Marmot is losing his battle with the squirrels in the backyard….they mock his ‘squirrel-proof’ birdfeeder, and he stands in his boxers by the back door with his coffee and curses them. Its pretty funny.

So on the list of things to get once we move into the new house is a squirrel launcher, or something like a Yankee Flipper Bird Feeder in the hope that we won’t have obese squirrels this year. We had heard about them, but it wasn’t until a tour through some You Tube videos that we decided we needed one….check out the one that closed the deal!

Seriously, I was laughing so hard I cackled…

And I promise more hilarity to come….there is an entire genre of baby farting videos on You Tube…lol

I have literally been gagging. This show makes me retch. And I’m a nurse, so you know what it takes for me to have to work at suppressing the gag reflex? A lot. (And just so you know, smiling suppresses the gag reflex. A really handy little tip for debriding an infected wound or cleaning the fridge.)

So anyway, we’re sitting and watching the show Hoarders, and there was one about a woman hoarding expired and rotting food. OMG. Microbiology background here, I was grinning (see the above tip) and trying not to think about the petri dish that is that woman’s house. And also making mental notes about taking more stuff to Goodwill. Like my entire basement.

(So I have to admit that I’m an anti-hoarder and a cleanfreak/germaphobe- everything is either useful and has its place, sentimental and stored, or gone. And I don’t think that much is sentimental. I’m a little freakish about it, which is why the show Hoarders sucks me in! Keep that in mind as you read on.)

But anyway, we’re watching the show and at one point Marmot leans back, and says well I think we’re okay Honey, you’ve got hoarding tendencies but we’re alright.

WTF?

And yes, that’s a direct quote from me.

Upon hearing that I demanded to know where in the hell he got that idea sweetly asked him to please elaborate on why he would think that.

He tells me I’m a packrat, and that my (home) office is messy and I really need to get a handle on it, throw more stuff away.  Huh. As if the three bags of Goodwill that he hauled to the truck two days ago didn’t register.

Furthermore, this is coming from the man who has the Man Room which features a sushi-making kit, along with clothes that he hasn’t worn since high school, deer antlers, and a reindeer costume from the 3rd grade.

Hoarding ‘tendencies’, seriously. I rest my case.

So the Deep South trip has been planned since August and yet, somehow, we are leaving tomorrow and I am completely unprepared.

I bought all the Christmas presents that I was responsible for prior to Marmot’s last day of work, and they are all wrapped in my office. Only minor damage to the bows thanks to Snooty Kitty, but at least she hasn’t peed on any of them right? Thanks to the caramel corn disaster, we will be braving the mall (or at least swinging by a Trader Joe’s in St. Louis on the way) to finish our Christmas shopping.

So I’m packing up all the thoughtful gifts, and doing laundry. Ahh yes, the laundry hamper. My old nemesis, we meet again. Somehow the clothing I wore yesterday have completely disappeared, and I apparently have no clean socks. None. The only underwear I can find are thongs, and the jeans that are clean, well they’ve obviously shrunk in the dryer. Again.

The suitcases have been unearthed from the closets, still containing clothing from our (June) North Shore trip. I always think I’m a light packer until I try to shut the damn suitcase. But you never know when you’re have an unexpected period in an off-week, and need 18 pairs of underwear! Marmot always drags the suitcase out to the truck, muttering we’re only going for a week…..not a damn world tour….why do you need all this shit?! Even though moments ago I was thinking maybe I could leave some things, I decide everything is absolutely necessary. And launch into my own tirade about the double-standards for women, how men can wear clothes twice, and slick their hair back, but women have to dress perfectly in a new cute little outfit everyday with accessories, and how we’ve been oppressed by men through the social standards of makeup! Marmot doesn’t usually react. One time he countered with that’s right Honey, strike one for all of womankind and just stop shaving your armpits and well, he just won’t ever say that again. He’s not into the earth woman look.

Its been quite the day. I can’t believe its 10pm, because the alarm going off at 5:30am seems like a lifetime ago. And I swear this is my last blog design change until my real one is done in a few weeks!

I finished wrapping presents for the family, and while I realized I’m missing one present yet, I’m pretty impressed with myself. Although I would like to kill Snooty Kitty, she ate the bows off most of the presents that were already wrapped. No wonder she’s been retching in our bedroom at god-awful hours of the night. You can’t see it really well, but just to know that those curls used to be long.

