21 Questions I Asked My Husband

I’m stealing this one from Eric at All In A Dad’s Work (see his post here), because a) I always steal his ideas and stuff and b) it’s funny. (Truthfully, he encouraged us to ask the questions, too, so I guess it’s not technically stealing, but I’m trying to work on having a more badass reputation in the blogiverse.)

Here goes, the 21 questions I asked Sam…

Q: Would you rather I be completely hairless or as hairy as a gorilla?
A: Completely hairless.

Q: What actor would play you in a movie about your life?
A: Mark Ruffalo.


Q: Who would play your love interest (aka, me) in a movie about your life?
A:  Emily Deschanel.


Q: Would you rather our children grow up to be 8 feet tall or 3 feet tall?
A: 8 feet tall.

Q: If you had to go a week without your phone, what would you miss the most about it?
A: Nothing because I don’t have a phone.

Q: What do you like most that I do in bed?
A: When you sleep without touching me.

Q: What was your first impression of me? Did you ever dislike me?
A: I was glad you weren’t 80-years old. No.

Q: What’s your favorite memory of our wedding day?
A: Seeing you walk down the aisle.

Q: If you woke up tomorrow as a woman, what would be the first three things you’d do?
A: Make my husband some breakfast, lay out his clothes, and put out his newspaper. No, I have no idea how to answer this. I’d do the same thing I’d always do — help get the kids ready, eat breakfast, and check Facebook.

Q: Would you rather use whipped cream or hot fudge?
A: Whipped cream.

Q: What do you think is your best physical feature?
A: I don’t know anymore. It used to be my chest. I still have nice eyes.

Q: What do you think is my best physical feature?
A: Your legs.

Q: If you could be on any reality TV show, which one would it be?
A: I don’t know any that are still on.

Q: Have you ever obsessed over anything? (toys, movies, projects, people, problems)
A: I obsess over stuff every day. Right now it’s the soccer team I want to coach in the spring and the soccer team on the FIFA playstation game.

Q: What were your nicknames growing up, including the ones you didn’t want to stick?
A: Razor, skint turd, RJ the BJ, Gay Ray Dolphin.

Q: If I let you dress me, what would I wear on our next date?
A: Nothing. I’m just kidding. A skirt or a dress instead of wearing pants all the time.

Q: Would you ever role play in bed?
A: Sure.

Q: Yoga pants or skirts?
A: Skirts.

Q: What song would you sing for your audition on The Voice?
A: In the Garden, it’s a gospel song.

Q: Is there a food that reminds you of me?
A: Pizza.

Q: Is there a memory you have of me that always makes you laugh?
A: You peeing in a cooler when you were drunk.

Yeah, the last one probably deserves an explanation, but just know that I was 20, a new drinker, and it was a throwaway foam cooler.

So, who else is down to ask their partner 21 questions?



Finding The Hat

While cleaning out some stuff pushed to the back of our wardrobe last week, my husband found his baseball cap. It’s a gray University of South Carolina Gamecocks baseball hat (for our 2011 College World Series win) that gives him permission to yell “Go Cocks!” or otherwise loudly talk about “The Cocks” wherever he goes without being looked at too strangely.

Here’s what it looked like brand new. Little Man has one just like it that I bought on sale that he’s been waiting to grow into for quite some time. Sam’s hat barely resembled this one after a few years of being worn regularly.


“E! I found my hat! I thought I’d lost it, but it has been here all this time!” he exclaimed after he pulled it out. He put it on and admired himself in the mirror.

I gave him a fake smile. “Good for you,” I said flatly.

He noticed my lack of enthusiasm (and possibly the light leaving my eyes) and quickly realized that I was the reason his hat had been missing.

“You hid it! I can’t believe you hid my hat from me! That’s so wrong!”

Did I mention that this hat is from 2011? Do you know what a hat looks like after it’s been worn everywhere for five years? In case you don’t, it looks like garbage. Even worse, it smells like garbage. (Reminder: he works from home, meaning he rarely has to wear grown-up clothes…meaning wears baseball hats a lot more than the average guy.)

“I only hid it because I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away,” I stated. This is true. I would’ve had the guilt had I thrown out something I know he loves. So I did the only thing I could do without crossing the line — hid it somewhere I knew he likely wouldn’t look.

