Let's get real here people, I'm probably the last person who should own a house because I have zero patience.
I have zero patience when my heat stops working. I want to be able to call maintenance to come and fix it and go about my day. I have zero patience for annoying bill companies either. When I lived in an apartment, I didn't have to deal with the Cleveland Water department. If you live in Cleveland have to deal with this company, I'm sure you can empathize and if you've been fighting with them for a solid year now, you probably understand my point even more.
Plus, there's gardening, roofs that cost as much as three trips to Mexico and other items that seem to break at the most inopportune times.
Last week, the BF and I got into it about housework.
"Allison, I think it's pretty clear which one of us does more work around the house."
"Ohhhhhh really, BF. Because you've cleaned the bathroom how many times in the last year?"
"When have you ever mopped?"
"I don't even know where you hide the mop!"
(Yes, he hides the mop. How the hell am I supposed to find the mop when he puts it in a closet I didn't even know we had?)
Happy homeowning I tell you!
Showing posts with label fighting with the B.F.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fighting with the B.F.. Show all posts
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
DVR was my friend
The TV is hands down the biggest fight that happens in our apartment. Besides the fact that I leave clothes on the floor and I don't clean enough (whatever!), I think the TV comes a close to first to our number one source of fighting.
Why?
Because the BF thinks he somehow commands the TV. As if he's a caveman and he owns the whole domain of the TV. Newsflash - ya don't, I live there too. Because he thinks he owns the TV, he also conveniently deletes my Dvr'd shows. For example, Idol never EVER taped on Tuesday nights. Interesting, huh?
So what if I like to watch the ridiculous opulence known as the New Jersey Housewives with their big hair, Botox and mafia ties? Sooooo what! And who cares if I DVR every episode of Oprah?
The BF likes to watch the History channel, shows about man eating catfish (no joke) and Rescue Me! (I like Rescue Me too but what the hell is up with the man-eating-catfish show?!)
BF, please pay special attention to this part. Just because I'm home and dvring the shows doesn't mean I have to watch them when they are on. That's the beauty of DVR - I make the shows fit within my schedule and I wait to watch them it's convenient for me.
XOXO
Why?
Because the BF thinks he somehow commands the TV. As if he's a caveman and he owns the whole domain of the TV. Newsflash - ya don't, I live there too. Because he thinks he owns the TV, he also conveniently deletes my Dvr'd shows. For example, Idol never EVER taped on Tuesday nights. Interesting, huh?
So what if I like to watch the ridiculous opulence known as the New Jersey Housewives with their big hair, Botox and mafia ties? Sooooo what! And who cares if I DVR every episode of Oprah?
The BF likes to watch the History channel, shows about man eating catfish (no joke) and Rescue Me! (I like Rescue Me too but what the hell is up with the man-eating-catfish show?!)
BF, please pay special attention to this part. Just because I'm home and dvring the shows doesn't mean I have to watch them when they are on. That's the beauty of DVR - I make the shows fit within my schedule and I wait to watch them it's convenient for me.
XOXO
Monday, January 7, 2008
Stupid fight #453
So, as I've learned over this weekend, the B.F. and I can not, I repeat, can not merge decorating tastes. Not only do we look alike, but we are both stubborn know-it-alls. I'll admit it. I am. And I also take things a bit too far now and then. At times I try and edit my personality, but I can't quite cut it.
We needed to return a gift from Christmas so we headed to Pier 1.
(Disclaimer: Neither of us were good moods at this point. He was racing in Cleveland Heights on a Saturday afternoon. This doesn't happen. It can't happen when you have Saturday drivers. I then close my eyes and wait until we we are at our destination. In his mind, he's the perfect driver. In mine, I think I'm going to die and can't fathom that because I have one too many things to do in this life yet. Therefore, I bitch at his driving skills.)
When we get to Pier 1, he returns the product, walks up to me and says, "Pick something out you want."
What I hear: (I don't want to be here long, so let's make this as painless as possible.)
I casually browse through each aisle looking for something to fit in our-yet-be-decided motif. (We have couches and a media stand. I'd hardly call that a style.)
I can't pick anything out. I'm not in the mood for decorating because we need so many items. I'm overwhelmed and interested in everything I see. I find these circular tea light candles holders that are a distressed gold color, plus 50 freaking percent off! Who could argue! I pick up a few and am thinking of putting them on the dining table with a runner underneath it. (I particularly like gold/cranberry/rich browns and muted oranges as a color scheme.) I pick out what is a bad example of the table runner and he says, "Allison, you can't make everything in the apartment shabby chic."
Me: Shabby chic?
B.F.: Yes, Shabby chic.
Me: (Instantly angry because a) he was mocking my taste and b) he clearly didn't know his designers because those candle holders were the furthest thing from shabby chic.)
Some other kind words were exchanged with him walking out of the store and me standing there still thinking my candle holders were pretty cool. So, I put them back down in the basket and casually walk out to the car where the B.F. is pouting.
When I get in the car, he says with a smirk, "No gold candle holders?" I glared at him and replied "no."
We bickered the rest of the night and onto the next morning. Seriously, we were indirectly fighting over distressed gold candle holders that were 50 percent off. At least we both realized it. He wanted to make a pact, "If I stopped being a bitch, he'd stop being a dick."
We did learn one valuable lesson. Guess we shouldn't try agreeing on any other decorations for the apartment -- or at least not any candle holders at the moment.
We needed to return a gift from Christmas so we headed to Pier 1.
(Disclaimer: Neither of us were good moods at this point. He was racing in Cleveland Heights on a Saturday afternoon. This doesn't happen. It can't happen when you have Saturday drivers. I then close my eyes and wait until we we are at our destination. In his mind, he's the perfect driver. In mine, I think I'm going to die and can't fathom that because I have one too many things to do in this life yet. Therefore, I bitch at his driving skills.)
When we get to Pier 1, he returns the product, walks up to me and says, "Pick something out you want."
What I hear: (I don't want to be here long, so let's make this as painless as possible.)
I casually browse through each aisle looking for something to fit in our-yet-be-decided motif. (We have couches and a media stand. I'd hardly call that a style.)
I can't pick anything out. I'm not in the mood for decorating because we need so many items. I'm overwhelmed and interested in everything I see. I find these circular tea light candles holders that are a distressed gold color, plus 50 freaking percent off! Who could argue! I pick up a few and am thinking of putting them on the dining table with a runner underneath it. (I particularly like gold/cranberry/rich browns and muted oranges as a color scheme.) I pick out what is a bad example of the table runner and he says, "Allison, you can't make everything in the apartment shabby chic."
Me: Shabby chic?
B.F.: Yes, Shabby chic.
Me: (Instantly angry because a) he was mocking my taste and b) he clearly didn't know his designers because those candle holders were the furthest thing from shabby chic.)
Some other kind words were exchanged with him walking out of the store and me standing there still thinking my candle holders were pretty cool. So, I put them back down in the basket and casually walk out to the car where the B.F. is pouting.
When I get in the car, he says with a smirk, "No gold candle holders?" I glared at him and replied "no."
We bickered the rest of the night and onto the next morning. Seriously, we were indirectly fighting over distressed gold candle holders that were 50 percent off. At least we both realized it. He wanted to make a pact, "If I stopped being a bitch, he'd stop being a dick."
We did learn one valuable lesson. Guess we shouldn't try agreeing on any other decorations for the apartment -- or at least not any candle holders at the moment.
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