Marmot and I exchanged our Christmas presents tonight, as we have plans for most of the weekend and it seemed like such a nice evening. Glass of wine, Christmas music, a snuggly dog…and I got a beautiful bracelet and earrings from Marmot. As much as he drives me crazy, he can make me melt when he puts his mind to it.

I’ve given up on doing any baking this weekend, and my stress level improved significantly. We’re going to hit up Trader Joe’s and Chocolateria Stam for family gifts. I cracked open the caramel corn and found it to be slightly stale so it won’t be sent out. I’m still going to triumph over the holidays and Martha Stewart’s booby trap! I will prevail!

I won a giveaway this week from Dang Gina, a cute little door hanger from TW Creations. So cute, thank you!!

I’d like to mention how much I’ve enjoyed the friends I’ve made on this blog. Ashley @ Germato, Kaitlin @ Ah My Married Life, and Kate @ Newlywed and Unemployed….you girls rock.

And on that note, I’m off to bed….hope you all are having a stress-free Friday evening!

Let’s talk snoring. Depending on the source, snoring is prevalent in 30-50% of adults, and in men more than women (duhh). We all know someone. And if you’re really lucky, you’re married to him. Marmot was a light snorer when we first got together. Once in awhile it would wake me up, but I’d elbow him and it would stop. Worse when he’d been drinking, but nothing awful. Well…pack on the Newlywed 15, and the story has changed.

Let me just say that yes, I am a light sleeper. Too many years on trauma and transplant call, my brain is wired to wake up for anything sounding like a pager or cell phone. Or the dog farting. It takes me anywhere from 30 minutes to over an hour to fall asleep. Marmot? Sleeps like the dead, and reaches the dead state within 15 seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

And its bad. I have Bose In-Ear Headphones that are supposed to block the sound of an on-coming freight train. Add in Nickelback with bass booster, and I shouldn’t be able to hear a nuclear bomb in the city limits. And yet, the snoring penetrates.

We have a nightly routine. I will oh-so-optimistically not put in headphones, because I don’t sleep all that well after falling asleep with them in. We snuggle into bed, and fifteen seconds later I hear the all-too familiar pre-snoring sounds….and then 30 seconds later, we’re into full-on throat scraping nasal reverberations.

-I give him a nudge, and he says What! I’m not even asleep yet!
-I say Yes you were, you were snoring.
-He rolls over in a huff. Someone farts just to make a point, but we’re not saying who.
-A minute later, snoring starts. I give him a shove.
-He says WHAT! I’m still not even asleep yet!
-I say Yes you were, put a damn Breathe-Right strip on!
-He makes a big deal of turning on the light, and putting a nose strip on. I giggle because he looks like he has a giant bandaid stuck to his face, and he gives me a dirty look.
-Lights out, we’re going to sleep.
-Ten minutes later, I hear the snoring sound start again. I kick him in the back of the calf.
-He half sits up and is like What the hell, I’m *trying* to *sleep*, I have to *work* in the morning.
-I then move into Evil Wife Mode. EWM makes me sit up straight, and start enunciating my words really well and the tone in my voice starts changing. That’s usually the time when I speak so passionately that I spit at least once while talking. My sweet response to Marmot is along the lines of Ohh right, because I’m going to stay at home and SLEEP all day tomorrow! I have a job too asshole, and I’d like to be awake while I’m there! Ok that last part is a lie, but that’s not the point.
-He realizes that he has 15-seconds to stop the Evil Wife Mode transformation, gives me a kiss and says I love you sweetie, I’m sorry I’m snoring.
-I say I love you too, but please sleep on your side.
-We lay back down, lights out, we’re going to sleep.
-And the snoring starts again.

I’m then at a decision point. Do I stay in here, or do I move to the spare bed? Now the spare bed is a twin bed with an all-foam mattress that I love. Its got flannel sheets and its on the opposite side of the house from Marmot and his nasal symphony. The downside is that the dog has realized that its his perfect size and sleeps there most nights. Which means that not only do I have to haul the dog off the bed, I have to keep him off the bed for the rest of the night because Me + 115lb Dog + Twin Bed = Not a Good Night. Why do I not make Marmot take the twin bed? Because the twin bed is more comfortable than our bed. I usually opt to take the twin bed, and get to sleep an hour or so later.