After some back and forth over whether the hat belonged in the garbage, I gave in and decided that if I was going to have to continue seeing and smelling the damn thing on a daily basis, that I’d make it less disgusting. (Sure, I suppose I could have done that sooner, but he was supposed to come to his senses and throw the dirty old thing away.)

So, here is the hat after I threw it in the dishwasher, as I read that’s a good way to wash a hat, and it sure wasn’t getting hand-washed treatment. (No, I didn’t wash any dishes with it, in case you’re wondering. We would have surely gotten some illness, despite the sani-rinse.)

Yep, that’s the hat on the best day it’s seen in quite some time. It still looks dirty and like it’s about to fall apart at any minute. Sam was also really happy that I did something thoughtful for him in cleaning up his hat. I pointed out that it wasn’t for him, and after noticing that it shrunk up a bit when he put it back on, let him know what he looked like, A League Of Their Own style.

What thing have you wanted to throw out of your partner’s?

It’s Getting Hot In Here

Winter has now arrived in South Carolina. Or it’s visiting at least. I know this because I went outside today in a long sleeve shirt and felt like I needed a jacket. Laziness prevented me from going back inside for the jacket, but still, I needed it…and I got to turn on the heat in the car! After a winter break that shifted between balmy and monsoon-like, we had temperatures drop to almost freezing overnight and they didn’t get over 43°F today.*

giphy (21)

Do you know what all this means? Aside from even more colds and getting to wear super cute jackets? That trouble is brewing in the Anxious household. We don’t often fight about money or how we raise the kids (irresponsibility for the win!), but we do butt heads on the thermostat. My husband has already complained at least five times about how hot I’ve made it inside.

“You turned the thermostat up to 69?”

“You’ve got a space heater on?”

“The other space heater is on?”

“Oh my god, the space heater is set to 79!”

“Why do you want the [gas] logs on when you’ve got both space heaters on?!”

For the record, Baby Girl and I were taking a bath and it gets cold in that part of the house where our master bedroom/bath are thanks to shit duct work, so I tend to make things warmer than I normally would. This means three extra sources of heat instead of two. You can’t have a little baby (or a grown woman) getting out of bath water to freeze half to death before getting dried off and into her PJs. Yes, I totally played the Baby Girl Card, and I’m prepared to do so for weeks to come.


Sam’s preferred thermostat setting for the colder months is 64, and he continues his the madness into the summer by trying to burn us up by setting the air conditioner on 76 (although I’ve seen higher). I’m the opposite–I like things nice and cozy in the winter and frigid in the summer. I’m a power bill payer’s worst nightmare.

Here’s to another few weeks/months of arguing over the indoor temperature. And maybe even a few snow flurries!

*You people with all your snow and ice better not poo poo on my winter post.

A New Year’s Wager

You know how you have serious talks with your spouse or partner at times and talk about goals and shit? Sam and I had one of those last night. We were talking about a certain goal for 2016 and how to achieve it.

“This year has gone by fast,” Sam said to me tonight after we watched an episode of Parks and Rec on Netflix.

“Not really. It’s been a hell of a year,” I responded.

“Oh. Well, what do you want to do for our New Year’s resolutions?” he asked.

“Lose weight, I guess.”

I don’t really care for doing resolutions, but if I’m going to do one, that’s gonna be it. It happened some in 2013. In 2014 I was pregnant much of the year and only had to maintain, then I got a pass for just having a baby on the rest of the year. 2015 was a bust and I can no longer blame just having a baby, I fear.

Sam patted his belly. “Yeah, it’s time.”

“Why don’t we make it into a competition?” I suggested. “The first to lose 30 pounds wins…something.” Since that is my number for the physical, this is sorta to my advantage, which Sam doesn’t know.

Sam agreed. “What will the winner get?”

“Hmm. Well, I know what motivates me: leather jewelry, a vacation, video games, tattoos…I don’t know about you.”

“Making you happy is my motivator.”


“Be for real. What do you want to do?”

“I am for real. But how about if I lose, then I finally get a tattoo?” Sam suggested.

Ooh, nice. I’ve been after him to get one for a while. Every time we visit the tattoo shop for me, he gets all amped up about getting one, but a week later he backs out and talks about the pain.

