#2: Bringing Sexy Back

We have ghosts. And I must be some kind of crazy medium, because the day before we have house guests, I go into a trance-like state, during which I fully believe that my body is taken over by Alice from the Brady Bunch. Trust me, I know how remarkable that is given the fact that Ann B. Davis still lives. Maybe she has a DeLorean. How cool would that be to see Alice* in a DeLorean with Marty and Doc? But I digress...

Somehow I turn into a super maid, and frantically clean my house from top to bottom. This, of course, includes washing our white couch covers, as well as general everyday tasks like vacuuming, dusting and stripping and refinishing kitchen cupboards while Lee attempts to lock himself in his bathroom claiming he has "stomach issues". The last time Lee's family visited was no different.

Do you all remember when Justin Timberlake attended the MTV Video Music Awards in a black suit with white sneakers?

Obviously not the previously mentioned outfit. A complete denim suit overshadows any other outfit - ever.

I can only assume that my brother-in-law wanted to be sexy like JT when he showed up to my house in the whitest white sneakers I'd ever laid eyes on. They were so white, they glowed like the horrible LED lights my dad insists on putting on the Christmas tree every year. And when I walked out from my bedroom that morning, rubbing sleep from my eyes and panicking about coffee, tea, and egg casseroles, I was greeted by those ridiculous sneakers sitting on the cushions of my beautiful white couch.

He didn't want to get them dirty. 

Go ahead, be gone with it.

*Lee just pointed out that it would be Alice's ghost in the DeLorean with Marty and Doc Brown. I told him to take his flux capacitor and shove it.

#1: Panther vs. Cheetah

True story: I used to fantisize about being a crazy cat lady. You know the kind - wild hair, horribly mismatched clothes and the uncanny ability to speak my mind with no repercussions other than "oh, that's just Maureen, the crazy cat lady." Now to pull this off, I knew I had to actually own at least one cat. So one Saturday after a disparaging trip to the local Wal-Mart, I was inspired enough to steer my '92 Grand Am to the humane society, grab the first kitten I saw and bring it home.

The craziness that is Darcy (yes it's a male and yes I meant to name him that. Jane Austen anyone?) is a blog all its own. But let's just say that he did not get along well with my husband, who forced me to welcome a second cat into my home - this one a tortoise.

And thus began one of the most epic battles of all time: The Panther vs. The Cheetah.

With Lee in his kerchief and I in my cap, we'd just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

It was those g-damn cats going to town on my new white couch! Perched on either side, the little conniving fur devils had their claws out, furiously scratching away to see who could ruin my pride and joy the fastest. It was Panther vs. Cheetah - a fight to the death.

2nd Cover - same results.

And every night since then, they've attempted to engage in this ongoing battle. I sleep with one eye open, straining to hear the slightest sound of claw on cloth. And I've been known to jump out of bed and charge down the hallway banging a spoon on a metal pot, all the while yelling a stream of incoherent obscenities in the quest to protect my sacred cow.

You're probably wondering why I don't just get my cats declawed. It's because I'm cheap. Yep, I'm that cheap crazy cat lady that walks around muttering about white couches. So hide yo' kids, hide yo' wife - and have a happy new year.

How Ikea Cursed Me With Leukophobia

We were young. We were naive. We were taken in by the smell of Swedish meatballs.

My husband and I had just bought our first house. I owned a couch that I'd bought off an ex-boyfriend (which I'm not even sure was really his). My husband hated it. He, of course, owned a circular saw and a mini-fridge - neither of which were going in the living room if I had anything to say about it. And that explains how we found ourselves surrounded by Scandinavian furniture. We went from one fake living room setup to the next, oohing and aahing at the use of color and patterns. And then we saw it. The "Stylish Haven" that just had to be ours.

This is from a website (thus the giant price tag). I didn't actually take a picture of the fake living room setup in Ikea.

Before you can say Karlstad, we had our brand new couch strapped to the top of our Jeep Cherokee, happily burning through an insane amount of gas to get our new treasure home.

That was four years and two slipcovers ago. Today I awoke from a dream in which my couch had somehow lit itself on fire and was screaming, "you did this to me!" while my husband held my baby who pointed at me and smiled menacingly.

According to the Internets, I now have Leukophobia. And I'll tell you why...