I've lost... my identity.

One of the really big conversations that Bobby and I had before we got married was about money. Obviously, we decided that Bobby would manage all of our accounts and bills, and I would bring home the bacon (Probably the only time in my life I’ll ever be able to say that, so I rub it in, just a bit).

Last week, we finally merged our accounts. We are both now proud owners of a joint checking account, which means that my financial freedom is now over. Anytime something pops up out of the ordinary like “GAP” or “Victoria’s Secret” (oh who are we kidding, he wouldn’t bitch about that one) I will get an immediate reprimanding phone call because there has been a transaction debit on our account. I can see the conversation going a little bit like this:

Bob: Where are you?

Me: At the grocery store

Bob: No you aren’t

Me: Yes I am. I’m at the grocery store

Bob: Target doesn’t count as the grocery store and you were at the mall

Me: Okay, yes, I was.

Bob: What did you buy at the GAP?

Me: A shirt

Bob: Why do you need a shirt?

Me: Because it’s not socially acceptable to go out in a bra in public.

Bob: You have a shirt.

Me: I wanted a new one.

Bob: Kelsey, remember we have to afford Cardinals tickets this year, there is simply no spare income for shirts.

So while at Bank of America, we are setting up our accounts. For as long as I remember, I have had the same debit card since debit cards were invented. I love my Texas Longhorns card. It’s a conversation starter, people give me trouble, I give them trouble back, and it’s great. Bobby has a lame Cardinals baseball debit card. And credit card. I hate them. It’s not cool to carry a St. Louis Cardinals debit card, in St. Louis. If we lived somewhere else, it might be somewhat cool, but it’s an MLB team. Let’s call a spade a spade.

Apparently, when you have a joint checking account, serious choices have to be made regarding your own personal identity. It was last Thursday, when I lost mine.

Personal Banker: “So, which team would you like to choose for your debit card”

Me: “Well I would like to keep my Texas Longhorns card, please”

Bob: “And I’ll just keep the Cardinals card”

……….

Personal Banker: “Well you have to choose one team, you can’t have both”

Me: “Come again?”

Personal Banker: “We can’t give you two different cards for the same account. You have to choose one or the other”

Hey! Brian Moynihan! Don’t you think a huge corporation like Bank of America could figure out how husbands and wives can have different themed debit cards?  I already have to deal with the spew of Cardinals crap in my life, not to mention having it shoved down my throat because I live here, don’t you think that someone could throw a girl a bone so she can continue to carry her beloved Texas Longhorns card?

To quote James Brown, This is Man’s World.

Guess what came in the mail yesterday? A St. Louis Cardinals debit card with my name on it. If that is not an incentive to stop spending money, I don’t know what is.

Music

Okay, so the 12 days of Bob didn’t really work out.

I could have come up with a lame excuse like “Bobby hasn’t done anything stupid lately, so I couldn’t blog, and then Barley spilled coke all over the keyboard so I had to take it to be repaired and then while I was there I found that I really like Mac’s better so I bought a new one, but I don’t know how to figure out how to work the word processor…”  We all know that each part of that excuse is not true (except for the Mac part, I really want a MacBook)

Sorry, but if you know me at all, I am terrible at follow through, in my personal life. My parents called it doing something “half assed”. Everyone has their own vice. This is definitely mine. I don’t follow through. So, if I promise I’m going to do something.. You’ll figure out in time that whatever I said I was going to do…that’s probably not going to happen. When people don’t expect much of you, you’ll find that life is much easier.  I put most of my energy in at work. After I come home, I just want to sit and let my brain mush in front of my new favorite iPad app, Slotomania. You do the math. A monkey could play a slot machine. There is no thinking involved. Except when you get to the bonus round, that takes complete skill.

Most women really complain that their husbands don’t listen or follow through. I’m happy to report that Bobby usually completes 75% of the tasks that I give him on any given day. That is a solid C, and friends, at UMKC, that was considered passing. He is a guy; obviously some of the things I tell him to do or remember are going to slip out. Its human nature.

So last month when he finally took my car to get the tail light fixed and my oil changed, I was elated. I hate getting my oil changed and really everything related to cars in general.

We traded cars and I drove off to work for another day. The mines don’t sweep themselves, folks.

In the middle of my drive, I scanned all the stations twice. Bobby hasn’t changed his favorites from the KC channels which tells me subconsciously he knows were going to move back someday. What a sneaky little fella. I’ll admit that I am completely spoiled and have gotten incredibly used to having satellite radio in my car, as well as a six disc CD changer, so there is never a lull in something good on the radio. I figured now would be a good time to check what kind music is tempting Bob’s musical palate. I pressed the mode button to switch to a CD and for the first time in our marriage, I was scared.

First, “Party Rock Anthem”. Okay, I can get on board with that. Bobby loves LMFAO.

Second, Britney Spears “I Wanna Go”. UGH woof. Like that hasn’t been overplayed

Third, Ke$ha.

Fourth, some song that says “sex drive push to start”

Miley Cyrus was definitely well represented on this CD as well.

And then a frightening thought. This CD was clearly made by a woman.  With sweaty hands I pushed the eject button, waiting to see scribbled love messages and pink sharpie hearts.

“That bastard is cheating on me” I thought to myself, plotting my obvious revenge. Maybe I would play the CD in the house, and when he would come home that day, I would be blaring it and I would be packing my suitcase.

As the CD slowly and reluctantly crawled out of the player, I saw something more shocking.

Bob’s Mix #1

In his own handwriting.

I should have known really. Bobby has literally the worst taste in music out of anyone I’ve ever met. Don’t ask Bobby to make you a mixed tape ever, unless you want to set the mood to “we’re shopping at Hollister”. If you would have to picture what someone looks like based on their type of music, Bobby would be wearing a graphic t, Justin Beib’s hair, skinny jeans and black nail polish. No judgment. Trust me; my taste in music is just as terrible. I would look like a 60 year old woman, in a DMB t shirt, with dreadlocks, wearing neon Nike shoes from the 80’s.  Obviously my PF flyer soles were worn out.

In fact, one of the worst fights that we had leading up to the wedding was picking music for the ceremony. As I suggested old time favorites such as Van Morrison and maybe even U2, his suggestion was something like NSYNC and “God must have spent a little more time on you”.  We eventually compromised, choosing Jack Johnson, Queen, Ray LaMontange and Plain White T’s. A little Hollister, but you gotta compromise.

Sometimes, you rediscover things about your significant other that you put on the “con list” when you were dating. I’m sure Bobby does this every time he gets a wire hanger and snakes our drains.  Doesn’t mean we don’t love them less, actually, I think it makes us love them more.

The other day I found the first mixed CD Bob ever made for me and popped it in, for old time’s sake.

Here are some of the selected lyrics:

“She’s almost perfect, but she’s not”

“Where are we going to go from here”

“Muster up all the confidence I have”

“Hate that I love you”

Wow. I really effed him up back then, huh?