What time?

Time for the weekend in review, duh.

Have you ever done a weekend in review before?

Well, no, but it seemed like a good idea, so I’m going to.

Get on with it, then.

Fine. Saturday, I decided to get my nifty thrifty finds on at our local Urban Mining. The best part was, sharing the afternoon with my gal pal @hrdlyclvr. (Follow her on Twitter! She’s actually quite clever.) I was looking for a coffee table. While I didn’t find that, I found some other fun items.

Looking for a quirky new chandelier? How ’bout this hatty one.

I really need an elephant with his party hat on.

A stack of whimsical fabric covered stools? Slightly Pinteresty, but too adorable not to share.

@Hrdlyclvr has a fancy music degree. (She’s a profesh musician, yo.) So, I think she was very qualified to pose for this picture.

I sent a text to Mr. Q, asking if he thought our parties would be enhanced if we owned this fun and oh so safe backyard game. Yeah, not so much…

And finally, I couldn’t resist picking up these kitschy cocktail trays. I’m dreaming up a classic cocktail soiree just to use them…

After urban mining, grocery shopping and miscellaneous errands, Mr. Quirky and I met some friends out to watch football. Correction: so they could watch football an I could have vodka sodas.

It got a little heated during the Lions v. Saints games. We let two rivaling fans sit next to each other.

We were later joined by a friend who was on a first date and wanted to bring her new man around to meet the gang. They stuck around for a drink.

When they got up to leave, he shook everyone’s hand and said it was nice to meet us. What a nice thing to do, right?

So what do I say in response to his polite salutation?

“Good luck!”

REALLY? Good luck? Ugh… So awkward. Good luck, I hope it lasts? Good luck, tonight? Good luck with your life, because I’ll probably never see you again?

Sometimes I wonder why anyone lets me out in public.

Luckily Mr. Quirky is used to my weirdness.

Today (Sunday), I got some stuff done around the house, discovered where all my missing socks were — in a load of laundry I apparently left in the dryer, took Ms. Gertie on a mega walk, clipped recipes from Cooking Light and in general got my Sunday on.

Is that all? I was kind of expecting a bit more the way you set this post up.

Yeah, well, well…. good luck.

Three months earlier, I was sitting at a kitchen table in Cedar Rapids, IA declaring that Mr. Q and I were not the buying type and were very content to be low-maintenance renters. (Otherwise, what happens in Cedar Rapids, stays in Cedar Rapids, so we’ll leave it at that.)

It’s funny how life changes.

It was a whirlwind crazy process, made slightly easier by the fact that one of my best friends was our real estate agent. I have to admit, looking at other peoples’ houses is quite fun. It’s kind of like being a guest without having to mind your manners. There was the one house where Mr. Q had to drag me away from the garden where I was inches away from grabbing a handful of fresh rosemary from a massive rosemary plant(bush?) There was the other house where there was a bathroom with a massive Jacuzzi tub right off the kitchen. I mean, we’re talking inches away from the stove. So bizarre. And while the idea of jumping up to stir my soup mid-bath was slightly intriguing, I had to wonder who had THAT idea?

Complicating our house buying experience was the fact that I pretty much lived in Chicago due to work travel during the month of October. This meant that Mr. Quirky had to do all the heavy lifting in getting our loan. Let’s just say, Mr. Quirky was gifted a pair of Chiefs football tickets because without him, we would NOT have gotten our loan.

I absolutely love the new Quirkyville. Most people have said it is “so us.”

(Whatever THAT means.)

But seriously, this house is awesome. Here are some of my favorite things we’ve put in it:

I have always wanted one of these:

I can already see the wine that will be sloshed while sitting in it this summer.

For Christmas, Mr. Quirky got me this. It’s so amazing. The cooking pot is currently in the shop (it’s practically an antique.) But I cannot WAIT until we fire this bad boy up.

Our house is old, like over 100 years old. I like to think of all the glamorous ladies who must have lived here. I have a pretty big imagination. Anyhow, I bought this at an antique market so I could try to be one of them.

