How To Win A Practical Woman’s Heart

the real way to a woman's heart

I briefly pawed at them and then awkwardly stuffed the otherwise beautiful bouquet of flowers on the floorboard of my new boyfriend’s car. Poor guy thought I would like flowers but instead was in a car (and subsequent 3-year relationship) with a girl, who hates flowers. My current man knows me more than to pass off a vase of flowers as love for me. Gym Hottie knows the practical way to my heart and it doesn’t involve cut flower food.

Flowers Flowers die. They cost money and they eventually die. What kinda warped idea of love you tryin’ to sell me with flowers? From there, I’m also to preserve it. Flowers are kinda like puppies and puppies are, like, the worst thing to have. I have two little humans taunting me for sustenance so please don’t add flowers to that list.

Gifts I tell you what: turn around in the opposite direction of the flower shop and go down the candy aisle. Something, anything from this aisle will make me excited and not hate you for wasting it on (eventually) dead flowers. You really can’t go wrong with Rolos. To be clear, anything dark chocolate because that shit’s healthy. You know we’re always on a diet.

Dinner Nothing gets me all hot and bothered like not having to bother with a hot stove. GH surprised me to delivery pizza the other night so dinner was taken care of for once. It wasn’t Olive Garden fancy but it was dinner nonetheless. After that dinner rescue, he just seriously earned himself a “dessert” coupon, ifyouknowwhatimean.

Alone time Sometimes you don’t want to be chased or interrogated about your feelings or what the kids did to piss you off. Alone time means actually being alone without a child crying at your feet or that 5-minute bathroom venture. GH let me take a nap right before he surprised me with that ultra fancy pizza dinner while he stayed up with the no-nap toddler and cranky baby. I woke up refreshed, dinner, and didn’t want to choke anyone. We all win.

Sweet-nothings Complimenting a lady-gal goes a long way. Specific and genuine compliments are nice. I kinda like nice. Other times, I just wanna be told how good my ass looks in the second-day yoga pants I’m wearing. Tell me my hair looks good even with all the baby drool and toddler peanut butter offerings. GH is quite up to par with this and he makes me feel very special. My ass. I mean, my ass feels special.

If you have gotten this far then you really should seek alternate advice for relationships because I am the shitty wife. I’m practically immune to the romantic comedy idea of love and courtship. I was never sold on diamonds or boxed candy (except anything caramel/chocolate combo). If it doesn’t feed or energize me, I’m just not that into it.

Honorable mentions:
– Don’t forget her birthday. EVER.
– Don’t gift anything exercise- or-beauty-related. EVER.
– Don’t ask about her hygiene or lack thereof.
– Realize not all women are the same.

How did your partner win your heart?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta mom lyfe on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+

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The Only Time I’ll Be Glad Someone Calls Out My Postpartum Belly Flab

Gym Hottie: “Uhm, babe?”

Me: “What?”

Gym Hottie: “Turn to the side.”

Me: *turns to my side*

Gym Hottie: “If you’re pregnant, I’m going to jump off the balcony. C’mere, let me see.”

*pulls on my postpartum pooch*

“Okay, good; never mind.”

Me:

We are not ready for another baby. But I can see how that scared the shit out of GH.

5 months postpartum pregnancy scare

not pregnant.

Has your partner said something very very very dumb about your body?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta my kids’ mugs on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a wannabe grownup on Google+

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Remembering When Your Husband Forgot Your Birthday On His Birthday

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Birthdays are a huge deal to me. I hate Christmas (birthday shout-out to Jesus though) and basically every other celebrated day out there. Those aren’t personal or unique but a day when my loved one was born and I’m like a freakin’ genie because I want to make it special for you, if I can. As such, I enjoy my birthday too, as you imagine because I was wonderfully born that day. If not for that day, you wouldn’t be reading this, of course so send thanks to Azn Grandma. Before my kids’ birthdays as the most important birth days of my life, Gym Hottie’s birthday was an additional date once he became a part of my life.

husband forgot birthday.jpgToday is his birthday and I am one-upping my husband today. I mean, I don’t like to brag but I will go above and beyond than all the special doting on January 7th. Going a tiny huge step above my husband did for my special day, I will at least remember his birthday. I acknowledge that I, shitty wife of the year, remembered the day my husband was born. I’m winning at this day already than, say, the entire day of my birthday.

That’s right, my loves, GH forgot my 27th birthday this year. No breakfast in bed or birthday cash on the counter. Not a single birthday text from work nor a call. He did however have his 9-month-pregnant wife speak to the credit card company, that sweet, sweet man. It wasn’t until he came home from work and decided to drink my coveted “special drink,” a 20-oz bottle of Coca-Cola I save for three two days sipping here and there. I spouted, “You would drink my drink on my birthday!” That’s how I knew he forgot. He probably let out the biggest “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh shit” of his life.

So what I took my pregnant ass to get my own birthday cake later that night on a junk food run, it’s all water under the bridge, I say. I’m letting bygones be bygones and I actually asked if he wanted anything special for dinner tonight. I may be a shitty wife but a forgiving one. GH may be a forgetful husband but shitty he is not. Even though junk food demands took place of that meaningful birthday text, which I never got:

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Has your partner ever forgotten your birthday? Forgot your partner’s?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta my kids’ mugs on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a wannabe grownup on Google+

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