Nebulous Mooch

My husband–who washed his hair two days after I put up the last post– likes to look at music stuff on You Tube. He’s always done that. I do it too. It’s a good place to see performances or old music videos. Recently, he showed me the same video on multiple occasions and told me about how great it is.

“Doesn’t it make you feel nostalgic?” he asks. His eyes fixed to the screen. “I could make a video like that.”

He must forget that he’s shown me the video before. “Yeah you could,” I say wondering if I have to stand there for the whole song.

Now he’s making his own video like that with his own music in the background. He’s also bought a cable he needed for the camera so he can make movies. “I always wanted to be a filmmaker,” he keeps saying.

Here’s the great video. Now you can all watch it and feel nostalgic.

Today I noticed that my husband’s hair was looking a bit funny. When I touched it, I realized it felt funny too. “What’s up with your hair?” I asked.

“I’m doing an experiment. How does it look?” He lowered his head so the I could get a good look at it.

“What kind of experiment?”

“I’ve stopped washing my hair. I just wet my head and rub it really hard. I think it’s working.”

“How long has it been since you’ve washed your hair?” I asked. Why he would do this experiment is beyond me?

“It’s been a week.”

A week too long. I had been wondering why his hair had been sticking up in all directions more than usual. “You should wash it.” I told him.

He grimaced and left the room.

I somehow doubt he’ll wash it tomorrow.

Just a minute ago he told me that he tried this experiment before and his family knows all about it. I assume it didn’t work then either.

My husband’s not eating grains these days. It has something to do with his digestion. He started out not eating wheat and a few weeks ago it progressed to eating no grains at all. This makes cooking dinner a pain because we used to eat a lot of rice. He was trying to eat only raw food originally, but that only lasted a day and a half. He’s so quick to go on an extreme diet. He’s not trying to lose weight. If he lost any weight he might disappear.

I’m not disciplined or motivated enough to join him in his dietary experiment, but I have decided to look at my own eating habits. Upon examination, I’ve decided to stop eating cereal. I used to never eat cereal, but now I’m addicted to it. Between meals, I want to eat a bowl of cereal. Late at night, I want cereal. Right now, I’m thinking about eating cereal. Seriously, just writing about cereal makes me imagine a delicious bowl of it with raisins and bananas. Yum. I figure that anything that I want to eat all the time must not be very good for me.

I’ve been off cereal for ten days now and it’s been hard. The other day I nearly fell off the wagon. I took the cereal box out of the cabinet and stared at it for a few minutes. Then I poured a bowl. Then I poured the bowl back into the box and ate a banana and some walnuts. It just wasn’t the same.

When my husband came home a few minutes later he said, “Smells like someone’s been eating cereal in here.”

Can you smell cereal?

On our walks we’ve noticed thorny berry laden bushes by the side of the road. One day my husband asked someone on the street, “Are these berries edible?”

The man looked at him strangely and said, “Yeah. They’re blackberries.”

That’s all we needed to know. We spent a week casing the berry situation. I didn’t want to pick any berries that were right by the roadside. My husband thought that was because of pollution, but, honestly, it had more to do with embarrassment. We found a few spots were we could wonder back off the road and picked berries.

On Sunday we set out with a container to pick berries. Here’s the thing about picking berries just off the road, even though no one could see me, I still felt embarrassed. I just felt like I shouldn’t be doing it. So my husband picked most of the berries while I stood there feeling nervous.

“You’re really embarrassed about doing this,” my husband said to me, when I told him to stop picking berries because I thought someone was coming.

“I’m mortified,” I said.

“The funny thing is I bet you’ll write about this on the blog,” he laughed.

Of course he was right.

The other day I was talking to my husband when I noticed something strange going on. He was holding himself and dancing around like a child who had to go to the bathroom. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

“Nothing. Why?” he said looking suspicious.

“What’s up with your pants?”

“I’m warming up my harmonica,” he said. He reached down his pants and pulled the harmonica out.

Horrified, I asked, “Was that just down your pants or was it down your underwear too.”

“I have to have it next to my skin so it’ll be warm enough. That way it plays better.” He started playing it as he wondered into the next room.

I just hope he doesn’t start doing that on gigs. What will people think?

“Just one more picture. Then we can walk,” he says as he kneels on the ground trying to get the camera to focus on a tiny wild flower.

This is my husband’s new fascination. In Florida, it was spiders. The good thing about spiders is that when you’re trying to take a walk, you don’t see that many of them. Wild flowers are everywhere here. It takes thirty minutes to walk ten yards because he’s constantly trying to photograph flowers.

Today he took numerous pictures of dandelions. How many pictures of dandelions do we need?

You can see from these pictures that it’s a lot more like spring here.

I took this picture. Notice how it’s not of a dandelion.

ESPN’s Sports Center was playing in the coin laundry the other day. We’d gone to the bank while the clothes were washing. When we returned Sport’s Center was on and my husband loudly declared, “This is the best laundry ever! The other men in the place agreed.

As we put our clothes in the dryers, my husband kept one eye on the television. I don’t think he heard a single thing I said to him.

I watched one of the men in the laundry try to fold his clothes. His head was turned up to the screen–his eyes fixed. He ended up kind of balling up his clothes into twisted heaps instead of folding them because he couldn’t pay enough attention to what he was doing.

I decided to try to watch some of Sports Center as we waited for the clothes to dry. It was turned up too loud for me to be able to comprehend anything I tried to read in the newspaper. They claim that men don’t talk as much as women–I don’t believe that’s true, my father and my husband both have a tendency to talk and talk–but when it comes to sports men can sure ramble on and on and on. On the show, they’d show a play and then everyone on the show made comments about it. Never mind, that most of them seemed to say pretty much the same thing. They all took their turns to talk and talk and talk. How much can you possible say about a football game? Apparently, one game can be thoroughly discussed for hours on end.

Once the football part of Sports Center was over and they were discussing baseball, the level of excitement waned and the men in the laundry were able to concentrate on folding clothes or talking to their wives.

I don’t understand what’s so great about football. It doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t want to play it or watch others play it. I certainly don’t want to talk about it or watch others talk about it. If you want to spend three hours watching a game and another couple of hours listening to people talk about the game you just watched, that’s your business. Everyone has a vice. Some people smoke. Some drink. Some people watch football. Some people smoke and drink while watching football.