Monthly Archives: August 2009

Your Guy May Not Do the Robot, but It's in Him, Trust Me

[editor's note: I'm taking a day off to let my husband take over the blog for a day.  I may regret this but he feels as if he's got things he needs to share with you all.  And who knows...maybe it'll become a regular feature.  Just as long as he doesn't start posting pictures of me in a zebra bathrobe!]

By longstanding male tradition, (look it up, it’s the law in most states) Sundays are days set aside for guys to be guys. Obviously, we like to call it “Game Day,” and create an elaborate (loud, booze-fueled and, to some wives, annoying) ceremony around a football or baseball game.

Hmm, come to think of it, we like to call Saturday “Game Day” also, and do pretty much the same thing. Just yesterday I went to great lengths to explain to my amazing wife why Arsenal-ManU followed immediately by A.C. Milan-Inter was such a great way to spend most of Saturday afternoon (it was even raining in Brooklyn), but for some reason, she mostly crashed on the couch with a magazine.  Is it me?

Well, Sunday’s also a perfect day for this annoying husband to swing his robot arms onto the computer keyboard. (Robot says hard to type with hooks for hands!)

Here’s the thing I should say.  While–ready for this?–some very reputable institutions have honored me (yes, honored me) with the title “New York’s Most Annoying Husband” and now even the ultimate achievement in Annoying Wifey:  ”WORLD’s Most Annoying Husband,” it’s only somewhat gone to my head.  I know I’m hardly unique.  (Have you read the comments at all?  Wow.  I’ve got to study up on what some of the other husbands are up to!  True genius!)  I’m just a regular husband who loves his wife more than words can ever express and thinks one of our true strengths is we never expected each other to be perfect.  I’d go nuts in a week with a Stepford Wife on my hands.  All yes, honey, and here’s the potroast, dear?  Gimme my sexy goofy super-smart and insanely funny real-life wife any day of the week (preferably every day of the week).

Stepford Wives: They Shop, But Rarely Laugh at Fart Jokes. Just Not Worth It.

How would a Stepford Wife (a robot, yes) react to me speaking like a robot?  She’d probably tell me how much she loves me, then get off the couch and start doing dishes.  What!?  That’s not what I need!  I want an annoyed who is this nutjob I married look, followed by the slow breaking smile, and then the full can’t help myself laugh.  That’s what I live for.

And when she does her quirky stuff (and you know she’s got plenty) I laugh, too.  We got into our marriage “as is” warts and all.  And probably, looking back, the quirks were a key part of it.  We knew we weren’t perfect. We just loved each other so much we couldn’t imagine another day not married.  And, yes, the opportunity to produce some giggling, happy, weird as all getout kids.  (The best kind–those little robot perfect kids kinda freak me out)

So yeah, am I honored to be The World’s Most Annoying Husband–with a daily website devoted to each and every quirk that makes my wife laugh?  You bet I am.  But trust me, when she stops laughing, I take that particular quirk out of my lineup.  I’m all about laughing together, not being in my own “But honey, I think I’m hilarous” world.  I’ve seen some guys try that, and it goes bad.

So I’ll stick with it, and I’m sure you’ll be seeing a few more choice photos from my efforts to get my wife’s goat and make her laugh while watching TV, or getting dressed on vacation in our hotel room, or buying pasta in the market. (Comments from Ireland, however, have scared me off attempting a brogue in a real live Irish pub during our Dublin trip, however, for risk of a beatdown)

On Top Down Under: World's Most Annoying Husband!

But guys–seriously–you gonna let me hold on to this title?  World’s Most Annoying Husband?  You know you’ve got it in you to give me a run for it.  So let’s hear what you’ve got!  But of course, I won’t be going down without a fight.  It’s a pride thing now.  (And the green sweater?  It’s in protective custody.  Nobody’s taking it away from me.)  So on with the games!

Danger!  Danger!

A while back, my husband decided he wanted to start calling me by a pet name. (Don’t ask why; I like my actual name perfectly fine.)  He ran through a multitude of options until one day he started calling me “my little baby muskrat”.  He really seemed to enjoy this one and used it often.  I actually thought it was kind of sweet and had visions of a fluffy, adorable animal whose very existence would just make you want to find the nearest person and grab them in a giant bear hug.

Cute, right?

So I finally decided to google ‘muskrat’ to see exactly what this darling animal looked like.  What exactly was this charming, lovable creature that my husband had decided was worthy of his term of endearment?

Uh…thanks, honey.

My Annoying Husband and I are scheduled to be on the CBS Early Show Monday morning, most likely in the 8am hour.  Watch for us!