I wanted to get a new bedspread set for our bedroom. Okay, so I really wanted an excuse to shop at Anthropologie. But the set I wanted was sold out online. So, I found it on eBay for a decent price. Two weeks after I got it, I went to the Black Friday sale and found it sitting in a sale bin for about 70% LESS than I paid for it. It made me sick. But despite that, I still love it. It’s called the Love Letters duvet set, and it’s made from old love letters from a vintage book store in Brooklyn. Isn’t it sweet? It’s fun to try to read some of them too.

Speaking of reading, you never know when you are going to need a little assistance in life. A Magic 8 ball can come in very handy…

“You May Rely On It.”

There’s nothing wrong with that.

Discovering your husband is Pinteresty? Now that’s a problem.

Earlier this week, I made it clear that according to Pinterest, I fall well below the bar on innovations around the home.

After a few glasses of wine with my girlfriends, I discovered, Mr. Quirky has been secretly trying to raise the bar in Quirkyville. Damn him!

This is how it went down.

Friend number one was trying to leave, but she couldn’t find her keys. Friend number two went on a key-finding excursion.

I stayed put and drank more wine, because that’s the type of hostess I am.

Friend number two was not coming up with any lost keys, but she did think it was clever to have a shoe organizer on the main floor. Only when she looked in the shoe cubbies, she discovered….the shoe holder was not keeping the Quirky family shoes organized.

Wait a second! These aren't shoes!

The clever Mr. Quirky turned a shoe organizer into a remote control organizer.

And just like that, he became Pinteresty right under my nose.

I almost panicked and started looking for an old Lysol Wipes container to start filling with expertly rolled Target bags, but I stopped myself.

Because I can’t compete with that kind of home storage innovation.

And because there was wine to drink.

Meanwhile Friend number two was confirming that the remote controls did not go on one’s feet. While Friend number one still didn’t have keys. (We found them minutes later.)

This morning, I got up and stared at it.

It’s so stinking clever! How on earth did the Quirky’s end up with a Pinteresty storage solution?

I determined it had to be a fluke. It’s the only explanation. And suddenly everything was right in our world again.

Only I might have to put a pair of shoes in there…just in case.

*Pinteresty- Queen of Quirky’s word for a person who can take ordinary items and use them in a clever or crafty way they were not intended for, in order to create an efficiency or attractive solution for the home. A Pinteresty person would then share their ingenuity on the social bulletin board, Pinterest.com. In a sentence: Queen of Quirky is not Pinteresty.

It’s a big darned deal.

Ok, here it goes.

I, Queen of Quirky, poached my first egg with great success.

<crickets.>

I just don’t understand why no one is as excited about this as I am.

I even took the little guy, all dished up in a bowl, to Mr. Quirky, who was relaxing on the couch, to show him. He was all, “that’s nice, babe.” in this sort of flat voice with the slight hint of a question mark at the end.

What?! That’s all I get?!

I mean, at the very least I expected him to jump up and down with joy for my culinary achievement. And, it wouldn’t have hurt the cause to add to that with suggesting we pop a bottle of bubbly to toast the momentous occasion.

Harumph.

I guess these things are better off celebrated alone, on top of your leftovers. With a glass of box wine…

It ended overnight, to be specific.

In an act of grave violence, I allegedly slugged Mr. Quirky in my sleep.

So one of two things could be true:

A. I am a violent wife.

B. Mr Quirky is making this up to hold it over my head.

Let’s examine both options, shall we?

Option A: It is true that I have strange dreams. And it is true that I have been known to sleep walk, sleep laugh and now, apparently sleep slug.

If this is true then Mr. Q is justified in taking some precautionary measures for his own safe sleeping rights.

And since I am clearly at fault under this theory, I am more than willing to supply any necessary protective wardrobe upgrades.

Being the avid shopper that I am, I have even found the perfect pajamas for my husband.

