Tagged : husband

in Baseball

It’s gone!

I found this entry in a sports blog last night. I often find my eyes straying to right field these days as well…must be something in the air… (And he shops at Target! OMG, if I ever met him at a Target, I would be content to…well, not die, but at least stub my toe real good.) (And, obviously, I am not so over my little Andre crush as I stated on previous posts.) (Although I did have a dream I was married to Blake DeWitt, so while Andre is still my favorite player, whenever I see Blake DeWitt on the TV, I sigh a little and think, “There’s my other husband.”)

They won last night, 7-2! I was sitting at my desk, quietly burning up with pent-up play-off fever when Loney hit his grand slam. I shouted (quietly) and spent the rest of the waning workday formatting a book with my hands while my ears were far, far away in Wrigley Field via the magic of my little $10 AM radio.

in Life of Giang

The birth of my husband, Hubo Valinsky

Curt’s work shirt is filthy. There’s a tenacious little almost-hole taking root near the front pocket, various ink stains, several committed dirt patches, and a lovely, musky man-stink smell that wafts up from it when I hug and kiss him goodbye in the mornings.

He knows it is a dirty shirt, but he refuses to buy another because 1) he sometimes climbs up poles, up ladders, and under houses (sometimes he comes home looking just like a red-headed Pigpen) so he’s bound to get dirty ANYWAY and 2) he is a supervisor and does not interact much with the general public, so who’s to care if he’s a bit rough around the edges?

(Anyway, that’s his logic.)

So he got to work this morning to find one of his installers, Hugo, refusing to wear the new shirts the company had bought for the installers (who interact with the public and are unreasonably expected to be clean) because they had printed his name as “Hubo”.

Besides the unimaginative Hugo, who of us would pass up the opportunity to be Hubo? Certainly not my husband! Not only did he take the shirt, but he had the following exchange with a customer about it:

Customer: Hubo, huh? What kind of a name is that – Hungarian?
Hubo: No, it’s Russian. And Polish.
Customer: Oh yeah? Pretty unusual, I’ve never heard of that before.
Hubo: Oh yeah, it’s a family name. It’s run in the family for years, and so that’s how I got it.
Customer: Huh! Hubo.
Hubo: Yeah. Hubo. Hubo Valinsky.

He has eight shirts, has Hubo. Ah well, says the long-suffering Mrs. Valinsky: at least they are clean! ;)

So, the Dodgers did not play tonight. I watched part of an Angels game instead, feeling a bit of baseball withdrawal. I wheedled Hubo (the erstwhile Curt) into getting tickets for a couple of Dodger’s games, and feel a little sad that the season will be ending just as I got back into the joys of rooting for a team. Then, while surfing the Dodger’s website, I discovered that Andre Ethier has a little blip of a blog on LA eateries.

After skimming through it, I realized two things:

First, that my little giggling infatuation with him is probably on its way out. I mean, there’s no denying he is a talented ball player and quite the handsome young buck (younger…than…me…), but reading his words and realizing that he’s actually a real person, with a real life, who actually was not created just for me to ogle? Suddenly it is a little creepy to giggle over him. Suddenly, I feel a bit stalkerish and intrusive (although I have not intruded in any way), and suddenly he’s just my favorite player who I’m looking forward to watching, but will no longer, you know, gush over.

(inpublicanywaybesidesthatiswhatpatrickdempseyisfor)

The second thing I thought about how I admire their community service and charity work, and yet rarely do anything like that myself. Granted, I probably have less free time and certainly have less money, but every little helps, so they say. The library has been looking for volunteers. Maybe I can sign up for that.

Alright, off to bed now. Whee almost Friday!

in Life of Giang

Wii Fit and other stuff

So Curt and I were lucky enough to find a Wii Fit at a local Target (and so my love affair with Target continues) and we splurged. At first, it seemed overrated. I mean, c’mon – it’s a gimmick with noises and whirly-gigs to get you to exercise. At its heart, it is still that. But after a few days of using it, I realized that it’s insanely convenient and quite fun. If exercise can be made either of those two things, you’re already halfway out the ballpark, right? So, it’s pretty cool. Worth the near $100.

July 4th was nice: traditional get-together at the Burdettes to watch fireworks. We also terrorized the local Lowes and brought home some nice plants for the patio. It’s now bedecked with greenery and feels home-y, no longer just a mini-dustbowl behind the apartment where I stash my bike amidst the black widow webs.

I realize that once upon a time, I used to be desperately sad and lonely. This is no longer true. It came so nimbly, I almost overlooked it: I’m happy. I’m happy with my husband, I’m happy with my life – despite working, and other everyday complaints.

And that ain’t bad. :)

Off I go to play this last silly Yahoo! Game (damn them!) and then to bed. Goodnight monkeys.

in Life of Giang

Morning sin, come on in!

Last night I had a racy dream about Patrick Dempsey. I woke up in a great mood, told Curt about the dream, and all he did was pat me on the head and tell me that was good for me. I badgered him until he exclaimed that if I ever dreamt about Patrick again, he would chop off my feet. A lie, of course: my husband is a singularly unjealous poop and doesn’t care about my nighttime dalliances with obscenely handsome men. I’ll show him!