Marmot is a morning person, and always well-rested and happy when he wakes up. He usually comes in to say good morning, and ask why didn’t I want to sleep with him last night?

Violence is never the answer ladies. No matter what asinine thing he says. Really.

In honor of football season and the upcoming ‘Bowl’ games (which I knew nothing about before meeting Marmot), I’ve decided to highlight some of the unique differences that stand out when a Northerner marries a Southerner.

First Meeting: He was dressed to the nines in Abercrombie and Brooks Brothers. I’m wearing a college sweatshirt and trackpants, no makeup.

First Dinner Made for Each Other: He made Black Angus hamburgers, perfectly seasoned and grilled to perfection, served with homemade potato salad. The first meal I made him was microwaved ‘baked’ potatoes with fat-free sour cream, and bag salad with fat-free ranch dressing.

Our Accents: I thought he sounded like a hick, and he thought I was harsh and a frontrunner in a speed-talking contest.

Our Parents: We met each other’s parents about a month after getting engaged. Marmot’s parents were so sweet and polite, very traditional Southern genteel. I was greeted with a nice hug, and told that I could address them as Mr. P. and Mrs. M. When my Mom came to meet Marmot, she told me (not realizing he was behind her) that she was so excited to meet him that she’d almost peed herself. My Dad met Marmot, he invited him into the basement to see his large collection of firearms.

Our Siblings, Grandparents & Extended Families: Marmot’s grandparents and family are very quiet, polite Southerners. A visit to them in the Deep South is a lot of good food, nice conversation, and relaxation. The first meeting with my extended family was a lot of loud Italian music, and getting hit on by my crazy Aunt P. who hadn’t brushed the hair on the back of her head. Upon finding out that Marmot went to law school, Aunt K. launched into an anti-lawyer diatribe, then told me that Marmot was a helluva improvement over the last boyfriend, the doctor, who they really didn’t like anyway. All of this in front of Marmot.

Our Wedding: Southern traditions were upheld with a tiramisu groom’s cake, the wedding being very formal by Northern standards, and of course no dancing out of respect for Marmot’s Baptist roots. The Northern influences were the pine bough themed decor (‘creative’ according to my mother-in-law) and an entire branch of my family roadtripping to our wedding in a Winnebago. I reserved the hotel bar until 2am for my family who were still ticked that the only alcohol at our reception was red or white wine. And at our reception, my four uncles each went up to my poor mother-in-law and introduced themselves as Honey’s first husband, Honey’s second husband, etc.

And the differences never cease…to be continued!

I love Christmas lights. When I was a kid we had a Christmas Eve tradition, where the whole family would pile in the car and drive around looking at Christmas lights, listening to Christmas music and drinking hot chocolate. To me, Christmas lights on a house in the snow on a cold winter evening, that sense of calm and peace is exactly what Christmas should be.

But I’ll be honest, I become an absolute shrew when it comes to putting up Christmas lights at home.

I want them to be all white lights, and the type of icicle lights that actually *look* like icicles that are lit (yes I know that’s so not real!), and no blinking or dancing lights. I would be ok with the netting over the bushes if we have the right amount so that its even (perfectionist much?) and I want the lights that are a warm off-white, not the bright blue kind of white lights.

Marmot had his first experience with Christmas lights last year, with my request for him to put them up on his day off. I came home over lunch to check out his progress and found him standing on the porch ledge with his arms wrapped around the porch support beam like a shipwreck survivor. Needless to say, Marmot didn’t grow up with ice. Add to that his apparently new fear of heights (convenient) and he declared himself to be incapable of carrying on any longer through such hardship.

Which meant that I had to climb up on the ledge in high heels and put the lights up, while he offered criticism guidance from the safety of the porch. This deteriorated quickly, and the whole project culminated with him going back inside where it was warm, and me yelling at him (through the screen door) about where he could shove the lights. And stomping back to work.

We opted not to do lights this year, because we’re going to be in the Deep South for Christmas and all. You know, be green and save electricity.

December is not off to a great start. And I’ll admit, my anxiety levels are on the rise. I feel like I have so much stress in my life right now, that my reserve coping skills have been all but depleted. I’m not sure how much more I can handle!

Things at my job are highly stressful. I’m in school full-time. I’m trying to lose weight, partially to give the Deep South entourage less of me to criticize. I still can’t touch my damn toes.