I’ve heard from SO many women who have said they think our husbands must have been cloned or separated at birth.  Could it possibly be true?  Are there really other robot-talking, green-sweater-wearing, odd-birthday-gift-giving, laughs hysterically at fart jokes men (and even women, apparently!) out there?

Well, call this Photo Friday.  Here’s a picture of my husband doing his finest ‘Zoolander’.  He is constantly making weird faces and striking poses.  I’m not sure if he thinks there are cameras everywhere catching his every move or if it’s some kind of tic.

"How YOU doin'?"

Can it possibly be that there are other wives (or girlfriends) who have photos of their men as disastrously bad as this?  If so, I need to see them immediately!  Send them to me at myhusbandisannoying@live.com and I’ll post the worst of the worst on Photo Fridays.  Don’t be afraid…we’re all friends here.  (You’ve been telling me about your guys’ versions of the infamous green sweater; some of them sound pretty camera unfriendly but I’d sure like to see them!)

MHIA READERS RESPOND!

From Chandra about her husband Chris:

She says: this is “the burnt orange Texas Longhorns cap that he has had since he was 13 (he’s 24 now) that he wears constantly. Its not an outfit unless he’s wearing the cap. The hat smells terrible because he’s never washed it and is more brown now from dirt than orange. I’ve been told that if I wash the hat, I’m going to be out on the curb. It’s that serious.”

(And what is it with husbands and beers in every picture, anyway?)

Now want to see what’s under that cap? “Then we have the devil horns that he loves to twist his hair into (using lots of spit of course) and make silly faces whenever he’s in between hair cuts and his hair starts getting a little unruly.”

Nice! Thanks Chandra!

From Brandy:

“He thinks he’s sooooo cool.”

From Amber:

“One day, I walked by the bedroom door, then reversed and did a double take. My husband was reading, but had a pen stuck in one nostril and a highlighter in the other. He looked at me casually as if to say, ‘what?’

‘Um, you have pens up your nose.’

‘Yes. You have to do something to fight the boredom! Don’t you do that?’

‘No…’

And I walked out of the room and immediately got the camera. Unfortunately, he had already removed the highlighter (he needed to use it to mark his book) but the pen was still there.”

From Tatiana about her boyfriend Tyler:
“Tyler insists on me taking his picture all the time. This is a picture of Tyler and his dinner lobster Larry in Maine.”

Tatiana, I have to admit I don’t know many people who (a) take pictures with their dinner and (b) name it!

My husband and I have been thinking about taking a trip to Dublin.  Neither one of us has ever been to Ireland and it’s someplace that we’d both really like to go. Ever since we started talking about it a few weeks ago, my husband has started to say everything in an Irish brogue.  The problem is that his accent isn’t very good and I’m pretty sure that he’s actually doing some kind of Scottish accent instead.

Maybe I could get him one of these?

I’m convinced that when we do actually go to Dublin, he’ll insist on talking to everybody there in that awful accent because he’ll think he can pass himself off as a local.  (“I’ll have a pint of Guinness, lad”)  The good news?  We’ll be able to get more pictures of him holding up beer.  Because we definitely don’t have enough of those.

This past weekend was my birthday.  Now, my husband has many fine qualities but the romance part?  Well, let’s just say that continues to be a work in progress. He did arrange a nice brunch with family and gave me some very sweet cards.  But the gift he was most excited about and the one he chose to tell people about was…a calculator.

He shouldn't have. Really.

Yes, that’s right.  My husband gave me a calculator for my birthday.  Just to give you a little context, I’m in charge of the finances in our relationship.  I do all the bills, all the banking and basically make all of the financial decisions.  I have on occasion complained about the calculator on my iPhone being too small.  So I suppose he figured the calculator was a thoughtful gift.  Or maybe he just wanted me to stop complaining while I did the bills.

BUT WAIT!  There’s more!

Perhaps you’re thinking, “ok, so he got you a calculator for your birthday.  That’s odd.  But I’m sure he took you out for a nice romantic dinner, right?”  Reasonable question. But don’t forget this is my husband we’re talking about.  So where do you think my fancy birthday was?  Give up?

Happy Birthday To Me...

Yes indeed.  Five Guys Burgers and Fries.  Alright – in fairness to my husband, we ran a half-marathon that morning, spent the afternoon with family and were exhausted by the time evening rolled around.  It’s likely neither of us could have made it through dinner at a restaurant; we probably would’ve passed out after the first glass of wine.  So, a cheeseburger for my birthday it was.  To top off that amazing story of romance, my husband ate a cheese dog, a bacon cheeseburger AND french fries then proceeded to complain the rest of the night about having a stomachache and asking why I didn’t stop him from eating all that food.  Sound familiar?