Before we begin I have to say it’s been a bummer that I can’t keep up with my website lately. I’ve been busy with side projects, such as my upcoming Bigfoot novel. And every minute I pour into those projects takes away a minute from my blogs, podcasts, and funny videos.
My Bigfoot novel will be published quite soon, perhaps within the next month. And I’ll update everyone when it’s published on Kindle, Nook, and iTunes.
Without the time to blog I’m losing my ability to rant effectively. I’m not the same writer I was a few years ago, when I was posting every week. So write now–I mean, right now I’m forcing myself to write so I can hone my favorite craft once more.
Another reason I haven’t posted anything is because life is getting better. Many of my past posts were inspired by life’s frustrations. So with nothing to complain about, how can I possibly blog…?
On second thought, I actually shouldn’t say there’s nothing to complain about. I always have at least one reason to complain because I’m married to my wife 😉
That being said…
Our third year of marriage flew by faster than any other. Three years ago I predicted my wife would grow tired of me, dream of other men, and ask for a divorce. And while my wife has grown tired of me, and admitted to dreaming of other men—Donnie Wahlberg, Jon Hamm—she has not filed for divorce. As the despicable Charlie Sheen once plagiarized from Happy Gilmore, I guess you could say I’m “WINNING.”
So many amazing things happened during this, our third year of marriage: We adopted an amazing dog. And we… uhhhhhhhhhhhh………hmmmmmmmm………yeah, I guess that’s pretty much all we did this year.
Here are the essential areas my wife was graded on this past year:
One of the consequences of getting a dog or having a child is that your wife’s attention gets divided UNEQUALLY among everyone in the household. Before the dog was around I used to get 43% of my wife’s attention, while the other 57% was on the T.V. or images of Jon Hamm on her iPhone.
Now with the dog sniffing around I’m lucky if my wife notices me when I get home from work. Even the dog doesn’t really give a shit. Lady Brady will come up to sniff and kiss me, and then sprint right back to my wife on the couch. They clearly love and pay attention to each other more than me. And that’s completely fine with me. I actually wish they would continue that pattern while I play video games because that seems to be the only time both of them bark at me to stop playing and pay attention to them!
Husband Attention Grade: C
As my birthday approached I asked my wife for two, 50-pound dumbbells. In years past when I asked for things like gift cards to GameStop or Amazon, she would always complain that it was a “boring birthday gift to give someone.”
Like a temperamental five-year-old, I would explain to her in a whiny voice, “WHO CARES? THAT’S WHAT I WANT!”
My wife, being a creative type, tends to buy me things like beer-making kits and expensive shaving equipment. Half the time I end up returning those gifts because I have no use for them. For one, my trusty Panasonic electronic razor never fails me. And beer tastes better from the liquor store than my bathtub. Therefore, Brookstone and their overpriced shaving products can go to hell.
This year was no different. My wife didn’t follow through with my Amazon gift-card request or two, fifty-pound dumbbells. Instead she surprised me. And in doing so she forgot the basics of male psychology: We are a simple breed. We typically don’t like surprises. And we always say what we want.
The difference about her surprise this year was that I liked it. She bought me a green screen so I could enhance my incredibly stupid Moloshka and Boston Jew videos!
But let’s not jump to conclusions about her grade here.
Although it was a great gift, I can’t give her an ‘A+.’ I’m forced to split this grading into two areas:
Listening Skills Grade: F
Present Creativity: A
Yes, she lets out an “ewww” and holds her nose. But she doesn’t run away from the smells, she doesn’t spray air freshener, she doesn’t tell me to hold it in next time, and she doesn’t hit me.
Man-Scent Tolerance Grade: Infinite+
No. She hates them. I can only watch them when she’s out of the house or asleep.
Schwarzenegger Blu-Ray Patience Grade: Z+
Here’s a typical weeknight in the master bedroom: There I am laying down and about to fall asleep. I just got through eight hours of work, 45 minutes of exercise, house chores, and hopefully at least 30 minutes of video games. I’m exhausted in bed.
Once I’m in this position I don’t want to move until the following morning when the alarm clock and classical music goes off.
I cover myself in the blanket. I stick my feet out from the edge of the blanket because I hate when they’re under the covers–it gets too hot for my feet. I position my pillow under my head and neck. I open my Kindle and begin reading. About 15 minutes of reading and I will be fast asleep. I read the first two sentences, when suddenly I hear the sound of, “Baby, can you get me water?”
Hers is such a sweet voice, but the request itself pierces my entire nervous system. Why couldn’t she ask me five minutes ago while I was standing? Why now, God? Why?!
With all my strength I hold back a sigh of frustration because that would insult her. “Sure, baby,” I say pleasantly, as I walk to the bathroom, grab a cup, and fill it with tap water. I pray that she doesn’t ask me to walk downstairs and get her filtered water from the fridge downstairs instead.
She never does. Phew!
I have since added a nightly reminder in my phone that goes off at 9 p.m. and reminds me to bring water to the bedroom for my wife.
Getting water for herself grade: W-
For the third straight year I couldn’t ask for a better wife, life, and… <insert word that rhymes with ‘life’>.
I have ten-times the minimal faults of my wife, so who am I to complain?! Anyway, thanks for stopping by, everyone! Until next year… if she still keeps me around.
P.S. I was going to post an overall grade, but my wife would just tell me I’m wrong and say she’s perfect.
Ability To Self-Grade Herself Realistically Grade: F+
Rel “BostonJew” Mathiowitz is a neurotic, panicky writer who details his pathetic life stories and frustrated points of view.
Rel is 6 foot 5; however, he makes himself appear to be 5 foot 5 because he wants women to lust for him for his personality, and not his grand stature.