“Okay. If you lose, then I get to pick out a tattoo for you.” Before he could change his mind, I added, “It will be the size of a half dollar and will not be anything crude or embarrassing.”

He agreed. “And if I win, then you can’t play Hanson in the car or around me for a week.”

Da fuck is this shit?

“You like Hanson,” I stated.

“But not all the time!” he exclaimed. “Okay? If I lose, you get to pick a tattoo. And if you lose, no Hanson for a week.”

We shook hands to seal the deal.

And that, my friends, is how setting goals with your partner is done. I advise you to pick a band to play nonstop to annoy your person so that it can be used whenever any negotiating comes up or wagers are made.

I Joined A Club

There are things you can do to bring yourself down a notch in your spouse’s eyes.

The first time I watched Sam open a can of Chef Boyardee and eat it between two slices of bread, my opinion of him definitely plummeted. “What a savage! Heat that Chef up properly!” I thought. The nasty sandwiches didn’t stop with the Chef, though–he also put cold beef stew, leftover macaroni and cheese, and mashed potatoes on sandwiches. As a person who has a strict no-mixing-or-touching-of-the-foods rule, that was awful.

Despite everything, even being on the receiving end of awful mood swings and witnessing the Captain Morgan debacle, I don’t think Sam has ever thought less of me for anything I’ve done. You could call him a wonderful husband…


…or you could say he has super low standards. You’re probably leaning towards the latter.

And then I finally did something last week to lower his opinion.

I’ve mentioned before that I have a slight obsession with a certain band. I listened to that band as a kid in middle school and continued listening as they grew into extremely talented adults that continued to touch on subjects I was dealing with in life (there’s songs relating to marriage, parenting, depression).

Despite how much of a fan I was, there was one thing I never did–join the fan club.

“I can’t believe you aren’t in the club,” my husband teased me once.

“I’d never,” I laughed, acting like I was above that. I was not one of those shrieky girl/women fans (the ones that make concerts less enjoyable for everyone and brag about how they’ve been fans forever and are in the club, even), after all. But even more so than that, it cost $40 for a year membership, and I wouldn’t even pay for a membership to one of the warehouse clubs. And I’m a SAHM. Membership to a warehouse club is second only to membership in a church. I don’t have that, either.

But last week, I got to really thinking about all of the music I was missing out on. These guys release special music for fan club members each year (sometimes multiple times) and I estimated that I was losing out on probably a hundred songs by now.

A hundred songs, y’all.

“It’s almost my birthday. I should have this music!” I told myself. And then I bit the bullet. After paying for the membership and the EPs from previous years, it was damn near $100. Almost a hundred songs for damn near $100, though. (As I write this I realize I broke our rule about clearing purchases over $25 or so with each other. Oops.)

I didn’t tell Sam. But he found out anyway.

I had a new song on in the car. He listened for a bit and commented on how good it was. I love it when he loves it, because he knows pretty much everything about music and the only time he has steered me wrong with his suggestions is with the Avett Brothers. (Yes, I realize I’m the only person who dislikes them.)

“Wait…is this a new song? Did they put on a new album? I haven’t heard this one before,” he said. He should damn well know, since that’s what I play in my car 90 percent of the time.

“It is,” I said with the sense of pride one might have when their child does something spectacular. “But it’s not on a new album…exactly…it’s on their new EP.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “But I thought they only released their EPs to fan club members.”


More silence.

“You joined their fan club, E?”


“So you’re now a card carrying member of their fan club?” he asked with a hint of derision.

I shook my head. “No. It hasn’t come in the mail yet.”

“Oh, E.” He gave me a look of disappointment. “I thought you weren’t going to do that.”

“Well…I wasn’t. But my birthday. And I won’t join next year–I’ll just join every few years or so that way I can get the music.”

“Sure you won’t.” He sighed. “My wife is a Fanson.” And then he shook his head and went into the bedroom to get on the computer. He’ll live, even though my reputation has taken a hit.

My membership card came in the mail today. It has my name on it and everything (the name is on the back). Maybe I’ll whip it out in an official manner at people and ask what’s playing on their iPod. Just kidding…Little Man has claimed it, since that’s his favorite band, too. He plans to put it in his wallet. Hopefully it doesn’t cause him to get picked on much the way this band caused trouble for me…still causes trouble.