Advanced Upper Body Suit From Galls.com

Since the punch was allegedly directed at his upper body, I feel that this outfit should more than protect him from any future acts of slumber violence.

But perhaps he would rather take this in a different direction. I am open to the possibility that rather than protect himself, he might opt to restrain me.

And the obvious outfit for restraining your Quirky wife could only be a straight jacket.

Did you know you could get a straight jacket (costume) at Target? Mr. Q loves to shop at Target, so this is probably perfect.

BUT before we make any rash purchases, let’s examine option B.

Perhaps this is all part of Mr. Quirky’s grand plan to guilt me into doing laundry more often.

Obviously, setting me up to wash his i-phone was not an affective ploy. (Well for about a week it worked. I totally did laundry for a week. But after the guilt wore off, my old laundry avoiding habits returned.)

Notice: his ploy was well-timed in that he could feign suffering for two weeks and then it just so happened that the new i-phone was released, allowing him to be the first in the Quirky household with said new mobile device.

So now he has resorted to a new form of guilting his wife. Telling her she acted violently toward him in her most vulnerable state.

And guess who sorted laundry after her morning shower?

Hmph. This situation is looking more and more fishy.  I think I’m going to need a second source before I believe Mr. Quirky’s story.

I’ll consult with Gertie and get back to you…

 She slept until 10. Watched an episode of Degrassi. Drove her Honda Civic  to her retail sales job at noon. Stopped by Target for a late lunch where she grabbed a Caesar salad, queso dip and chips and a hard boiled egg. (Look, we don’t judge these things in Quirkyville.)

Then, she wrapped her workday around 8 p.m. in time to zip down the Westport Flea Market to join her friends and family (lots of them) to watch her brother’s improv comedy troupe, the Stitchtactics perform a 10 p.m. show.

And when she was selected from the audience to have this entire day reenacted in front of the audience, she thought nothing of it.

She honked her little horn when the comedians got her day grossly wrong (No, she didn’t take a shower in bed. Just because she didn’t say the shower was in the bathroom means she literally showered in the bed.)

The team used wigs, props and live people to play innate objects (Liz’s brother, Joe played her Honda Civic.) And it was all very, very funny.

But we weren’t laughing at the skit, as much as we were laughing at what we knew.

Because despite the fact that Liz had been on the phone for the past day, texting and calling people to come see Joe’s show, that’s not why they were there.

They let her think that she invited them. We let her think that we all came to support Joe’s show.

Quite frankly, we were all a little stunned that she honestly believed her parents, her sibblings (both of the two not in the show), their spouses (one 8.5 months pregnant) , their neighborhood friends, her boyfriend’s parents, her boyfriend’s aunt, her best friend and her co-workers all came to show their support for her brother. (At the same time.)

But she did.

As the Day in the Life Skit wrapped up, Liz started to head off stage…

But Joe announced that there was more and he needed her to close her eyes so he could spin her around.

She has probably seen this act a handful of times and no one has ever gotten spun around at the end.

But she didn’t question that either.

Oh, that crazy Joe! He must be up to something new.

When she opened her eyes, she saw this…

And then she made this face (as she quickly slipped off a fashion ring she was wearing that night on that finger.)

She said, “yes!”

My basement is infested with bees.

And not just happy little bumblebees.

Giant, swarming, we-want-to-eat-you-and-your-little-dog-too bees.

I kind of want to march downstairs and tell that Queen Bee, “Hey missy. Watch yourself. There is only one Queen in this quirky household.”

But then I would run screaming up the stairs, so I fear my threats would seem a little idle.

Instead I think I’ll go the route of, “Oh Mr. Landlord……”

It’s one of those moments where I think, wow. I’m glad I’ve been a slightly hot  mess for the past 10 years and I still rent.

 Photo courtesy of Kodo_85 via Photobucket

But while you are waiting, I wanted to share a few highlights from the quirky weekend.

I really needed a weekend after the Vegas trip, a full week, including planning and hosting a party on Thursday night on top of a catch-up week at work.

