suits on occasion and flip flops are no longer my go to shoe. I use Quicken to pay our bills and sometimes catch myself discussing new cleaning products that really work with my other “adult” friends. And oh geez, I did catch myself looking just like my mother with curlers in my hair and wearing an apron just this past Christmas season.

I may have switched from drinking Carlo Rossi to a wine that doesn’t produce an instant headache, but I can still throw ‘em back. I might have major responsibilities, but that doesn’t stop me from playing hooky and spending a day at the beach or lounging in my jammies on the couch watching bad reality tv. I sometimes use big words around certain company, but you might also hear me saying “dude” and “sweet” in my daily vernacular. I also might dissolve in a puddle of emotions because I just don’t want to be a grown up and deal with the stress of adult life.

So here I find myself in an interesting (and let’s face it, confusing!) juxtaposition. Knowing me, I will most likely analyze this to death, but for now, the teenager in me is saying screw it. It’s a nice day and I just don’t wanna deal with it. So there. 

Humor is in the Eye of the Beholder

My problem is that I think I am really clever. So clever, in fact, that no one actually understands my humor.

I recently sent in an entry to Hallmark. I thought that I would create the next great greeting card. Check out the picture! I am hilarious, right? I was always the brains behind this operation.

When I was young, I had an amazing imagination. I would make up elaborate stories and my sister and I would act them out. Krista always thought I was incredible. She was young and naive. But I, being old and wise, still think I have an imagination of gold. You want puns? I've got plenty. You want irony? Baby, I was born with it. You want double entrendre? Well, you have come to the right place!

In high school, I used to scribble quotes on a notebook. Anything to look like I was deeper than this all girls Catholic high school! And today, at the bar, over several beers, I will provide incredible insight and elaborate humor that I guess is only understandable to yours truly. Because I am funny. I swear. You just don't get me.