Dear Albert

Dear Albert,

Some people in this area are saying, “they’re not mad at you”

Well I am.

I now live with (what I now refer to my husband as), the crankiest roommate ever.

Today, when I was supposed to be watching the Today show while getting ready for work, my television was taken hostage by MLB network.  At one point, when asking my husband a question I was “shushed” until the segment about your ridiculous contract was done. At one point, one of the sports casters said that the likelihood of us seeing another player to your caliber may not happen for another 50 years. He’ll be 75. Thanks in advance.

I get it, you want money, and I can appreciate that. I get that the weather is nicer, the people are more beautiful and you can probably do naked yoga on your 22,000 square foot porch if you want to. I would definitely leave St. Louis as well if someone offered me that kind of money (who are we kidding, I would leave without any money involved whatsoever.. actually now that we are thinking about it, tell me, what is your secret? How does one “get traded” per se? I digress.)

But now, this is getting personal. I don’t think you understand what kind of implications your decisions have done to my personal life. He has compared you to several less than flattering political figures... and Bobby doesn't know anything about politcs.

Yesterday, said husband asked me if whether the first signs of depression are denial, sadness and then anger or denial, anger and then sadness. Your career choices, this is what he chooses to be upset about…well that and when no one offers him pizza at free lunches at the hospital.

The Cardinals Christmas tree I decorated for my husband is now tarnished. I have now wasted time and money on Cardinals ornaments, and my own hand painted baseball ornaments. I actually considered painting more with the players' jersey numbers. At least you saved me from doing that. For the record, I was in favor for another “owl” tree.

The hundreds of dollars that he spent in October to see you at the NCLS, NDLS, WS, (and the equivalent acronym for myself), FML games, are now tainted memories of lies that you told him. You realize, that he took a picture every time you were at bat, foreshadowing the fact that “this could be his last at bat in a Cardinals uniform”. Thanks for proving him right, might be the first time in history.

In a couple of years, you will just be a footnote in the history of the Cardinals baseball program. But 2012 is going to be the worst year ever. Each time the Cardinals lose; guess whose fault it will be, according to the Gospel of Bob? Yours. Guess what will happen with the 4^th player in the batting line up strikes out? “Albert would have hit that”

On top of it all, I can’t give Bobby the one thing he asked for, for Christmas. He wanted you to stay.

FYI, we’re talking about an almost 26 year old man-child.

And now, I have to track down an Ipad 2 in less than 15 days. You owe me $500.

Sincerely,

Disgruntled Wife and Kansas City transplant who doesn’t give a hoot about baseball.

Romance has left the building

Forget sweetie, honey, pumpkin muffin. Most of our pet names revolve around feces. Or fecal matter. Why is that? Where did the rule come from that once you get married, it’s okay to talk about Poop on a regular basis? Not to mention, calling your significant other a name such as “poop brain”.

When my picture text notification goes off, and I see that it’s from Bobby, I cringe a little before I open it. I cautiously open it, worried that what I’m about to download will show me his biggest accomplishment for the day. Yep, romance is gone. We’re legally married now, and I have to love him, even if he forgets to flush the toilet.

Here are our favorite pet names we use on a daily basis.

*note, all of the poop prefixes can be interchanged with turd, for variety.

Poop nugget

Poop brain

Poop turdlet

Poop pickle

Pooooooopsicle

Poop tip

Poop prairie

Poop breath

Poop lips

Poop biscuit

On top of the poop nick names, we also have these true affectionate monikers:

Wench

Wenchilla

Wenchilla Factor

Clown

Clown wench

Snot Noser

Snot Brain

And because we’re both sick and stupid, we like to make up completely random songs and rhymes about our nick names. I’m not even going to bother trying to write/sing them for you. That’s something you can ask Bob about. He does have one song called “Clown” that only uses one word. Guess what word that is?

Clown.

Guess we live in our own little world. I’m okay with that.

Budget

I am a complete advocate that you should never, ever, under any circumstances enter marriage without having a serious discussion about money. 