Luckily it was Roomie’s birthday and celebrations were held at at our old (er, my old) pool Friday night.

There was grilling, drinking, swimming, cannon balling and pants in the pool.

That’s right. I said pants in the pool. You must say this to the tune of “Pants on the Ground.” (Warning: excessive repeating of this at a pool party could result in severe agitation of fellow attendees.)

Anypants, Roomie’s boyfriend came to a pool party in 90 degree weather wearing pants. (He claims  they were appropriate because they were cool pants, but the grief must still be given.)  After dinner, a few beers and a mandatory 20 minute waiting period (safety first) we all got in the pool.

Ok, so we didn’t wait 20 minutes after we ate. Sorry moms. We still wear our seatbelts though.

But not Mr. Pants. He stood on the sidelines like it was the adult swim.

Finally, we egged him on to get in, pants and all. (Insisting that the pants stayed on.)

Then I entertained annoyed everyone with my “Pants in the Pool” rendition. It was maybe funny the first three times.

The next day, Roomie and I decided to spend more time at the pool still in proper swimming attire, of course. This time the sun was still shining, and per my usual, I was armed with my bag o’ sunscreen and floppy hat.

Now, I’m not sure how this happened, but I still managed to get some burnage. Mr. Quirky was very confused about this because I didn’t get even the tiniest burn in Vegas. And isn’t the sun more powerful the farther south you go?

I am chalking it up to the fact that I did not have a big fruity drink in hand to protect me from the evil sun.

Drinking+ bag o’ sunscreen= no sunburn. Not drinking + bag o’ sunscreen = sunburn. Like that math? (Warning: I did very poorly in math as a student, so I probably wouldn’t rely on this formula.)

While I was soaking up sun, Mr. Quirky was soaking up barbecue sauce.

He judged one of Kansas City’s big barbecue contests this weekend.

That meant he got to eat meat for about four hours.

When he got home, he said he had lots of  little piggy’s, chickens and moo cows in his belly. And his belly was done for.

So what did I do? I whisked him off to dinner with my family.

Because that’s what sensitive wives  do after their husbands have just spent the past afternoon stuffing their faces with lots o’ meat. “Let’s go to dinner, honey! ” (This is typically the kind of wife who who washes her husband’s  i-phone.)

And no, poor Mr. Quirky did not get his new i-phone yet. He is hoping they get more this week. And if they don’t, I may have to build one for him.

Luckily, he has a phone for work that can be used in an emergency.

And by emergency, I mean the cutest nephew in the world is on your lap.

After dinner, Mr. Quirky and I went to see Toy Story III. It was adorable.

And sentimental.

And it made me miss my childhood toys.

How could I ever have been so cruel as to grow too old to play with them?

Good thing I had Sunday to lie around doing nothing, so there was plenty of time to get over my toy abuse guilt.

Especially lately.

In fact, after you read about my winningest moments, I’m pretty sure you will be so jealous that you aren’t me, that you may stop reading this blog.

All together.

I’m prepared for that. It’s a risk I take in sharing.

Winning moment #1 – After a few glasses of wine at Fire & Wine night last week, the dishes and trash from our delicious brined chicken legs and mushroom risotto just didn’t seem all that important to clean up. Mr. Quirky (God love him – a statement I will make so often during this post, we should abbreviate it. GLH. ) removed food debris and stacked dishes for me .

The next morning as I was getting out of the shower, I heard an odd crunching noise. Thinking it could just be Gertie pacing around the bed deciding if she should jump in, I went into the bedroom. Gertie?

From downstairs, I heard her familiar collar jingle. Gertie is never downstairs in the morning alone. That was not a good sign.

She came running upstairs, after hearing my call.

Crunching on the remains of a chicken leg bone.

It was left in easy reach of doggy’s nose.

I went hysterical. Chicken bones can splinter and  kill dogs.

Mr. Quirky woke up and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take her to my parents’ for the day. My mom can keep an eye on her.” (GLH.)

