One time someone asked Angelface what he thought of my blog. Angel said that it’s a funny read, but imagine having to live it 24/7. With that, the questioner’s face turned sympathetic, and he gave Angelface a conciliatory pat on the back.

Don’t get me wrong, Angel really loves me, but yeah it’s stuff like this that can elicit a groan every once in a while:

Picture this – Angelface has just spent an hour washing my beloved Corolla, Ruby, in 90 degree heat. I meanwhile, have been reading Rollingstone and taking a cat nap all afternoon. (Note: cat naps here do not mean 15 minutes of shut eye. Hell no. Rather, I am referring to the fact that my two kittinks were napping with me while I spent three hours staring at the back of my eyelids. But I digress).

Angelface wakes me from my lazy slumber to report on his progress. He’s sweaty, tired and a little cranky looking.

Husband says, “Hey, I’ve been washing and detailing Ruby. I just need to put a coat of wax on.”

Wife says, “Mm hmm.”

Husband says, “Hey, why don’t you help?”

Wife says (channeling Mr. Miyagi circa 1984), “But of course darling. I’m really good at waxing off.”

I know I’m a day late on this, but happy anniversary Angelface! For all the 365 times you begged for an evening back scratch only to hold me down and gleefully fart on my face if I didn’t give you one, thank you.

Love you B!

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God willing, we’ll be sharing secrets this week! Stay tuned.

Today we bought a Jeep… again. We used to have a Jeep. It was black and cute and bubbly-looking. As a matter of fact, the Jeep we purchased today is pretty much the very same Jeep we used to have back in the day.

Today’s purchase marked the end of a year long bitch n’ moan session facilitated by Hänni House’s favorite hubby, Angelface. The story: In 2002 Angelface leases his first car, a very practical Toyota Echo. Three months into Angelface’s lease Hänni makes the mistake of calling the Echo a “clown car” (which was funny when you consider that the car was so teeny and its driver was a big, hulking giant of a man with size 15 feet. But whatevuh). Shortly after the Clown Car incident of ’02 Angelface attempts to redeem his masculinity by purchasing the rough and tumble Jeep Liberty.

It’s a story that’s as old as time. Boy and Liberty Meet. Boy and Liberty Fall in Love. Boy and Liberty live happily ever after until…

Gas skyrockets up to $1.75 a gallon! (Thanks mutha f*in Bush administration!)

Suddenly the Liberty lost some luster. On a whim, and doing what he believed was – in the words of Martha Stewart – a good thing, Angelface traded in his beloved Jeep for the more efficient (and thus slightly more affordable) Chrysler Sebring.

And about this mistake, Angelface has been kvetching incessantly ever since.

It’s really been annoying as shit.

You see true love never dies, and that’s what he had with the Liberty. She was his first, his last, his 4wheel thing. Hell, he even wept when giving away his leather wipes, the little chemical cloths that brought him so much pleasure when he detailed the Jeep fortnightly.

To add insult to injury, the Sebring really turned out to be a POS. It mysteriously started getting SUV mileage right about the time that gas prices rose in excess of two “holy freakin shit” dollars a gallon. Nice timing methinks. In addition, it also made a mysterious clunking noise (which I suspect was a bum transmission), and had unusually screechy breaks, headaches, nausea, oily anal discharge, and a partridge in a pear tree.

But I digress.

Long story short, even though I hate going to the dealership…Even though I’d rather go the gynecologist than spend one minute face to face with a skeezy, greezy salesman… Even though I’d rather go to the gynecologist and have her do a five-finger anal probe rather than spend one second of my day on a car lot… I was a good wifey and accompanied Angel on his trip to the showroom floor for what would turn out to be the happiest of days.

I’m happy because Angelface is smiling more, and whining less. He’s happy because today my friends, we purchased a black, cute, bubbly-looking Jeep…again.

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The secret. It really is coming.

Don’t ever get married.

That’s what Nice Guy was telling DonutDave from QA this afternoon. Apparently Nice Guy’s wife, afraid he’d start opening e-mails from work, decided to bar the ‘Guy from accessing the ‘Net from their family’s computer.

A bipartisan man by nature, Nice Guy was sure to throw in an alternative for swinging singleton, DonutDave. “Or marry someone you can dominate”, said Nice Guy all thoughtful-like, “and then tell her, “I’ll go on the Internet when I frickin’ want to cause I pay the G*# D*&& bills!”

And I got to thinking, I wonder if that would work at my house. I can see it now: I’m all happy in front of my flat screen, reading rock star gossip, blogging, or playing snood, when in walks Angelface, spent from a long day at work.

He looks to me and nods his head ever so slightly. Too tired to speak, he merely grunts an acknowledgement of my presence. This is my cue to exit the captain’s seat – immediately. Angelface needs to catch up on his reading – sports and world news await.

Instead of exiting the office chair, nonchalantly, I do as Nice Guy recommends. I say “I’m not getting my duffer off this chair. I’ll go on the Internet when I frickin? want to cause I pay the G*# D*&& bills!”

And then Angelface, with a look of consternation and concern (concern for pgatour.com which he has to see right. f-ing. now.), lifts me by my wimpy “my muscles are made of spinach and sweet potatoes” yogafied limbs, and tosses me from the leather chair.

I land on the floor and whimper for a while. Eventually Belle and Sphynx come by to play in my armpits and lick my nostrils.

Great theory Nice Guy. But like Gary Coleman, Kato Kaelin, Vanilla Ice, and that guy who played Screech on Saved By The Bell, it needs work.