Who handles the money, what are the expectations around money, who is responsible for what, etc, so on and so forth.

Bobby and I had these conversations, and we’re on the same page and all, but it doesn’t ever make it any easier. While he has always put everything on a credit card and paid it off at the end of the month, I would rather just pay out of my checking account. Bobby is more of a saver. I am definitely more of a spender. 

So this week, we sat down and really went through our expenses. 

Not before Bobby had to create a formula ridden excel spreadsheet complete with borders and highlighted boxes.

“That’s not important that the box is highlighted, let s move on”

“It is important; it shows that this is our household income”

“Its obvious that is our household income, the row on top says Bobby and Kelsey’s income”

“Well this way we can see what our take away income is after bills”

“And we wouldn’t know that before because the box isn’t yellow?”

“Exactly”

So, after we finally got the margins to match, the correct shade of yellow in all of the sum boxes and the font to automatically write in red for debits, we looked at our spending budget.

“$50.00 per week should be enough”

“Yeah I think I can do that… so that is undisclosed, no reporting to the other, mani pedi shoe or splurge on a new makeup budget”

“The whole idea, is that you don’t have to spend it just because you have it”

“Well then why even give me $50.00?”

“No, no, no, that is total. $25.00 per person, per week”

“WHAT?!?!”

“You can do it, $25.00 per week”

First off, I’m not sure who lives on $25.00 a week anymore. Not to mention that as the breadwinner in our household, how someone can dictate specifically how much spending money I get in a week. I was appalled. Shocked even. Trust me, I fancy myself the thrifty shopper and usually buy things when they are on sale, but let’s call a spade a spade, I do enjoy my Kate Spade handbags and designer jeans. Neither of which, cost $25.00.

“No, nuh uh. I need $50.00”

“$50.00 for what?”

“Emergencies”

“You have the credit card for emergencies”

…and just as I was about to leave it at that…

“Not fashion emergencies.”

I read somewhere once that financial differences and struggles are one of the main reasons couples fight, and I can definitely see why. Living with Bobby is like living with a communist big brother when it comes to our finances. Thank God our accounts haven’t merged yet, because I can kiss any kind of financial freedom goodbye.  Here’s the other thing that really irks me. Bobby gets really pissed that I don’t have millions of dollars in my savings account. Yet, he fails to realize that for the past 4 years, I’ve been putting in the max deduction of my salary into my 401k (well, what’s left of it after the European debt crisis). He says “that doesn’t count” Like, WTF is that about? Ask him what he is doing to prepare for our retirement, because I sure as hell know that social security won’t be there for us. 

We’re probably never, ever, going to be on the same page when it comes to money. I can’t pass up one of those little red Salvation Army buckets outside of Target. Bobby on the other hand, opens his wallet and moths gently float out into the air. Going out to eat with Bobby is a whole new experience…

“Let’s to that new restaurant tonight”

“Do you have a coupon?”

“Uh. No. But I think they have happy hour specials”

“Well we can’t go unless we have a coupon”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. No coupon, we don’t go”

“You used a coupon on our first date and I thought it was some poor med school student thing”

“Nope, I won’t go out to eat unless we have a coupon”

“Well I’m not in the mood for IHOP or Jack in the box, which are the only restaurants that I know of that still pass out coupons so…. Let’s go.”

****silence****

“OH MY GOD BOBBY, FINE. MY TREAT”

“oh well then fine, why didn’t you say so, I’ll get my coat.”

Bobby tells me that I over indulge, that I don’t need name brand handbags or I don’t need to get my nails done. HA. 

Exhibit A: What costs close to $1,000 dollars, gets you 8 hours of entertainment and so many god damn rally towels that one doesn’t know what to do with?

Answer: Cardinals playoff tickets. My stupid monthly manicure and pedicures don’t look so bad now, huh?

So… we definitely are much different about money.  I tell Bobby when he is being a cheap, grown ass man, and he tells me that if I don’t stop spending money we won’t be able to afford mortgage.  Just another lesson that I am slowly learning, in our first couple months of marriage.