I also recently lopped off all my hair. It feels great. Ah, why do I have hair at all! WHY! :)

Over dinner, Curt bet me (in his foolish, foolish belief that his memory is superior to mine) that one of the songs on the Jeff Buckley CD Grace was entitled Lilac Water instead of Lilac Wine. What a n00b. I won $100. I feel like Jesus.

Enough blasphemy and lust for the morning; off I go to be my sinful self.

in Life of Giang

Only when evil is near!

I’ve not been sleeping well the last few days since the cats are little assholes and making tons of noise in the morning. When I do sleep, I have nightmares about the wedding. When I say nightmares, I mean actual nightmares: dismembered limbs and colossal car crashes and things like that. As a result, my eye has been twitching for the last couple of days. I’m a delight.

Sheena‘s been talking about budgeting herself lately. I confess that I sort of fell off the wagon for awhile in terms of keeping track of every little thing – I usually keep a careful eye on what I’m spending money on in general and a good idea of how much money it is each month, but it’s not as detailed as it should be. That’s the danger of course: devil’s in the those little things I buy. So, after I read her entry about it, I went online looking for a good spreadsheet to help out with keeping a budget. Yes, I could have made one, but it wouldn’t have been as pretty as the one I found called PearBudget. They have a web beta going on that will eventually turn into a pay service, but if you do a search you should be able to get your hands on the free Excel version. It seems pretty useful for basic expense tracking and budgeting, and I plan on shaking down the Pre-Husband for his receipts and keeping track of what we have going on. Yes, Quicken and MS Money will do the same stuff, and more, but I’m a sucker for pretty, simple little spreadsheets when they come my way. (That’s the geek in me.) (Which is most of me, if I’m honest. ;) )

When I was a kid, we were too poor to buy books so my mom took us to the library a lot. When I got to earning my own money, I started buying a lot of books, just so I could have them. After I tore that tendon in my ankle, the podiatrist I was going to gave me his copy of Hannibal and said, “Just pass it along after you’re done with it – I don’t really believe in holding on to books after I’m done with them.” And I was like, “What?” But now, older and with an apartment brim full of STUFF, I recognize the wisdom of the good foot doctor. For the most part, I’m not a big re-reader. A few books – Dracula, Jane Eyre, a few of my short story anthologies and how-to books – are keepers, but for the most part, books just sort of sit there. I do not pick them up again. This goes for a lot of the other stuff we own – knick-knacks, stuffed animals – all this STUFF all over!

It reminds me of that game I blogged about a few months ago, Beautiful Katamari, (the “katamari” means “clump” in Japanese) the object of which was to roll a ball of stuff that gets so big it can eventually plug up the hole the King of the Cosmos has created in the universe with his stray Cosmic tennis ball. It sounds silly – but really, how far from the truth is it? Not very, man, not very.

I’m going to try to freecycle a lot of the books and other stuff I don’t look at anymore, in hopes of finding loving homes for them.

Lesson to self: listen to your foot doctor, for he is wise.

in Life of Giang

Moo :(

Last night I had a dream that Curt and I got into a fight, then he won $500 in the lottery and left me. I woke up, frantic, nearly in tears, shoved him a few times and snuggled up against him to make sure he was still there and I wouldn’t have to kick his freakin’ ass for leaving me for $500. He hadn’t, but the sadness lingered. It’s funny how that happens with dreams. I actually still remember the cold, hopeless feeling in the pit of my stomach when he told me he no longer loved me. And I remember just standing, watching him go, acutely aware there was nothing I could do to make it all come back, and it was so goddamned sad.

Then, I went to work and heard about it maybe really happening to someone else. It made me very sad. I remember watching an episode of Sisters once. One of the sisters was sitting on the porch, having a conversation with her husband, after all the fighting was over with and they knew it was the end for them, the sister says, “It’s like a thin, worn out old blanket – no matter how we keep trying to stretch it and stretch it, it’s just not big enough anymore.” In my mind, it encompasses the sentiment of helplessness and sad resignation of lost love – this thin blanket, spotted through with holes from the effort of making it all try to be enough, but seeing all the while it just won’t ever be.

I’m sad. I’m sorry for their sadness.

in RANT

HRM!

On the way to work today I heard a news story about a husband and wife living in Orange County who could not afford health insurance for themselves and their three children. They owned a $500,000 house. The wife stayed at home and the husband was self employed, making $70,000 a year. During one point of the interview, the wife exclaimed, “I just don’t like the fact that we’re being penalized for our choices.”

Are you fucking kidding me.

Yes, I too would like to live in a world where I am never penalized for making choices that negatively affect me. Or any choices at all! In fact, I’d like to stay home, and have Curt work and still be able to afford to pay our rent and eat, and go out and buy stuff and everything. That would be great, thanks.

It’s really not that I don’t sympathize. Health care costs are ridiculous these days (not that I believe that is entirely the fault of the insurance companies, though it is a shady, despicable business). But how can people THINK that way?

This is along the same lines as the news story about the couple who had eight children, were living in poverty and railing against the government for lack of support BUT they flat out refused to stop having children because the husband wanted a son. I just wanted to reach out my mighty smiting hand and strike them both down for their complete and utter stupidity: his for being a stupid, macho dickhead, and hers for not kicking his ass for being a stupid, macho dickhead.

AARARGHAGHAGHAHGAHGAGA!!!1!!!!

Back to scheduled programming.