(Update: she is fine. She has had some, um, interesting poops, but it seems the chicken bone did not do any damage.)

Winning Moment #2

I was a little behind on the laundry.

And I had to rewash a load I left in the washer for a few too many days. (Stank.)

Mr. Quirky wanted to know if there were any clean socks in the house.*

Uh….

The next day, he asked again.

Uh…… (Followed by some excuses as to why I hadn’t done laundry.)

The third day he asked again because you know, he really didn’t want to wear another dirty pair of socks again.

(GLH.)

*Note- Mr. Q is happy to do laundry, but I insist because I’m a girl and I have many items of clothing that I don’t dry. It’s way too complicated to keep Mr. Q up-to-date on which items those are. So I do laundry in our household. Or rather, I don’t do laundry. I remain in a constant state of catch up on laundry in our household.

Winning moment #3

I farted at a party.

And not just an SBD fart I could walk away from.

A loud, while I was talking, there was no denying it was me fart.

I’m glad my friends like me so much.

Winning moment #4,5 &6 -

Last night, I left my cell phone at DD Girl’s boyfriend’s house. We had been there farting and celebrating his birthday with friends. (Ok, I was farting. See Winning moment #3.)

I discovered this when I went to look for my phone knowing Mr. Quirky had gone to Chipotle to pick up some lunch (GLH). I knew he might have questions about my very picky order. He’s pretty fantastic about delivering my picky food orders (GLH). But it was gone.

I went into a tailspin of panic. Where was it? When had I last seen it? Did my huge purse eat it? I dumped the contents of my purse out. No phone.

Crud.

Meanwhile, sure enough, Mr. Quirky was trying to call me. (Did I want chicken or the veggies in my bowl?)

I greeted him at the back door.

“My phone is missing.” “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

We said these things at the same time. Then he searched my purse (“it never hurts to look again,” he told me) my car and our house. (GLH)

Luckily, a text to DD Girl from Mr. Quirky’s phone located my phone and all was well.

Thank goodness because I couldn’t imagine life without my precious i-phone.

“Do I have any clean socks yet?” Mr. Quirky asked as we were getting ready to run a few errands later on.

“Do you really need to wear socks to Game Stop and ice cream?” (I had stopped making excuses and just started redirecting blame.)

“I guess not,” he sulked. (GLH)

After a post-ice cream nap, I decided I should finally do some laundry. Mr. Quirky was in the shower, and I noticed his shorts were on the floor. Remembering that he was sweating pretty bad following the wiffle ball game at the farting birthday party last night, I thought he might appreciate me washing his shorts.

So, I threw them in my basket and headed downstairs.

It dawned on me briefly that turning on the washer might impact his shower, but I figured he was close to being done. (I’m awfully considerate, aren’t I?)

“Hey, did you take those shorts on the floor?” he asked when he got out of the shower.

“Yup!”

“Did you get the receipts out of the pocket?”

“Uh…”

And a few seconds later.

“Was my phone in the pocket?!!!!”

Clunk. (That was the sound of my heart hitting the floor.)

Sure enough, the phone was taking a spin in the machine.

There were many tears shed.

Mr. Quirky told me not to cry. It was just a phone. (GLH)

I cried some more.

And then I felt so guilty that I finished all the laundry and even haphazardly folded his underwear, socks and shirts on top of his dresser.

Because nothing says “honey, I’m sorry I washed your i-phone”  like a pile of haphazardly folded undies.

Especially when you post a picture of it on your blog.

I dug some out of my medicine cabinet. He was still sleeping, so I woke him up to let him know I had in my hand, the cure for his pain. I told him to roll over and applied the gel.

Within seconds he was screaming, “It burns! It’s on Fire!”

Thinking maybe he was being a tad overdramatic about the icy hot sensation, I gave it a minute.

Then he began rolling around in true agony screaming for me to grab a towel and wipe it off.

It was too late.

I left for work as he was still writhing around on the bed moaning that it was on fire.

Oops.